Won’t someone speak for the Betoukuag

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, Weak.
Killed like animals! Won’t someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Here first! The land is theirs!
Used, not owned, but borrowed from heirs.
Here first, but alas, also first to die.
Call them thieves; An easy lie.

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Killed like animals! Won’t someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Not used to whites. Afraid even.
Quite unlike their Mikmaq brethren.
Just surviving, a daily task.
Were they really civilized? You dare ask!

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Killed like animals! Will someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

One of the last rushes forth to speak.
Holding aloft a branch, where three limbs meet.
If Mamaq and whites can live together:
Why are we, the third limb, left to wither?

We are hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
We are killed like animals. Who will speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Hunt them. Kill them. They are in our way.
Spread word of our ill deeds? We say nay.
We are discoverers. Conquerers even.
Guns against arrows? No matter. They’re heathen.

Hunt them. Chase them. ‘till they’re weak.
Corner them. Kill them. No one will speak,
for the Beothucks.

Now all gone. Or so you say.
No living Beothuck, no Beothuck problem eh?
Betoukuag and Mikmaw, mixing blood.
If truth be known, wait for the flood.

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Are they all dead?? Who dares speak,
for the Betoukuag!

-Phil Jeddore, Utshimassits, December 27, 1993

Last Revised 05/25/05