A good friend once told me it is better to remain silent and be thought of as a fool than to speak and remove all doubt...
A couple of days ago my sister and I were talking about the First family, the Cordoba House cultural center (I refuse to call it the Ground Zero mosque anymore), and how these two subjects strike such a visceral emotional reaction with everybody on both sides.
A good friend once told me it is better to remain silent and be thought of as a fool than to speak and remove all doubt...
A couple of days ago my sister and I were talking about the First family, the Cordoba House cultural center (I refuse to call it the Ground Zero mosque anymore), and how these two subjects strike such a visceral emotional reaction with everybody on both sides.
We agreed and disagreed on a few points. To be honest there have only been a few times that we've agreed completely on any single subject. My sister is far more vocal and articulate than me. So, sometimes talking to her about something I have a certain view point about....can be easily pushed aside and replaced with her stance on the issue. She's extremely persuasive!
Anyway she and her neighbor were talking a few days back about some of the same issues. Her neighbor (we'll call her Hortense) was rattling on and on about how President Obama is a Muslim. Hortense is a late 49ish year old single white female.
Sissy pressed her about why she thought Obama was a Muslim. Hortense went on and on and pretty much fizzled out with the conclusion that he has to be since everybody says he is. Not desiring to spend much more time being intellectual with someone who's brain is obviously the size of a walnut my sister asked her what would be wrong with it if he was.
Hortense was beside herself. A Muslim wasn't fit to run this country. The horror! People, I swear.
Hortense continued....she touched on patriotism, biblical scripture and the fallacy that slavery was a bad thing.
STOP!! System overload. Information does not compute. Could you repeat that?
Hortense continued....she touched on patriotism, biblical scripture and the fallacy that slavery was a bad thing.
Her rationale was based on a book she had just finished reading about the institution of slavery in America. As she understood it, most slaves had very endearing relationships with their masters especially Mrs. Massah. Most of the slaves were well taken care of and quite content with being owned...it took a lot of pressure off being a foreigner in a new country.
WTF!!??
I love my sister and the scenario she presented to Hortense makes me proud to share the same genetic composition with such a wonderful person. Here it goes with a bit more creative writing compliments of yours truly:
Okay Hortense imagine this. You rise every morning at sun up...feed your children and leave them instructions on what they need to take care of around the shanty while you're out.
You head out for a day's worth of back breaking free labor. Miss Massah waves at you as she and the children head to town with Massah to take care of some business.
Once it becomes to dark to carry out your duties you head back to your shanty. Upon entering you don't see any of your children. Panic grips your heart and your head is spinning to the point that nausea rises up and spills out the contents of cold biscuits and water along with the piece of salt meat you chewed on for lunch.
You search the entire slave quarters and can't find your children any where. Ol' Tom, the negro that's too old to work the fields anymore but one hell of a horse whisperer is sitting on the porch eyeing your every move.
As you head past him calling out to your children, Ol' Tom says something that stops you in your tracks and turns the blood running through your veins into slushy ice water. You stare in disbelief...eyes locked on Ol' Tom. You ask him, "What did you say?" Ol' Tom repeats himself, "I said Massah brought Mr. Jeff over here today and sold your children off to him. I believe he got a pretty penny for all five of 'em. He was grinning from ear to ear and shaking Mr. Jeff's hand some fierce. Mr. Jeff lives up in the Carolinas...good ways away from here".
You fall to your knees. There is no consolation. Your entire family is now gone. Your husband was sold right after the your child, the 2-year-old boy, Matthew, was born....now you are truly alone. Your wailing can be heard all over the plantation. Your legs stop working. As you crawl in the house and heave yourself onto your cot the darkness is thick and impenetrable. The sky is well lit with an array of stars. It's the dark cold organ beating in the center of your chest where your heart once resided that's so horribly opaque.
Hours pass as you drift in and out a sleep that has no rejuvenating properties. You pray to the God that was introduced to your great great-grandmother once she arrived in America, for peace. You plead with him for answers as to why you and your family are no more than chattel and not viewed as human. Your marriages don't count. Your children don't count. Being a woman doesn't count. Being a mother doesn't count. You are nothing.
As you lie there waiting for answers, you hear the familiar drunken footsteps hitting the porch with their normal heavy clumsiness. The door swings open. It's Massah - your owner, the father to three of the five children he sold earlier today, the man your hatred as no limit for.
He doesn't say a word. Just mumbles incoherently as he sheds his clothing.
You know the routine. But tonight you're ready for him. As he mounts you, the darkness returns. This time it engulfs you completely. You can't see his greasy alabaster face. You can't hear his loud carnal grunts. You can't smell the stench of his hot alcohol soaked breath. You can't taste the bile rising from your stomach to the back of your throat.
The only sense left is the only one you'll ever need in this life. You feel the handle of the knife you've placed under your pillow. You feel the smooth edge slice open his throat like a hot knife through butter. You feel his warm putrid blood flow through his fingers onto your naked breast as he recoils in terror, fear and pain.
He's limp now...still on top of you. You roll his heavy body off onto the floor. He will never move again.
Sleep begins to set in. Your eyes are heavy and swollen and close without argument. You dream of your children, your husband. Finally you're awakened by the sting of a whip across your back. It's the plantation overseer.
The sun is high and bright. You're beaten and lead off to the old clearing with the large oak tree. Miss Massah is there. As you approach, she steps forward and spits in your face. So endearing.
They place the rope around your neck and hoist you up on the ol' horse that has participated in his fair share of hangings. The overseer slaps the horse. You feel the jolt of his movement as he lunges forward leaving you behind.
Peace is seconds away...