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When my long ago relatives feet touched the shore, weighed down by chains, back ripped up from the lash of the terrorist captain, malnourished from rations, raped and bloody, struggling to understand the language barked by the white stranger I was there.
When my nine bothers and sisters were attacked and murdered by a young, white terrorist, I was there.
When brother Martin was shot by a white terrorist, I was there.
The pain and fear is woven into the muscle memory of the black DNA of AmeriKKKA.
Our backs remember the whip.
Our genitals remember the rape.
The Hurt is there.
They remember our rebellion.
When we rose up.
Ase Denmark Vesey
Ase Stono Rebellion
Ase Gabriel and your conspiracy
Ase Charles Deslondes
Ase Nat Turner
Ase Black Panthers
Ase to the artists who create an artistic uprising:
Ase, the ancestors speak through you. They cry out with the hurt.
Ase to all the artists and uprisings that answered the call but aren’t famous.
We have been taught to be on guard by our houses being burned down to the ground in the middle of the night by “brave” terrorists ahem I mean “patriots” wearing white hoods.
We have learned (like our native brothers and sisters of color have) to take the words of the white ones with several grains of salt. When fire burns you the first time…
Now that the flags are coming down, is that supposed to signal the American terrorists’ surrender?
When can people of color stop looking over our collective shoulders at the white American terrorist?
When will the war of AmeriKKKan aggression against the people of color built the country be over?
Simply because we cannot be physically bought and sold anymore that does not make us worthless.
We were Kings, Queens and Mathematicians in our native lands. Now we are the President of our forced exile yet we still are under attack from the system laid in place long before his ascension.
Where are the white allies enraged en masse?
When will black lives actually matter to them?
Hurt has led us to this place again of pain.
What is next?