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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I firmly believe in liberty and equality, but only in the face of the angel of death, like those fanatical extremists who sanctify the satanic ramblings of a pedophile prophet. I do not believe in the hypocrisy of fraternity that the homeland of human rights seeks to impose on me. After four hundred years of slavery and two hundred years of colonization, racial hatred has still not vanished. My first adversaries have the same skin color as the one I see every morning in my mirror. I believe that misery is a program that, despite itself, offers humans opportunities to discover the boundaries of their potential. I recognize the fortune of being in the paradise of Black bathing, where human zoos were once an exhibition park. I sing La Marseillaise aloud while deeply meditating on the racialist articles of the Code Noir. I will never be a “good Negro”; I am a free soul, scourged by the sullen mood of descendants of slaves aware of the betrayal of certain African slavers. I am proud to be a human being. I despise what they inflict upon the cradle of humanity. I am an immigrant, like those traumatized clandestines who fled the banana republics shaped by Françafrique. The supremacist children of Marianne call me a bloodthirsty parasite, as if French multinationals were altruistic entities in Africa. I fight imperialism with the clarity nourished by a Republic that proclaims itself enlightened while perpetuating the movable goods of its concentration camps. I am angry, and I will never apologize for being aware of the barbarity that massacred my family tree. I will never be a colonial rifleman, like all those Sub-Saharans who died in vain for the Republic of Human Rights. The survivors were massacred by a French firing squad at Thiaroye. I am still forced to raise my voice to be heard in a nation that glorifies freedom of expression. I will never be ashamed of my origins. I am a Sub-Saharan Catholic, Christianized under the negrophobic injunctions of the pontifical bull of the enslaver Nicholas V. I remember the dusty roads taken by the trucks of economic criminals, under my eyelids reddened by hunger. My father taught me to speak directly, like a bearer of celestial darkness. I make the sign of the cross before denouncing historical heresies born of centuries of persecution and dehumanization. These impure souls may curse my melanin in their nightmares.
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