His Name Was Jim

Some chose to forget about him while still others deny his evils. He was never voted in by the citizenry, nor was he ever voted out. I do not recall any document citing his date of birth, but he came to power sometime after the American Civil War. He lived long before I was born and deceased before I turned 25. I seldom heard anyone call his first or last name, but all knew him well. I met Jim very early in life, and experienced pure hatred from him. Yes, he hated me deeply before I was born. I had little choice but to obey him, or life would be difficult and distasteful. Defiance of certain of his orders could easily have caused my disappearance and death. Jim was proud of himself and his beliefs, and he struck fear in the entire populace. Whether one agreed did not matter, but everyone had to heed his social order. Jim Crow was still in charge when I moved away to go to college, but he was gone when I returned to live. By the time Jim left in the late 60s and early 70s, the damage was done, the pain was atrocious, and the wounds were deep. The aged of my race had experienced and endured Jim their entire life; and even after his demise, one could feel from their actions and emotions the deep impact that Jim had upon them. The administration of Jim's hateful injections was no longer present, but the severity of their scares could not be hidden. Tears of the experience are forming in my eyes as I write this. Several generations were literally emotionally and mentally crippled by Jim. Although there were new rules and a new social order was beginning to form, in their own heart, they needed more time to expel Jim from their system. Time was needed to get over the fear, to be healed and begin to trust. They say that time heals all wounds, and for the wounds that Jim inflicted, I'm inclined to believe it true. For such dehumanizing wounds, apart from the healing touch of God's hand, I know of nothing else except the healing passage of time. 081920PS