OPPRESSION OF FURNITURE PROPERTY

Their philosophers dehumanized our ancestors. Their missionaries demonized their humanity. Their merchants made them chattel. Whippings, rapes, amputations, For the training of wild ******* who can be forced to work at will. The expression of barbarism in all its splendor for all these bodies soiled by oppression. From Africa to the Americas, they crossed oceans of blood and tears. They suffered the yoke of white masters, cruel and soulless. They were sold like cattle, separated from their families and their land. They were exploited, humiliated, tortured, without ever losing hope. They sang, danced, prayed, to resist the hell of the slave trade. They carried tons of cotton, sugar, coffee, on their bruised shoulders. They forged the history, the culture, the wealth, of their greedy oppressors. They created art, music, literature, with their souls dazzled by the nightmares of servitude. They gave birth to heroes, martyrs, geniuses, despite their lives destroyed by negrophobia. They fought for their freedom, against all odds. They faced violence, hatred, racism, with courage and dignity. They claimed their rights, their identity, their pride, with strength and solidarity. They have inspired movements, struggles, revolutions throughout the world. They are the sons and daughters of Africa, the cradle of humanity. They are the brothers and sisters of America, land of diversity. They are the fathers and mothers of the diaspora, symbols of fraternity. They are the ancestors and descendants of negritude, the expression of beauty. Black in skin, but not in heart, they knew how to love and forgive. White with rage, but not with reason, they wanted to dominate and exterminate. Black and white, but no gray, they had to live together and accept each other. White and black, but without hatred, they were able to dialogue and respect each other. Even if the demons of xenophobia are immortal. They suffered, but not in vain, they left their mark on history. They dreamed, but not for nothing, they changed the world with their mark. They lived, but not like dogs, they honored life with their mark. They loved, but not without restraint, they illuminated love with their imprint. What can we say about these men and women, who have given so much and received so little? What should we think of these executioners and these victims, who took so much and gave so little back?