#4 Realizations

Last week we were bombarded with the truth about how we America came about. How the person we thought was a hero was really a thief, a  murderer, and full of greed. Now we learn of the savagery that happened in grave detail. Zinn’s book is really throwing me for a loop, every time I seem to pick it up another part of me gets even more frustrated. I’ve heard these grueling stories about how my ancestors were  brought here, but it never gets any easier. It’s hard to believe that something so simple as skin color can determine how others treat and perceive you. Just because their skin was a shade or two darker, they were worthless. Because they spoke a language foreign to their norm, they were beaten, battered, enslaved, whipped and taken away from everything that they love. They had hopes and dreams, families, religion, homes, friends and a way of life that they had always known, but were stripped of everything. Everything they’d ever known, believed in or tried to achieve.

The thought of knowing that people, my people, my ancestors, were chained together like dogs, and tied down to boards deep down in the burrows of mildew, feces and disease infested ships. They were considered the savages, but the only ones that were acting like savages were the English. It continues to amaze me how people treated others like they weren’t humans. The only difference between the enslaved Africans and whites were their skin color, everything else was almost exactly the same. The part in Zinn’s book that really got to me was about the indentured servants. I never knew that both the Africans and the indentured servants worked together to fight for their freedom, nor did I know that the English didn’t want the Africans and the white servants to collaborate. In an effort to keep them separated, they gave the whites land and made them feel as though they were better off than the enslaved Africans. Just goes to show you even when people are so similar, in every facet of the word, the only thing that can deem them different is their hue. It’s a sad notion, but the truth.                                        
     Even though I didn't have to live through the era of slavery, just the notion that something like this happened to people that I came from, whose blood that I share is a tad bit overwhelming. Knowing that my grandma can still remember be called a "nigger" and having to pay at the front of the bus and sit in the back, and watch her mother work day in and day out as a nanny for only cents a day continues to infuriate me. Above all, the relatively hard fact to grasp is that racism still exists. African Americans have come so far and pushed so hard and though things have changed, they are still not equal. I can't wait until the day when I don't have to worry about attributing anything to my race, just the knowledge and skill set that I've obtained through my education will be prize enough.