“Girl you overreacting, you’ll be alright. We already went through 400 years of slavery, it can’t be that bad.”
But what if it is? Have we ever taken the time to think maybe, just maybe, our people’s problems may feel like shackles and chains on their own feet?
For so long, we as Black Americans have seen slavery as our cushion in a sense.
That it--slavery--set the tone for conversations, jokes and interactions and was the meter that told people how far they could go with us.
But in these days, it seems like slavery doesn’t matter anymore. It makes you wonder, was the pain my ancestors felt enough? And if so, is it stripping my pain from its own validation? Why is it that the pain of being a Black woman or a Black man is not enough? Why is our pain always compared to the magnitude to that of slavery?
No other race, it seems, has to feel less than because their pain isn’t equivalent to that of hell on earth.