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And We Still Call This Love?

When I read Martin Luther King Jr’s ‘Strength to Love’, I got to know what racism is and was. How the whites began to believe that God is (was) white as them. They, out of their blindfolded ignorance and hatred treated the negros, who by birth or slave trade, or those who have made abroad their home, a second class citizen. In spite of their exploitation here in African continent, they termed us monkeys. And yet, Martin Luther King Jr wrote to us, the Africans, to shower love on them, not that of eye service — that of agape love. Still, I cry for our life! Of how we are being massacred everyday. Of how we are being slaughtered in the streets of New York like cattle every passing day without being taken to the abattoir. And yet, we continue preaching unconditional love — on the air, in the street, in the books and on TV. When are we going to know the real definition of love? Is it until we persist in suffering — and give the real definition of it through our pains? Goddammit! Racism must cease to breath.

And these are the whites who brought Christianity to Africa. They told us that God, himself is LOVE; that he knows no white, he knows no black, and has no specific colour. Yet, in their home there, they made a separate church for the blacks to worship, because within them, they believe God is white, and we Africans and African-Americans are monsters, the perspiration that comes out of God’s brow. I still cry. When will this inhumane act stop to rain on us, tears of agony? When exactly are we going to be equal? When are we going to know the real definition of love? Is it until we all sacrifice ourselves to them for their rituals, will then be love? What a mixture of laughter and sorrow! How will it taste on our tongues? How will the feelings be in our bodies? Goddammit! We must indeed curse this to be a forgotten story!

What if that fictional, key character, the negro Bigger Thomas in “Native Son” was real. Would you still call it hatred too? And a modicum and manifestation of revenge? I still cry. But permit me to say this word, if whites are not BEASTS, what are they: a day old feces, exhumed from the sewage pit? Tell me who they are!

In this land we are, we have no home; abroad, we have no home. Then, when will we going to find home, when this land is even devoid of piece of mind and rest? Rather, we are in cave being eaten up by millipedes and centipedes. This is not a home, rather a prison yard where we are being bullied by fellow prisoners.

I still stand to say, this is devilish! Dehumanizing! Inhumane! Exasperating! Ruthless! Merciless! Animalistic! Annihilative! And this (act) must stop!

Here I drop my angry and sad pen.

P.S: Up there is the image of the African-American George Floyd, who was strangled and suffocated to death by an animalistic white cop abroad.

RIP to Floyd!


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