What has been done to the Black man, has been done to other men, in other lands. The hands are different, but the motive remains the same. It has been done to the Red man. The Yellow man. The Afghan man. It has been done in the East, as it has been done in the West; it has been done to the Jews, as to the Gentile, to the Muslim as to the Palestinian. In South America, as in North America. It has been done…and it CONTINUES to be done. And we see it not. It is ‘Divide and Rule’ at its persuasive best. And where mankind allows itself to be deluded and divided by the nonsense that speaks to its differences in Colour (whether of Skin or Philosophy or Religion; whether based on Geography or Culture or tastes and tendencies), we strengthen error and allow Evil to rule supreme…in and over all our lives.
When will we forget the sorry story of our Skin, and replace it with an understanding of the real story: the story of Evil and its many disguises, and its continued praying upon the souls of men and mankind. When will we seek commonality with hearts and minds – forgetting Skin? Then, and only then will the Black man begin to find his way out of his particular dilemma – bringing the World with him, into a new day and a bright new dawn.
When our “Brother” is any man of clean heart and hands and upright mind….When a “Sister” is she who feels every woman’s pain and she who knows every child as a child of her own heart and soul….When we have shed our Skins and revealed our Spirits; when we see with our hearts, and not with our eyes; when we have embraced our Higher-Selves; then, and only then will we leave our sordid pasts behind and walk hand in hand (brown hands holding red hands, holding yellow hands, holding arab hands, holding asian hands, holding white hands…holding hands) to the mountain top and into a new Tomorrow.
Weeping and belly-aching ad nauseam about your “poor black history” and your depraved black past gets you nothing except more of the same. More novels, more stories, more memories from this, or that new perspective; more hurt, more remembered depravities, more history, more of his-story. Just More. But it is only more…of the same. And nothing changes. And the Black mind is lulled into a deep sleep. After a while, it becomes plain (certainly to those who do not sleep) that there is nothing new to be said. Its just the same ol’, same ol’…”Woe is me, I am Black!” And I say…”So what!“
Dialogues In Black 