Chris--Rooted Reality

Sweat began to drip from my forehead as I laid still on the hard, weathered oak boards. The sounds of chains and shackles rung throughout my ears, not once ceasing. Screaming – screaming persisted, as if it had the intent to penetrate the deepest extremities of my soul. Only then, was I able to open my eyes. “Where am I? How did I get here? Who are all these people?” I questioned myself. The sweat continued, profusely, and my attention was quickly diverted to a violent burning sensation on my back side. I reached for the area, and squirmed as my finger tips made contact with my skin. I looked at my hand, and froze in awe at the spectacle – blood. My confusion was extinguished when the man revealed himself. He descended from his dwellings above us; his ivory complexion radiated and his tongue produced a sound so unfamiliar. At this point I only feared that I would have to endure a life like those featured in the tales of the new land. The man signaled for all of us to approach him. He conducted a hasty examination to each body that passed, enforcing his leather whip with even the slightest acts on noncompliance. He took his time with me however. I waited in front of him as he stared at me. Minutes later, I found myself struggling to stand up as I absorbed round after round of the ox’s hide. This was the last of my personal account. What followed was blackness, eternal blackness. I awoke and found myself in a different setting. The wood was replaced by asphalt, and the noises by hand gun projectiles. The sweat again dripped from my forehead and the burning sensation returned as I rested on the ground. In the distance, I saw a man – the same man I had seen before, now decorated in uniform. He drew a weapon from his side and aimed it at me. At the sound of the explosion, my eyes fell shut and the blackness reappeared. Seventeen years ago, I awoke for the final time. My third attempt at life would prove to serve as less of a challenge; at least this is what I had hoped. I, like most of my fellows, have been directly affected by acts of racism and prejudice right in the community I thought I could call my home. What troubles me more however, is knowing that I will never be adequate or even good enough to compete with my white counterpart. Being born as a black male has made me subject to lower wages, increased encounters with law enforcement, and a heighten likelihood of being killed. My reality has been defined by the fact that I don't resemble the man who oppressed me; my dark complexion is institutionally and implicitly regarded as inferior to his ivory complexion. This truth remains far less than a threat to me though. I know that while the man may rob me of my societal power, he may never strip me of the greater power that resides in my mind and soul.