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I am currently reading one of the most impacting books that I will ever have in my library. The title: Bullwhip Days: The Slaves Remember: An Oral History. It is birthing an untold amount of emotions within me – mostly disgust and anger. At times I want to reach through the pages of history and grab someone by the throat and inflict the same amount of pain and humiliation on them as they are visiting on others. It is sickening the level to which humanity can sink. One particular instance stands out to me, and it is one that is deceitfully tranquil and superficially passive.  Read for yourself of Ike Simpson’s recollection of being a slave:

 

Nights, I allus (always) slept by Missus’ bed. Daytimes, my bed was push’ up under her’n.  Dis was called trundle bed. She kept me right wid her most ob de time, an’ when mealtime come she put me under de table an’ I ate out ob her hand.  She’d put a piece ob meat into a biscuit an’ hand it down to me.  Den, she say, “when dat been finished, holler up after some more, Ike.”  But she allus warn me not to holler if dere been company to dinner.  She’d say, “Jes’ put you’ hand on my knee an’ den I’ll know you is ready.”  But seem like my mouth been so big, an’ I eat so fast, an’ old Mis’ so busy talkin’ to dem ladies, dat I jes’ keep a-touchin’ her on de knee, most ob de time.

 

This account kicked me right in the pit of my stomach – she treated him like a pet!  Like a dog you feed scraps from the table as it rests its head on your leg wanting more. How could one human being devalue another to so great an extent? He was stripped of dignity in a delusory malign way.  It reaps of cancerous evil. Neither she nor he saw his true value.

 

The value of something is determined by the price paid for it. If left to ourselves, this is our value.  If left to God, this is our value.

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