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American history tells me that my ancestors and over twenty (25) five million of their fellow continent dwellers were aborted from the womb of mother Africa to perform uncompensated labor in this humongous adoption agency known as America.
It is reported that Black skin and those who were adorned with it were often used for target practice and were foolishly expected to remain silent and accept the disrespect and hatred that surrounded them like that of an Arizona cactus.
Are you proud to be recipients of the muffled whispers, laughter, winks, jeers, and phony smiles of the world’s remaining inhabitants as you proudly boast “Made in America,” while attempting to hide from a knowing world whose labor was utilized the most? Are you proud to be viewed as pillagers and purgers of someone else’s land, sitting atop canvas-covered wagons, telling others of your successes that came from the blood, sweat, and tears from an unwelcome set of hands?
Do the aristocrats of this great America acknowledge you as true and worthy “Americans” or are you viewed as a necessary convenience for them to have others to lord over as they remain in power and reside in their ivory towers? Maybe you are kept around to fight their wars, to enhance their riches, to make them feel better about themselves as you pledge your personal loyalties to their causes? Are you invited to their high-profile parties, soiree’s and balls as a guest, a display a servant or does the invitation gets lost in the mail? Are you limited to reading about them in magazines, watching their after-party interviews, viewing pictures taken by paparazzi’s or contributing to their causes on PBS, just the same as I am? Why am I not labeled “Made in America?”
Is your American dream a house in the woods that sits on acreage of less than a thousand; a three-, four-, or five-bedroom house in the suburbs, a chain linked or privacy fence, two children and a dog, possibly a fishing boat, maybe a fifth-wheel and a jeep and or a pickup truck, are you anxiously anticipating that two maybe six week vacation, coupled with the stress of having it all taken away if you were to miss two or more consecutive paychecks, receive a layoff notice, having more bills left at the end of the month than money, possibly you have that reoccurring nightmare and that unspoken fear of being dismissed from your place of employment?
Are you concerned about your children’s wellbeing, their education, their safety, their overall health, their happiness and their future? If you are, dare I say to you, this is a “me too moment.” Why am I not labeled “Made in America”?
My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of the I sing, land where my fathers died . . .
Doesn’t this song exude American pride? Do you put a positive tag on all fathers of this land that have died? Do you highlight their world-changing inventions and place in your history books their indisputable contributions to this land or do you distort facts with fiction, while telling and embellishing your story of your ancestor’s arrival to these shores, as you emphatically and freely lament that, they had; very few possessions, they were financially challenged, they owned no land, they did not own homes, nor did they enter this country with well-paying employment opportunities etched in stone, hopefully, you did not forget to mention all of them receiving governmental assistance in various forms as you loudly boast about your American pride? Why am I not labeled “Made in America?”
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands . . .
Don’t I have a place in this blood-stained land? I have shaken too many bruised, battered, callused and over-worked hands. Doesn’t the Statue of Liberty ask for our tried, our poor, our huddled masses yearning to be free? I just can’t comprehend why after exiting the ship, these statements did not include my ancestors—and suspiciously precludes me. Why am I not stamped “Made in America?”
Why am I hated? Because I will not accept being mistreated, disgraced, humiliated, or psychologically castrated? Do you fear my knowledge? Do you fear the thought of retaliation? Do you fear having me face you and research who you really are?
I really need to know, why am I not stamped with “Made in America.”
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Melvin “Casey” Lars ©
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