The Great Migration:The Quietness of Black

I have read articles about the life of Blacks in the late 19th century and early 20th century.  I have always hungered to know my history simply because it was purposely being kept from me. I usually find out a piece of myself by reading what others thought of my forefathers or uncovering documents that reveal my ancestor but also a little piece of me. Whether someone felt it was important or not everyone should know their true history. Some of us were slaves before the civil war but after the civil war we systematically found ourselves placed in a caste system of servitude in the south.
Close your eyes and imagine yourself a Black 14 year old boy in the 1916 south.  Your grandparents were born and lived and died in slavery.  And, your parents were born and lived in slavery but now are shackled to sharecropping on the very plantation where they were once slaves. They never left.  Matter of fact, you know a lot of families like yours.  But, you want more from life.  You want to be able to go to the store in town for an ice cream and be served.  Instead you are required to move away from the counter when a white person appears and they are served first. When you are being joked about by white men standing around,  you learn through fear to be quiet and quickly leave. 
 It’s a struggle getting through the day. I’m afraid to make the smallest mistake because that could cost me my life. Whites of my generation have no ties to us. We were once their forefather’s slaves and had value where they would care about our well being and safety as an asset. This generation is crueler. They hate me because I’m free.  What can I do to save myself from the cruelty spit out daily by the white south?  What can I do not to be lynched or burned to death? 
Quietly leave …

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