Newspaper headlines that publicize President Lincoln's death. I can't believe the President, my hero that rescued my family from slavery, was assassinated. What will happen to us, former slaves, now that the President is dead?
The President’s dead.
I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. The President’s dead. Mr. Lincoln. The only kind white man I knew, the man who freed me and millions of other people like me, is dead. What is going to happen to us, the former slaves? What is our future now?
I was just cooking up the usual dinner, until John interrupted me by bursting into the door. He was strangely silent and solemn faced and was clutching a piece of paper. I waited for him to crack a joke, or do the usual ritual in hugging and kissing me when he came home. But he just sat down, and handed me the paper.
Immediately, I knew that it was important since the letters were all big and bolded. I struggled to read it with my basic education I received from the Madison plantation. “IMPORTANT,” it read, “PRESIDENT LINCOLN ASSASSINATED AT THEATRE BOX”.
I’ve met a lot of white men in my life. There was the old white men with a mustache who was the overseer, not hesitating to whip out at slow workers. There was the plantation owner, Mr. Madison, who watched inexpressively as slaves were beaten to a bloody pulp in front of him. Then there were all the white men friends of Mr. Madison I served too, all discussing me as a piece of property, one slapping me when I came too late with his refill of water. I lost hope in white men. It’s a lie that angels dress in white, honey, my mother used to tell me. But that little glimmer of hope reignited when I became aware of Mr. Lincoln, who was the savior of all the slaves.
Mr. Lincoln is my hero. He freed me, he freed my family, and every single slave in the country. I deeply regret my first journal entry, where I express how at least slavery guaranteed me a bed, food, and clothes unlike the free life where my family has to constantly struggle to provide for us. When I think of my mother, father, brother, and 2 sisters being ripped apart from me, I burn with an overwhelming hatred for slavery. It’s one thing to separate a girl from her parents, but it’s another thing when you separate her parents from her when she is only 8 years old, and continue to separate the rest of her family from her too. That’s why I’m so fiercely protective of my family. I’m never going to let my beautiful children go through the pain I experienced when I was a child.
Lincoln was the man responsible for allowing slaves escape a life filled with mental, physical, and sexual abuse. He was the only white man I know of that finally took the stand against slavery, and was the leader to free all the slaves. I loved President Lincoln.
What’s the country going to do to us, now he’s dead? What’s the white men going to do to us, now President Lincoln, savior of the slaves, is gone?
Even if I don’t have enough food in the pantry, or I sleep on the cold floor of our cabin after giving all the blankets to our children, I am still eternally grateful to my savior President Lincoln. When I was 7 years old, I saw my older brother being beaten to death. He tried to run away. After blow after blow, lash after lash, what I saw wasn’t my brother anymore. It was a bloody lump, blurred by my tears. I will never go back to that life again. President Lincoln saved me.
President Abraham Lincoln. I am eternally grateful for this man, and may he rest in peace in heaven. He was a good man, and the only kind white man I knew of.
Hello. My name is Sarah. My husband and children mean the world to me, and I am struggling to get by in a white supremacist society. There are obstacles that pose great burdens on blacks, and new challenges in our freedom. But what is important, is that I am a free woman. Enjoy my blog.