Addio zio Tom Page #6

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for what they'd been put through.

The Lord's Prayer says:

''Forgive us our debts,

as we forgive our debtors.''

So now who will pay, if the father who

forgives trespasses is no longer white,

nor is anyone in his family?

They had only just begun

to hear about it,

but already that white God, who

promised a heaven with no slaves

and no masters, fascinated them.

He seemed to be one of them.

He was humiliated, flogged,

crucified.

And for his whole life he had eaten

out of the same plate as the poor.

Get another plate, son.

Hewlett writes:

''It is tolerated that the slaves

gather when they are free from work

in order to imitate

in their fashion the Christian rituals.

Experience has taught us that the more

a slave is religious,

the calmer, more humble

and resigned he will be.

However, the law prescribes also

that these gatherings will be moderated

and presided over by a white man.''

Of all the tales in the Bible, the flight

from Egypt fascinated them the most.

They were so convinced that the story

related to them personally,

that they would draw it on the walls.

Africa was Palestine,

the ocean was the Red Sea,

the sharks were the Pharaohs,

and the Egyptians were

the white masters.

All those fantastical analogies between

their dark history

and the flight of the chosen people

toward the Promised Land

influenced them so, that they started

running away at a rate of 5,000 a year.

They always ran toward the rivers

and the swamps,

because they had crossed the water

to come here,

and they thought

that freedom lay across the water.

There was always a reward on the head

of a runaway slave.

The reward was not contingent, however,

on the slave being returned alive.

All that were needed were their hands

or their heads.

Thus many hunters, especially in

Florida, specialized in runaway slaves.

The fire of Atlanta destroyed

a daguerreotype

that portrayed a scene like this one.

On the back it bore this inscription:

''A good catch today, 1 87 heads.''

Even Andrew Jackson, the great

president, approved of hunting slaves.

Kenneth Stamp writes:

''One dayJackson promised $50 to whoever

could bring back one of his slaves,

and $1 0 extra for every 1 00 lashes,

up to a maximum of 300.''

None of the 1 4 American presidents

who were slave owners

were ever too kind to the Negroes.

They usually found them dumb,

clumsy, and mostly loud.

Another great president,

Thomas Jefferson, wrote:

''My slaves are such idiots,

that instead of going to bed,

they waste the night away under

my windows, making up dances and songs

which, according to them,

mock their master.''

When a Negro mocked his master,

to useJefferson's phrase,

he tried to wound his pride with

the only weapon he had, the grotesque.

Today he wields that weapon against

his entire civilization,

against his hero, his symbol,

his system.

The white hero is armed, and the sword

is the symbol of his prevarication.

He's lurking, again,

under a friar's tunic,

with threats of damnation,

pale and ugly like the devil.

''We are beautiful,'' says Carmichael,

the leader of the black students.

''We are a splendid race.''

That's all well and good, but this year

there will be two Miss Americas.

A white one, and a black one,

who will be called Boganda,

not because it's a nice name,

but because it's an African name.

Today, everything that's black

has to have that Negro-ness.

Afro, African, anything but American.

''Do you know,'' says Carmichael,

''why the Negroes spoke so badly?''

They were protesting against English.

Protest is an ugly fad word,

like Negro-ness.

Boganda, too,

is an ugly name for a queen.

It sounds more like chains

than like freedom.

''We don't want this white freedom.''

Another slogan from Harlem.

''We want a black freedom,

and five white states,

that the United States must give us.''

They dance like Africans,

dress like Africans, and speak Swahili.

''We repudiate your American language,

which you use to say

that we are savages, beasts, monkeys,

and that our sweat smells bad.''

This was said for the first time

by Professor Cartwright in 1 831 .

Smell this sweat.

Do you think it smells human?

Or does it have a beastly smell?

Well, why does it have a beastly smell?

Because our skin is different.

And it's not because of the color,

that's the last thing.

Our illustrious colleagues

up north know

that in one square centimeter

of this black skin

there are at least

twice the sweat glands than in ours.

You don't need a microscope to observe

that in this limited cranial capacity

there is very little brain: that this

is not hair, but beastly bristles:

this forehead is absurdly low,

these eyes totally lack luster,

and show no flicker of intelligence:

that these monstrous nostrils

resemble those of a monkey:

that these teeth and this jaw,

characteristic of anthropophagus

creatures,

are the indisputable proof

that this is a merely humanoid race,

a race inferior to ours.

A race that is merely

another attempt on nature's part

in its millennial journey

toward its ultimate goal, perfection,

the white race, homo sapiens,

in other words, us.

Excuse me, Professor, are you Jewish?

Yes, of course. Why?

Let's imagine we wanted

to exterminate them.

Fire, gas, deportation?

Oh, no.

It would be enough to refrain

from curing their illnesses.

Remember, a healthy Negro

is a perfect slave.

And an imperfect slave

is a sick Negro.

Sick? With which disease, Professor?

These individuals are afflicted

by a disease called ''draptomania'',

which is an impulse to flee.

It's a nervous disease,

which drives the Negro to flee.

Mind you, not out of a desire

for freedom or a sense of dignity.

Negroes have no such sentiments.

He runs because he is ill.

Oh, here's a perfect case:

in fact, an exemplary case

of that affliction

which we scientists call

African scatopathy.

- Are those muzzles?

- Oh, no! Looks are deceiving.

It's not a muzzle.

It's just an obstacle that stops them

from eating all sorts of garbage,

like dirt and their own excrement.

This may be one of the more repugnant

illnesses found in nature.

I'm sure it's caused by the lack

of some unknown substance.

Look at what extremes they go to.

They have such a fear of work,

and such a desire to do nothing,

that they have tricked their masters.

Look, they're so clever.

They make their legs, arms, feet

or hands drop off,

so they can live of their mutilation.

It seems impossible.

How did they end up like this?

I told you.

To get out of working, they inflicted

some small wound on themselves,

and then gangrene set in,

so the surgeon had to cut off

arms and legs to save their hides.

What are these people doing here?

Aren't they Indians?

Yes, but the Indians are useless.

Between a Negro and an Indian

there's the same difference

as between a dog and a coyote.

You can beat a dog to death,

and he'll go on licking your feet.

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