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Chapter 12
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(Continued from previous page:) As voters we are capable of inflicting endless pain
on others when we
never have to see the napalmed faces and maimed bodies our high-tech decisions generate.
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In my search for an answer to why we constantly look for an
enemy in our fellow human beings and thus are capable of committing violence
against it, I am struck by the work conditions which stunt us in body and mind.
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Not least in the American south where we passively condone an
almost total absence of labor unions which could protect workers. Rough work
there is still usually done by blacks with white men giving
orders.
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Many blacks have been killed in these sawmills and even more
feet and fingers have been cut off as on these workers.
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They got no compensation and one of them had to be back at his job two days
later in order not to loose it, for as he was told, "there are a lot of hungry
niggers outside waiting to get work."
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Under such conditions the time-clock becomes in the worker's
consciousness just like the crack of the slave masters whip - a symbol of the
persistent violence of our system:
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Traveling in the world of black Americans
inevitably becomes a journey into the soul and the history of every person you
meet.
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In such a journey you begin to understand the traits and tendencies which
were impressed on the souls and entire consciousness of black people by slavery
and how ever since the system has perpetuated and even intensified these
traits.
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Please listen to me carefully
and if I'm wrong then correct me.
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But if I'm right my song do praise,
now let's see if we agree:
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The definition of a slave means one not free entirely
so a slave is still a slave if he can't think independently.
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Poor slave, take the shackles off your body,
poor slave, put the shackles on your mind.
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A tree is still a tree, though it
sheds its leaves when winter comes.
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But it blooms again in spring
for it did not lose its roots at all.
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But a slave remains a slave
without the knowledge of his roots
until he's taught the past
not just some, but all the truth.
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Poor slave, take the shackles off your body,
poor slave, put the shackles on your mind.
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There was a brother the other day
telling me he's feeling high
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but I just sadly had to sigh
for drugs and booze ain't glory,
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and if I had the chance to get high
I would tell the truth and not a lie,
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for the highest high a man can get,
is from wisdom, knowledge and understanding. |
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Poor slave, ease the pressure off your body,
poor slave, put it on your mind...
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