Fighting With Words

by Karthik


"No bread for another day if you don't finish those chores", the white man yelled at Ma and me. He whipped me with a belt and kicked us back into work.
We were slaves. Many slaves were sick of being treated this way and planned to attack their Masters. Over the fence was an example of slaves that were driven to the brink of killing. I watched them every day, planning. I felt sorry for them. They were risking their lives for us and they were probably going to die. They were over-confident and didn't think twice. I overheard them that they were going to attack tonight. They were going to first kill their master then band with the other slaves and kill lots of people. Well, that's all I understood. When I was thinking, I forgot about planting the seeds and I heard my master yelling again. Ma quickly hurried me into doing his chores. At around nine o'clock when we had finished the chores, I forgot about the revolt and drifted to sleep.
I woke up to the sound of Ma's voice. I sat up. Ma looked worried and handed me a newspaper. I read it and was stunned. It said that at 10:00 PM yesterday, five slaves killed their master and provoked an angry mob of blacks. Local police were ordered to shoot against the riot and the thirty slaves were dead. All slave owners were asked to keep constant watch on their slaves. I had a mixture of anger and sadness inside me. I was angry at the whites who shot my friends and had sympathy for the slaves. That night I realized that if this would keep going on. slaves would keep revolting and dying until there would be none left unless somebody did something.
I thought of an idea of stealing bombs and stuff and just blow up the city, but once I thought that one through it seemed stupid. The only way to earn freedom is with a non-violent approach. I have seen pictures of Gandhi and heard about non-violence. Then I got a new idea. I got up and snuck into my master’s house. I stole his children’s English books and began to read. All Africans can read English, just not write. I hid under a hay stack and read the book every day. I read faster when more and more people died. I finally was fluent in the art of writing English. I had practiced in the dirt with a stick and felt pretty good. That night I returned the children’s English books and stole a couple of pieces of paper. I went back to the hay stack and went to sleep. The next day I woke up an hour before I was supposed to and started to write with a piece of charcoal. I was going to secretly send this to the mayor and hope for the best.
I wrote,

Dear mayor,
I think slavery is wrong; you should not make someone a slave just because their skin is a different color. You may think that you are better and we are barbaric animals that should be treated like mud. But you are wrong. We have the same blood, heart and brain like you. I speak for a lot of slaves when I say that we deserve the same amount of respect as a regular white man.

I drew a picture of a white man whipping a black man. Then I drew the same picture and scribbled over the white man so his skin was black.

See what difference it makes if your face is covered in charcoal.
From,
A Desperate and Hopeful Slave

Then I wrapped this sheet of paper in the other sheets of paper and wrote "TO THE MAYOR" on it. Then I dashed to the post office and when I was about to drop it in the mail box, a man stopped me and said, "What do you think you are doing, dirt scum?”
I thought fast and said, "Master told me to mail this letter." and acted as stupid as I could. He kicked me out and slapped me, but let me mail my letter. I dashed back to my master's farm and started working on the crops. Ma asked me where I was and told me that I was four minutes late. I mumbled that I was getting freedom. She looked concerned, but didn't say anything. At ten o'clock a wave of excitement rushed over me as I thought about freedom, but then it disappeared as I thought about what would happen if it didn't work. I couldn't sleep until late.
The next day Ma woke me up by shaking me violently and handed me a crumpled newspaper. It read that the mayor is trying to pass a law against slavery after he received a strongly worded letter from a slave. No one knows who sent it, and how he learned to write, but he is very persuasive. It showed a picture of my letter. I told Ma that I wrote that letter with charcoal and explained to her how I learned to write and such. She looked proud of me. I was happy that I had just sent a message to the slaves that a pen is mightier than a sword. Now I hope that the fight for freedom can be won.


Relateds:
- ترجمه اين داستان به دري
- PubKid (more pieces by kids)