Free The Sugar Planter's Daughter by Sharon Maas Page A

basically, we had all heard the same things before. Resist the white man. We shall overcome. Fight for justice. Words that had become clichés over time, because how are you going to resist when you have to earn a living to put bread on the table; when your overseer is behind you on a horse and carrying a whip (even if he is not allowed to use that whip) or when the lady of the house commanded you to scrub floors on your hands and knees and the pittance she paid you would put crumbs of bread in your child’s mouth? They were all empty words, and they had drawn little reaction from the crowd because we had all heard the same words before, from the same speakers.
    But right now, words were pouring from my mouth and I had no way of stopping them. Where did they come from? Why was I speaking them? They scared me – and yet I could not stop.
    â€˜There is a light within you – cling to that light throughout the darkness! Believe in that light – know that it is always there, even when the darkness is closing in and you cannot see, cannot even breathe! Brothers and sisters, you are precious! Each one of you! Know that! You are diamonds in the dust! Keep the faith!’
    It was as if the crowd arose with one single heart to accept my words, to bathe in them; the cheering was louder than ever before and it was several minutes before I could speak my last words, words that would burst the bubble.
    â€˜Brothers and sisters, thank you, thank you, thank you. I can feel your love and I know we are all joined in that love. But I must tell you one more thing. As of tonight, Theo X is no more. For personal reasons I have decided to retire from People for Justice. Please understand, please forgive me, and most of all: keep the faith. ’

    U tter silence descended on the gathering. For a moment it was as if the crowd was stunned, too shocked to react. But then they did react, and the concerted wail that rose almost coaxed me back to the dais. As I walked away a few people ran up behind me, grabbed my arms, tried to call me back. I shook them off. I could not go back. In fact, I was in tears. There was no return.
    While speaking I had been transported away from reality, a mere mouthpiece for words I had not created, that came from who knows where. Now that it was over the stark reality burst in upon me: I was no more a part of the revolution. The realisation tore me apart.
    I had thought I was making this decision for Winnie: to protect her and my family-to-be. I had seen myself as a rebel, a radical, a revolutionary, a fighter for Truth and Justice – both written with large letters. I was the one who would avenge Bhim’s death – my closest friend, killed in cold blood by my future father-in-law. I was the one who would keep Bhim’s memory alive, and work from my gut outwards to keep his mission alive.
    But as I walked from that dais I knew I was none of these things. It was as if I had been struck down from on high. Smitten by a sword. You are nothing, said a voice from within, you are but a grain of dust. I walked on, weeping, a sense of disintegration, of cracking apart, tearing at my being. Now I was sobbing out loud, sobbing for a dream I could never fulfil: Theo X was dead! How I had revelled in that name, in that image! How I had basked in the sense of my own significance! How I had delighted in the adulation of others! And as Theo X crumbled into dust I wept.
    I walked northwards, and so inevitably I arrived at the sSea wWall. I hoisted myself on to it and stood there, the breeze whipping my clothes and wiping dry my face. I opened my arms to the Atlantic, to the sky and the universe, and screamed, What then? Why now? Who am I? I screamed the words out loud and the wind tore them from my lips. And I closed my eyes and beat my chest as if I would beat the living heart out of myself… and the ocean beat against the shore in indifference, and the full moon sailed above in a vast and starless