Gamble Mansion

 Gamble Mansion

When you have hope, you will always be a little naive, because you’re believing the best of people, even despite what you’ve seen—what you’ve seen around you continuously. You’re hoping, looking, for a different outcome.

It was a shock, like an unsuspecting punch to the chest. 

Gamble Mansion, a restored plantation home. I was interested in touring it, expecting admission of wrongdoing, appropriately given accolades to the thousands of those from the African Diaspora for their forced service and artistry in architecture and crafting—everything our country loves to indulge in nostalgia over, while forgetting their creators.

But the site proudly proclaimed its ownership by the daughters of the confederacy. It spoke of the plaque of honor for the confederate general who owned the estate and fled in the face of Union soldiers. 

I was shook to my core. Completely caught off guard. 

Tears began coursing down my cheeks, surprising me in their speed and continuance.

I let them come.

I let them come for my ancestors.

I let them come for my community.

I let them come for me.

I thought of all the people that look like me—suffering.

I thought of all the people who look like me—-suffering as they have to tolerate a gleaming edifice of support—-support of a mindset opposed to them. A mindset unwilling to change and consider the depths of depravity their ancestors caused to scores of people. 

People still suffering as a consequence of greed and unfounded hate. That same greed that feeds into the manufactured hate that keeps their pockets overflowing and their reputations’ elevated—-elevated above another group of people.

It was first causally pointed out to me by my boyfriend’s mother, whom I know thinks of me affectionately. 

Yet what a discord there is in our minds if we can love one person of a particular background—but fail to realize you don’t love them if you don’t love all their people just as affectionately.

What a discord in thinking,

if we fail to see the pain of the past is still with us today, when unaddressed.

What a discord in our thinking,

if we fail to realize that emblems of hate, will always emanate the emotions they were intended to, no matter the decade or century or two.

What a discord in our thinking,

 if we fail to accept we cannot have change

 We cannot have change if we don’t correct our history’s narratives. 

Before unity can occur, inclusion— starting with the past, must be initiated, as the solution.


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