The year is 1795. I don’t have a name. I don’t have an identity. I belong to my master. I live in the South. The cotton gin was invented a few years ago. This invention is my nightmare. Because it was invented, all I do is pick cotton all day and part of the night in the fields. If I don’t pick them fast enough, I get a whipping. I don’t want to get married because my life is not really having a life. I know a man who has a wife and children. He was just forced to separate from his wife and children. It is very sad. His children will not grow up with their father. Chances are, his children won’t grow up with a mother. They probably will separate the mom next from her children. That’s what they usually do. I have seen death all around me. I saw a man get lashed and brutally whipped because he dropped his bushel of cotton. I have heard the screams of a woman getting attacked by her master. I have seen young children being murdered because of their color. I have seen it all. I have no name. I don’t feel like a human being. I have no identity. I do my work and try to stay alive. I am better off not having a name; walking through the shadows of the night, while melting in the heat during the day
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Resource for Teachers on Slavery
Since I am an educator, I know that sometimes it can be challenging getting through to our students and helping them to understand material. Students struggle with understanding historical concepts as they may not be able to believe the atrocities of long ago are real. Therefore, I write pretending to be that person from that time period. I try to base it on facts and put a spin on it so that students can understand concepts better. I wanted to share with you a piece I recently wrote, pretending to be a slave. This can be used as a read aloud. You can develop questions for your students based on this reading. If you would like to send me feedback, I would very much like to hear what you have to say.
The year is 1795. I don’t have a name. I don’t have an identity. I belong to my master. I live in the South. The cotton gin was invented a few years ago. This invention is my nightmare. Because it was invented, all I do is pick cotton all day and part of the night in the fields. If I don’t pick them fast enough, I get a whipping. I don’t want to get married because my life is not really having a life. I know a man who has a wife and children. He was just forced to separate from his wife and children. It is very sad. His children will not grow up with their father. Chances are, his children won’t grow up with a mother. They probably will separate the mom next from her children. That’s what they usually do. I have seen death all around me. I saw a man get lashed and brutally whipped because he dropped his bushel of cotton. I have heard the screams of a woman getting attacked by her master. I have seen young children being murdered because of their color. I have seen it all. I have no name. I don’t feel like a human being. I have no identity. I do my work and try to stay alive. I am better off not having a name; walking through the shadows of the night, while melting in the heat during the day
The year is 1795. I don’t have a name. I don’t have an identity. I belong to my master. I live in the South. The cotton gin was invented a few years ago. This invention is my nightmare. Because it was invented, all I do is pick cotton all day and part of the night in the fields. If I don’t pick them fast enough, I get a whipping. I don’t want to get married because my life is not really having a life. I know a man who has a wife and children. He was just forced to separate from his wife and children. It is very sad. His children will not grow up with their father. Chances are, his children won’t grow up with a mother. They probably will separate the mom next from her children. That’s what they usually do. I have seen death all around me. I saw a man get lashed and brutally whipped because he dropped his bushel of cotton. I have heard the screams of a woman getting attacked by her master. I have seen young children being murdered because of their color. I have seen it all. I have no name. I don’t feel like a human being. I have no identity. I do my work and try to stay alive. I am better off not having a name; walking through the shadows of the night, while melting in the heat during the day
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