I hated the world that wouldn’t let me apply justice without the certain retaliation of injustice.

“And you’re colored,” she said. Norman nodded. “Who can tell?” “Nobody,” Norman said. “Then why do you stay colored?” “Because of my mother. Because of my wife. Because I don’t want to be white. I don’t want to be one of them.” Sammy looked at me. “That’s a pretty good answer.”

oppressor necessarily supposes a victim.

the Bible itself was the least interesting of all. I could not enter it, did not want to enter it, and then understood that I recognized it as a tool of my enemy.

There were those slaves who claimed a distinction between good masters and cruel masters. Most of us considered such to be distinction without difference. I

“But the law says…” “Good ain’t got nuttin’ to do wif da law. Law says I’m a slave.”

“You know where we goin’?” the boy asked. “Ain’t got no idee. But we’s on our way.”

I am called Jim. I have yet to choose a name. In the religious preachings of my white captors I am a victim of the Curse of Ham. The white so-called masters cannot embrace their cruelty and greed, but must look to that lying Dominican friar for religious justification. But I will not let this condition define me. I will not let myself, my mind,

“Dyin’ can ruin a good time.”