Racial discrimination: What's your take?

 - A woman in the 1950s

“I can't take this any longer, I've had it up to my neck. No! I won't accept defeat this time." Even as this thoughts of defiance streamed through my head, tears ran down my face in rivulets. 

Anne still lay unmoving as she had been for the last fourteen days.  With each passing moment, I think I'm losing it. There's this new sensation flowing through me. It makes me want to go up to the police station or the mayor's office and kill someone. I think it is rage but I can control it. I feel ashamed of myself for thinking such thoughts but I can't help it. I want justice!

“Justice! Justice!” I say between sobs.

I want justice for my husband Richard who was murdered by a police officer with a chokehold. 

When the officer was arrested, he still had the audacity to mutter, “He’s just a black man," and gave me a look, as demeaning as they come. The law clearly thought so too as the charges against him were buried under a pile of paperwork. He was bailed but dismissed only to shut up the Press.

I want justice for Nana and Mary, my neighbour's daughters who were gang raped by a group of teenage white boys. They were caught in the act and while they were arrested, they showed no signs of remorse as they openly snickered at the girls. 

Despite the evidence, the case was swept under the carpet because one of the boys is the mayor's son. Let's not forget that one of the main reasons is the fact that the girls are black.

Now, my sweet baby girl Anne is lying almost dead in the hospital bed. The reason why she's here is almost unbelievable. If I hadn't heard it from Agnes, Anne's best friend who witnessed the incident, I would have said it was all a lie. But, with substantial evidence lying right in front of me, I believe that the level of discrimination against us blacks has almost reached the road of no return.

My Anne is so light you'd probably think she's white without scrutinizing her. She has bright brown eyes and the only feature that would give her away easily is her thick jet-black hair. I recently started work as a maid in an all-white neighbourhood and she came to see me sometimes. I learnt that she was on her way to see me with Agnes, that afternoon when three older white girls accosted and bullied them. 

Anne got it especially bad. The white kids seemed to fear her white features because she looked like them. It made them question their own blood. Agnes didn't see the vehicle approaching but the next thing she saw was the thin body of Anne colliding with a car. One of the white girls had pushed her into the way of an oncoming vehicle! She rushed to help but the white girls stayed back. One of them laughed while another boldly said, “serves you right imposter!" 

They made it to the hospital in time but my baby slipped into a coma. I want justice for my girl and every black family who has been wronged but I fear. I really fear that the struggle might take me away too and leave her to strive alone in this hate-filled world.

Although, this is a work of fiction, blacks were discriminated against like this and even through more brutal methods in the 1950s. If the racial discrimination was this bad then, by how much do you think it has lessened now?

Please share your thoughts in the comment section.

©Ande Joy