I am going to try this again, this disembodied speaking to the world. It still feels like stepping out onto a stage, where I'm about to sing, solo, to a group of people whose vague presence behind the footlights I can sense, but whom I can't actually make out in the glare. There might be . . . one? two? people out there? ... Oh, as my eyes
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Which is... layers and layers. The fouth of July stands for a nation saying that, actually, this was not a good place for them to be. There's an element of freedom, of self-determination in that. And from there spin out endless possibilities and treaties, and manifest destiny. The whole thing frankly makes my head explode, situated in a small nation which through good luck and historical accident shares a language with the United States and with India. Phone and phonosWhen we closed our ports to slaves, and then emancipated the slaves of the Empire, the bicentennial of which is being celebrated over here, there was a complex system of cushioning - slaves were given a finite time of their own, in which their labour, if not voluntary, was ( ... )
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"What to the Slave is the Fourth of July" then reminded me of "What is Africa to Me?" and made me want to trace other black US writers starting work with "What?" because really, yes, what? Such a lovely expressive and challenging kick-off. And possibly, wtf?
As spyinthehaus notes above, there is an enormous emphasis on the End of Slavery in the UK at the moment, when in fact enforced labour (either violently enforced or through really exploitative economic means) is used to produce almost everything, still - as you noted, strawberries, shoes, clean floors. People (well, gits) have been saying the bicentenary of the 'end of slavery' is about national hand-wringing but to me it feels more like a smug-fest.
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I didn't say anything to her, though.
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