An open letter to White people who tire of hearing about slavery when they visit slave plantations: especially Suzanne Sherman.

Having read your letter, I had to take the link back to the original story and The American Conservative. Now I could get a measure of your own restraint in your thorough refutation of his point, that the tours of the two houses mentioned, was somehow imbalanced by the inclusion of the history of the enslaved workforce of these houses. What struck me was the writer’s blindness to the inherent irony in his own argument, for if, as he wished, the tours spoke more of the contribution and formulation of political ideals of the inhabitants of these houses, then these ironies would’ve become immediately apparent. This is a great read.

The Negro Subversive

Dear Ms. Sherman,

When I read your reflection in The American Conservative I was so sorry to hear that you had mistaken the museum at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello for a monument to the Declaration of Independence. This mistake clearly caused much despair to you, and I suspect, to your unwitting children, who later found themselves flung headfirst into the depths of their mother’s folly before a crowd of annoyed weekenders. And so, though it was due to your own mistake, I offer you my sympathy and am glad to hear, for the sake of your emotional well-being, that out of the glare of national attention, on a lesser known property, Jefferson’s Poplar Forest estate, you were able to receive the version of history which you most preferred. For the sake of people like you, if it would not be such a terribly expensive endeavor, mental health professionals might find it…

View original post 1,681 more words

Starman: Life on TrappistOne # 1

There were three stages in BehaviourForum: Initiation, Formulation and Reassembly. When a child left WombHome, it was taken to Initiation. Here, life lessons were taught, washing, feeding, staying healthy, finding a function.

Down on the beach

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/beach/ The beach was packed. The local boys were diving noisily from the rocks beneath the high board. There was a natural, deep pool there when the tide was in and occasionally one of them would answer the jeers of his friends by climbing the ladder and taking the high plunge. She was standing with…Read more Down on the beach

The Tower in my Back Yard

https://scvincent.com/2016/05/05/thursday-photo-prompt-the-tower-writephoto/ I live in the grounds of an old church, St Nicholas of Myra, in The Liberties in Dublin. It dates back to the late 18th century. This is the view out my window, morning or night. I live inside that tower, looking out. I've screamed, shouted, waved and banged my head against the copper…Read more The Tower in my Back Yard

What a mug

https://new2writing.wordpress.com/2016/05/05/maydays-prompt-the-break/ They only make them in plastic now. When I got mine is was a stoneware stein, a heavy vessel for swigging beer. It was a wild, stormy night, near a town called South Euclid, Ohio. The rain pelted down so hard, each dropped bounced back, a foot high and as I descended, on foot,…Read more What a mug