A Conversation Between Caste and Race About Freedom
An Allegory
When I am reading, I daydream. As I was consuming the first 15 pages or so of Caste, I realized how Isabel Wilkerson was creating personas for these two timeless characters, an intimate relationship that needed to be explored. She approaches Caste and Race in a nonfiction format. This piece is my fictional and personified interpretation of Caste and Race in America.
I observed these conversations between the years 1619 and 1787. Over these 150 years or so, a group of false liberators thought they could build their foundation on me. In truth, they partnered with my enemies (unknowingly) because they overlooked an essential piece of building a country. Cleansing. There was never a decontamination process. They had been in a monarchy so long; it contaminated them.
“Father, why was I born?” asked Race.
Race was birthed out of human necessity. A desire for Control and a longing to maintain Caste’s timeless system, resulted in the golden child.
Caste replied, “Son, everyone, and everything in this world has a purpose. Do you see the men convening, in talks of a free country, a great republic?”
“Yes, in the land of the new world. I see them,” remarked Race.
“Now, what if I told you the very thing they fled, a predetermined social order, had already been created in their new land? And, it was formed by their own hand.” Caste wanted to see if his son could recognize his true conceivers.
Confused, Race responded, “I wouldn’t believe you. How could they lose sight of their vision for a free country, so quickly?”
“It’s quite simple, actually. They were faced with a choice. I was disheartened when I learned that the ruminating didn’t last very long. The settlers chose economic stability over the preservation of humanity, slavery.” Caste hoped that his son wouldn’t be too frightened at the sound of the word.
“And what role am I to play in all of this?” Race asked solemnly. Race knew that his role would be enforcement, but he did not know to what extent.
Caste responded. “Son, your life is a protection against my demise. Without you, the virtuous will be able to decipher the complexities of our purpose. They will see that I am the true arbiter and husband of Control because I define who is powerful and who is powerless. Yes, you are left vulnerable. You depend on me for all that you are. But this is how it must be. This is how we survive.”
Now, we find ourselves amid heated debate at the convention. The founders are vehemently battling over how I should be implemented and who I should apply to. Howard Chandler Christy did not depict all those in attendance at the constitutional convention in his 1940 painting. Weirdly, Caste, and Race were overlooked despite playing immense roles. A whisper to Benjamin Franklin, a murmur to Rufus King, a purr to George Washington. I saw it all play out. However, before the document’s ratification, Race pondered heavily.
“But father, why the obsession with Freedom, why not destroy him entirely and allow Control to rule?”
Caste replied with a seemingly contradictory answer. He uttered future words of el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz.
“A man who believes in freedom will do anything under the sun to acquire or preserve his freedom.”
And then Caste spoke in his own words.
“The descendants of these founding fathers will do everything in their power to retain their privilege. The very taste of equality will feel like oppression to them. Their animosity prolongs our existence.”
They were successful. And I, Freedom, have never operated in my true potential, in this new land.
