Even years into the future—decades past the age of slavery, long after the dust of colonialism had supposedly settled—one topic remained capable of igniting a fire in the hearts of Black people worldwide. Whether they lived in the glass towers of Manhattan, the backstreets of Brixton, the hills of Accra, or the bustling streets of Lagos, the mere mention of colonization still struck a nerve.
And it wasn't without reason.
The history lingered. Like an open wound never fully healed, like a ghost that refused to fade. The photos were still there—black and white, grainy, but real—showing men and women with dark skin, eyes vacant or defiant, backs lashed open by whips, chained, auctioned, brutalized. Generations had tried to forget. But how could they, when even today, the echoes of the past had simply taken on new forms?
