The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER THREE

All the slaves' public housing apartments are clustered on a very famous street, at the corner of the main avenue in that part of Brooklyn. A Revolutionary by the name of Freetown had been assassinated there during the 20s. In his honor, all the slave living areas in the United States' cities bear this name. Freetown Doe was the head of the FreeRush Movement, and his disappearance, put on account of some Masters-Avengers, had turned his ideology into a more extreme and aggressive legacy. When my parents joined their ranks in 1998, the FreeRush Movement's claims were already qualified as radical.

To discredit his supporters and give a justification to his murder, Malcolm X Doe had been accused of being a member of FreeRush, just as recently, it was claimed that George Floyd Doe and Breonna Taylor Doe were active members of FreeRush and the BLM.

In order to access Freetown, it is necessary to pass through one of the rusty porticoes adorned with the infinity-shaped slaves' symbol, guarded by some Activists who have here usurped the police's function. The tension between our under-race and this organ of the government, in particular, made the cohabitation impossible.

The officers come to Freetown only with their immutable prejudices; their brutality. Aligning themselves with the threats and methods of the Masters-Avengers, they sometimes visit the gates to discourage the Activists — citizen actively involved in the fight to change the Constitution in favor of the Abolition of slavery, campaigning for better conditions in the Freetowns, and giving time to help in different ways. The term "Activist", dating back from the Civil War, was used as a qualifying adjective of the North's Union. However, just like when the motto "Black Lives Matter" was the first pronounced to be countered by slogans such as "All Lives Matter" or "Blue Lives Matter," the response to the Activists, by some Masters, was the Masters-Avengers.

Despite the late hour, the Activists are already at their post when I arrive on the street. I do not recognize the one who, after a swift glance at my left arm, lets me sneak through the entrance; his worried look quickly returns to the direction which I came from. He nervously pulls at his blue coat, that stops at his left shoulder, as if it could make it longer. I thought that I was not being followed, but noises seem to be approaching us.

"I can call someone," I try, not convinced that the few slaves whom I see around would want to intervene.

With a nervous gesture, he summons me to leave, and his lamp points at a fixed face suddenly emerging from the darkness. The eyes riveted on me come closer, while other silhouettes appear behind the woman.

"Go, now!" the young Activist yells, waving his lamp in my direction.

It would be of little use against the three baseball bats that his opponents are shaking happily.

But they will not do anything to him, no. They are waiting for the slaves. The tattoo of the Americans, that they share even with this absurd Activist, too different from ours, makes us recognizable. Our chains, which are too noisy, are like baits. They do not dare to march on Freetown and wait to pick us up in the nearby streets. At this time of Sunday, the neighborhood is saturated with Masters-Avengers, and the slaves have to trick their way into or out of the street.

As American citizens steeped in hatred, armed by fear, the Masters-Avengers have taken refuge in the ultimate belief that we are a sub-race. This goes beyond the idea of standing above us. We are for them a peril to humans. A stain, a crime, an enemy for whom the only answer is extermination. COVID-19 has made us dirty and unfit, contributing to the spread of mediocrity.

No matter how hard Marvel tried to distance itself from them, the Masters-Avengers popularized their names and motives as Avengers of the real citizens against our presence on this Earth.