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“All I really remember is the pain, the unspeakable pain; it was as though I were yelling up to Heaven and Heaven would not hear me. And if Heaven would not hear me, if love could not descend from Heaven—to wash me, to make me clean—then utter disaster was my portion.”

The letter to his nephew shifted my perspective back to the aspect of time because, as Baldwin wrote, it was 100 years of emancipation and it’s been another 63 years since then and the same assertions are still true for the life of a Black person in terms of their fixed positions in society.