Don’t Speak for My Ancestors
Why should my Kurdish ancestor
buy Sub-Saharan African women?
Was he desperate?
Lonely?
Or just waiting to be written
into someone else’s shame?
Don’t you dare wrap him
in the rags of your empire,
don’t assign him your hunger,
your ships,
your chains.
He had mountains.
He had rivers.
He had women who sang
in the same tongue he was born into.
He had no need
to purchase what he already respected.
He had no gold throne—
but he had honor.
If you’re looking for slave buyers,
look to the ports
where sails bore crosses
and silver called itself salvation.
My ancestor did not come
from desperation.
He came from silence
and stone,
from fields where breath
meant more than ownership.
Stop projecting your empire
onto my people.
Stop turning every free man
into a copy of your conquerors.
We had scars—
but they were not from greed.
And if he wanted a woman,
he didn’t buy her.
He spoke her name
in his own language,
or he walked away.