Slave Black, Mandingo Black, Cimarron Black, Plantation Black, Ladino Black, Bozal Black, Free Black…

Black, who was brought from Africa against your will, Black, who colored our skin, Strong Black, who gave us our character, Hardworking Black, who gave us strength, Rebel Black, who gave us pride… Black, carrying weight on your back without saying a word.

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You were repressed for centuries, which provoked your most natural expressions. You learned to sing, to make instruments, to plant, and to prepare your own food. They changed your beliefs by imposing new Gods. You left us with a unique cuisine, filled with wonderful flavors, born from the scraps you received from your owners.

 

You made do with little, and with little you continue to live.

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You transformed the perception of the world around you, becoming a driver, a porter, a mason, a farmer, a fisherman, a foreman, a lover of white, Indian, and Black women.

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No laws were written for you; from your hands, our roots were sown, and with your sweat, the seeds of these lands were watered. You were branded with fire, and the carimba was always your cross.

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Black, you were part of our history; you were our defender during the conquest, you died for your ideals, leaving us with that lesson.

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You infected us with your indelible smile, leaving us with joy. Just by making your drums echo, the most beautiful musical notes came out, expressed in your dances, fulías, salsa, merengue, and even jazz and blues. The beat of your pains gave rhythm to your drums.

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Black of San Pedro, Black of San Juan, Holy Black, and Black of the Coast, all together under the same sun, that burning sun that wrinkled your skin.

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Mujé, Hombé, Negó, Cadaca, Vedá, Poqué—those were your words, and they still are.

Black, you were a slave, but today you are no longer one.