You are right, I am white and young and I do not understand.
My history is more master than slave, my ancestry more murderer than murdered.
I cannot comprehend what my friends of colour must feel, when our teachers ask about our family trees.
But I will say this, at least you can be more proud than ashamed of your forefathers.
At least your three times great grandfather is heralded for standing up for his people,
And you can be proud of his daughters for surviving.
My great great great great grandfather was a thief of the highest order, he stole an entire generation.
You all live with the pain of oppression, I will not degrade your suffering.
I will carry the cross my predecessors refused to take responsibility for.
That will be passed down to my children and onwards.
How can we forgive ourselves for what was done before our birth?
When we feel so guilt-ridden, so at fault,
When we still smile at our friend, knowing they come from a long line of African slaves.
Of persecuted Chinese miners, of slaughtered natives.
How can they smile back when we descend from those who held the whips on the slave ships, and those who burnt their houses and violated their women.
I am not telling you that what happened to your people was right. We all know now that it was not.
But when you tell me that you still feel the shackles of your people,
I still feel the crimes of mine.