Deathless Divide (Dread Nation, #2)

by Justina Ireland

I do realize that there is a fine bit of irony in the architecture of oppression granting me a measure of peace, but keep in mind I was not always the woman awoken to the dynamics of power I became during my tenure at Miss Preston’s.

Folks are, at their heart, selfish, and anything they tell you is more often than not designed to meet their own goals. I know, because I ain’t any different.

But the problem about starting a new life is you bring your old self with you.

“It’s the American way,” she would say, watching from the porch as another family took up residence at Rose Hill. “You help as much as you can—but no more. You don’t think those founding fathers wrote all those pretty words about independence just to help the poor, do you? The books are right there in the library, Jane. They did it because they didn’t want to pay taxes, to have some king tell them the price of tea. And for that, they went to war, and hundreds of people died. If that ain’t capitalism, I don’t know what is.”

How can we make the world a better place if we are always at odds with one another for every single kind of reason under the sun?

This world may hate the Negro, but that is who I am. I do not care about the story my skin tells. I am a colored woman, and I will not let them make me hate myself.