Deborah A. Thomas, Political Life in the Wake of the Plantation
Deborah A. Thomas, Political Life in the Wake of the Plantation
I want to a give a well-sourced answer on this, but I fear that my inbox will continue to pile up if I keep searching for sources that answer this question in the exact way you’re looking for.
I feel quite comfortable in citing tertiary sources in asserting that there were a vast array of professions held by slaves in the ancient Mediterranean, including under the Roman Empire. Chief among these tertiary sources I draw upon are The Other Side of History (a Great Courses lecture series on the lives of common folk) and Wikipedia. My answer is also informed by various other websites and YouTube videos that are too numerous to list and too distance to recall, but have contributed to my general understanding.
Short Answer: My impression is that the the vast array of professions held by slaves would create demand for slave markets that supplied highly differentiated types of slaves, selected and trained for a particular line of work. What you describe sounds completely reasonable to me.
It wasn’t too long ago when they took away my past. I didn’t even own my time right now tomorrow or yesterday. Everything was for sale and everyone wanted to own something that wasn’t theirs.
A few years after deciding my slavery was worth while, the last bits of what remained to be myself became precious commodities.
The first to go was all my traumatic mementos the ones that only make for humiliation. Then all the triumphs but lastly was all the accomplishments.
Where chains of rules are applied
to the limbs of the enslaved
suffering becomes a normative
thought to be superlative
desired above all other joys
the best is based on woe
darkness affirmed as light
the gloom becomes delight
this illusion cast by saints
look to the imps that relate
their glee is proof enough
that few dare call the bluff
rattle the manacles to proclaim
none should live as a slave
bound to rules not their own
tradition tossed of as a yoke.
© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200224.
The poem “Tradition Tossed” is about the suffocation of traditions.
From The People of Wind: A Collection of Poems by Clord Club-Breaker
The people of wind once travelled the plains
Shuffling the grass in their wake
Only taking what was rightful to take
From nature; they showed no disdain,
For the place where they lived in peace.
They moved with the clouds
In their dark grey shrouds.
Made equal from shadows and fleece.
The people of wind were ascetic, till whence
the people of stone
Tried to take what they owned
Then the wind blew fierce in defense .
O, mistake that they made in this foray,
As the hammer came down
From the cities and towns
To strike the wind gone and away
Till the plains soon stood silent
when they bagged up the air
Nor treated it fair
With nay even one chance for repent
For the sin of insubordination
Of blowing directions
Against cities instructions
In dark pits now faced subjugation
The people of wind now howl in caves
They remember little
The greens or the nettle
Of the hills from afore they were slaves
To the whim of the city the wind now works
And for what few stray gusts
May hide still in the brush
The city looks out; waits; lurks.
CW: referenced noncon, slavery, dehumanization, conditioning, training, caning, multiple whumpees, creepy + intimate whumper
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02 was broken by day four.
02 was broken entirely by day five.
That first day, after Exalted had finished explaining, they’d made 02 clean every single room he’d set foot in before his shower, thoroughly. Mistakes, surprisingly, hadn’t been punished, and not deep cleaning the carpet or the walls or the fucking whatever the first try was excused, as long as 02 clearly hadn’t understood just how clean Exalted wanted things. He kept waiting for the pain to rain down, aching skin of his exposed back twitching, each sound of their voice making him cringe, tense as wires.
But it was only when 02 intentionally disobeyed–frustrated by the effort Exalted was expecting, the sheer perfection that he was too exhausted and aching to do–it was only when he angrily shoved away the bottle of cleaning fluid and threw the rag at Exalted’s feet that he heard the telltale shhhhk of the cane extending.
The third time he acted out in frustration and heard that metallic glide, he’d apologized, immediately swallowing his words, but Exalted was true to their word, and punished him for his disobedience. But, he was forced to admit when his shaking hands fumbled and accidentally dropped the scrub brush when he cleaned his own blood and spit from the utility room floor, Exalted did only punish him for disobedience. And he hated it, because he thought about that morning’s lesson, just like they said he would, and genuinely started wondering if they’d meant all that bullshit about consistency, just like they’d said he would.
He knew if he made too many mistakes, it’d be interpreted as willful fucking up on his part, so he wasn’t about to let himself go lax. Exalted was strong for all they didn’t look it. But, as much as he hated it. As much as he loathed them, he had to admit that they were staying true to their word, that first day. Obviously they’d change their tune, but for whatever reason, they were in fact consistent to start. And of course they wouldn’t stay that way, even if they said they would, because 02 wasn’t fucking stupid and he knew better than to expect permanence, but if they wanted to keep up their little charade of consistency. Then. Fucking fine, or whatever. He had no intention of playing into their dumb monologuing but the thought of permanence niggled at him. Just like they’d said in their stupid speech. God, he hated it here.
can someone please suggest a period drama for me that includes at least two black people that aren’t slaves thank you. Cuz I know they have to exist somewhere out there in the void
Look at this boy getting ready and Facetiming his family goodbye one final time. In order to raise money to help out with COVID-19, Shawn himself up to sex slavery, tonight is his auction. Once he steps in that van, he will never be seen again. Better to go voluntarily than forced.