All language subtitles for Underground_S02E06

Way each of us see the world
be affected by two things...

what we know...

and what we believe.

The first thing I knew...

was to be afraid of the white man.

To be terrified
of them carryin' me away.

I had two sisters carried away
in a chain gang.

Could barely walk when the
first one, Mariah, was taken.

I was too young to understand

how someone could just disappear.

But I wasn't too young
to feel my momma's grief.

It's clawed at that emptiness
as long as I can remember.

And that's shaped my fear of white men.

And it ain't gone away in all my years.

So imagine how I must feel

starin' out at all of y'all right now.

I grew up like a neglected weed.

Ignorant of liberty,

havin' no experience of it.

Then I was not happy or contented.

And now I been free,

I know what a dreadful condition
slavery is.

I imagine a lot of y'all done
come across Uncle Tom's Cabin?

I've heard it read, and I tell you,

Ms. Stowe's pen hasn't begun
to paint what slavery is

as I've seen it in the far South.

It's the next thing to hell.

If a person would send another
into bondage,

he would, it appears to me,

be bad enough to send him
to hell, if he could.

But I suppose
y'all share that sentiment.

That's why you're here.

We of like mind.

What y'all really came to hear

is how I defied all the odds
and escaped hell.

To tell you how I came to be free,

first you got to understand

what bondage was like for me.

How it attacks the senses.

The sound of it.

The crack of a whip like thunder.

The feel of it.

Like you could
barely take a full breath.

The taste of it, like all
your teeth made of copper.

The smell of it.

The fadin' stench
of everybody sold away.

And the look of it.

Every eye turned down to the ground,

away from the horror.

There were nobody better
at turnin' an eye

than the real Harriet, my momma.

She worked up in the house,

and she was well-versed
in the way of white folks.

How to judge they moods,

how to move through they space
like a spirit,

how to listen and remember secrets

that might be of use later.

Her lessons would be helpful
once I started movin' cargo,

but in the meantime,
I had no use for it.

The last place I wanted to be
was workin' in the house.

But from the moment I could work,

that's where I found myself.

I wasn't no taller than
them chairs y'all sittin' in

when Mr. Cooks came on his horse
one mornin' and took me away.

My massa had hired me out
to him and his wife.

And she was keen
on teachin' me to weave for her.

Problem is my little hands

just wouldn't take
to that woman's lesson,

no matter how hard she nagged.

And she nagged.

"Come on, little nig!
Get that needle through!

"Kick them legs out, you little nig!

Work that loom!"

She would give herself a headache,

but I could never seem to manage it.

Some might say
that was under my own design,

but you'll never hear me say that.

Soon enough,

the mistress got tired
of tryin' to teach me,

and Mr. Cooks tasked me
with checkin' the muskrat traps.

That's right,

somebody know
how terrible a job that be.

But I was workin' under God's roof,

and that's... that's what I preferred.

My body had other preferences.

I got real sick
movin' through them swamps.

Sick enough
that Mr. Cooks sent me back home

after my momma done complain to massa

that I be dead without no lookin' after.

And a dead slave ain't worth nothin'.

I remember thinkin' then
that my momma had won.

That maybe that victory,

no matter how small,

was freedom.

I was soon reminded...

and I constantly would be...

that there ain't
no such thing as triumph

under the conditions of slavery.

Just respite.

Black folk, we know pain.

Known it a long time.

I got more scars on my body
than I can count.

Miss Susan, the next woman
I was hired out to,

she gave me a lot of 'em.

The first day, she told me to
dust and sweep the great room.

No instruction. She just
pushed the broom in my hand

and left me to work.

And when she returned, she
wasn't happy with what she saw,

so she took a rawhide and...

She had me come at it again.

No word 'bout what I done wrong.

I tried my best
to collect every piece of dust.

Even had that thing in my hand,
dusting my own blood.

But when she returned...

I took up that broom once more...

and then again...

I never cried out once.

I wouldn't give Miss Susan
the satisfaction.

That's how I learned to love the pain.

Every time I got hit,

I took it as an opportunity.

For defiance.

To not give anyone
the reaction they expected.

And then I thought, again,

maybe that there was freedom.

But I couldn't reconcile

why somethin' everybody held so precious

come from pain.

There had to be
an easier way to it than that.

One mornin',

Miss Susan and her husband
got into a ugly screamin' match.

While they scream and scream,
I just wait.

My eyes glued on a bowl on the table.

You know what was in it?

Lumps of pure white sugar.

When the mistress' back was turned,

I move real slow.

Reached my hand
right into that sugar bowl.

Took just one lump.

And that old bat must've heard me,

'cause she had the rawhide down,
comin' at me like a storm,

but I gave one jump
out that door, and I flew!

I ran, and I ran.

Sugar meltin' on my tongue.

Nothin' ain't taste so good in my life.

I ran. I ain't know where I was goin'.

I ain't had nowhere to go,
but it didn't matter

in that moment.

'Cause I had just stolen
what joy I could, and that,

that, that felt like freedom!

If you'd asked anybody

about little Minty...

that's what they called me back then...

they'd have told you.

I was the most rebellious thing.

Mischievous, too.

And I took pride in that.

Knowin' they ain't own me in spirit.

And maybe that's
how I ought to have ended up,

findin' freedom on the edges,

were it not for that one thing.

See, there be things
that happen in your life.

If you're lucky, maybe only one thing.

Somethin' that splits your life in two.

A before and a after.

I'm sure most of y'all done heard

this scar got somethin' to do
with my spells.

How it is I just nod off

in the middle of a sentence...

and start right back up again.

I done heard all the stories
about how I came about it.

That I fell 50 feet off a cliff
'fore I climbed my way back up.

That I took a bullet

from a catcher on the outskirts
of a Kentucky farm.

That I fought off six men, armed
with hammers, to a standstill.

Truth be told...

I was worried about my hair.

It's the truth. It wasn't never combed.

Stood out like a bushel basket.

It was so bad, I would take
the grease on my fingers

after dinner
and wipe it across my forehead,

tryin' to tame the wildness.

That's what I remember most
about that day.

I was fussin' with my hair in
the front window of the store,

too ashamed to go in lookin' like I did,

when out of nowhere,

I see a white man chasin' after
one of his rebellious slaves.

And I see his massa raise his hand

to throw a heavy iron weight
at that slave,

and...

I don't remember anything after that.

They told me it struck me in my head.

That's when my "after" started.

In my spells,

my spirit would go travelin',

flyin' to distant lands.

And I heard a voice of someone speakin'

in the language of the old
prophets in its grand flow.

And I didn't understand it at first.

I didn't know what to make of it.

But then I came to understand

it was the voice of Him.

The bringer of all good things.

He was showin' me what was possible.

I thought all my little acts of
defiance added up to somethin',

but they ain't.

And all them people callin' me a rebel

was just as lost as I was.

There ain't no negotiations on freedom.

I was spendin' all my time

knowin' things
instead of believin' them.

And that's the first step
to truly being free.

When you can see past
all the things that you know

and believe in somethin' better.

It ain't easy.

But that's the work that must be done.

I was finally on my way to bein'
what everybody accused me of.

I was ready to be a rebel.

Funny thing is, just
'cause you believe somethin'

don't mean anybody else ready to.

What my scar look like to you?

A bird?

That's what I always thought, too.

And after that day in the store,
durin' my spells,

I would always be dreamin' 'bout flyin'.

Way up high.

So high I could almost touch the sun.

Just soarin' over fields and-and towns

and rivers and mountains.

I believed I was supposed
to be as free as a bird.

But I still knew I wasn't.

I'd gotten a small measure of it
by convincin' my massa

to let me hire myself out.

Find my own work on my own time.

My daddy was a timber inspector.

And like old Sojourner,

I could work just as hard as any man.

Even found myself one to marry.

John Tubman.

All that gave me some small
comfort for some time,

till I fell sick one winter,

which I sometimes do.

And when Massa Stewart got word,
he started lookin' to sell me,

as he sometimes do.

So from Christmas till March,
I worked as I could,

and I prayed
through all the long nights.

I groaned and I prayed for ol' massa.

"Lord,

"convert massa.

"Lord,

change that man's heart."

I prayed all day and night

for a heart in my massa,
until the first of March.

And all that time,
you know what he was doin'?

He was still tryin' to sell me.

So I changed my prayer.

"Lord, if you ain't never
gonna change that man's heart,"

"then kill him, Lord,
and take him out the way."

Not a week passed, and massa was dead.

Died just like he lived,
an old bad and wicked man.

I'd give all the world
full of gold, if I had it,

to bring that poor soul back. I would.

But I could pray for him no longer.

'Cause I knew then that the Lord
wasn't just speakin' to me,

He was listenin'.
This be a conversation.

And I knew he was prepared
to give me anything I needed,

and I ain't want to waste it,
not on no man

who ain't deserve it or on myself,

'cause of the guilt weighin' my soul.

You have to be intentional
with your aim,

'cause he will provide.

And from that moment on,
I knew what my intention was.

I aimed to escape.

Now, I knew it wasn't gonna be easy.

The backwoods of Maryland
be uneven and hard goin'.

And after massa's death,
everybody was scared.

That's how it is in the South.

A white planter's death
always comes with sells.

And since me and my brother
was already lined up

and massa's debts was bein' called in,

the mistress was lookin'
for somethin' easy.

So I believed we had to go then and now.

But what I say earlier?

Just 'cause you believe somethin'

don't mean anybody else ready to.

My brothers had their doubts.

So I convinced 'em to run.

That was my first mistake.

It was a Saturday night.

Ain't nobody be watchin' you on His day.

You could get a good head start.

But the moon was
shinin' bright that night.

With our long shadows,

looked like eight of us
was runnin' 'stead of four.

We ain't gone but a mile,

and them boys start arguing
over which way to go.

One say this way,
the other say that way.

And next thing I knew,

them boys was talkin' 'bout
turnin' around.

Ain't but a mile,
and they was ready to give up.

I meant to keep on,
but they dragged me back.

And that was the last time
I convinced anybody to run.

That freedom fire, that ain't somethin'

that can be stoked in someone else.

And embers ain't enough.

I seen a wildfire once
when I was younger.

I stood right at the edge of it
with my daddy.

I stared at it for a long time,

and still I barely got the words
to describe it.

The heat, the hum of activity,

the relentless power
of them flames consumin'

everything in its path.

That's how you got to burn
for freedom... wild-like,

ready to scorch any doubt in your path.

'Cause that's what it's gonna take.

My brothers didn't have it,
not yet, but I did.

And wasn't nobody gonna stop me
at that point.

This time, I was gonna go at it alone.

Well, that-that ain't exactly true.

I-I spoke to Miss Leverton.

Her husband owned the mill nearby,

and they were known abolitionists.

I asked for her help,
and she gave me directions

to the first safe house on my journey.

But that first step
off the plantation...

that'd just be me.

I walked out into the unknown,

heading to a place
I'd only heard about in stories:

Pennsylvania.

I wish I could say nothing's
harder than that first step,

but... all of them be hard.

I made my way along creek beds,
pickin' waterways over roads,

followin' the North Star
when I could see it,

taking help all along the way
whenever it was given.

I got through Maryland with ease,

Delaware with a little less.

I listened to the Lord's voice
guidin' me,

protectin' me from danger.

When it was near,
it would always come...

like a flutter in my heart.

I knew he wouldn't lead me astray.

And then, finally...

I crossed the line.

I was in Pennsylvania.

I looked at my hands...

see if I was the same person.

There was such a glory over everything.

The sun come like gold through the trees

and over the fields.

I felt like I was in heaven.

I had crossed the line.

I...

I was free.

But there was no one to welcome
me to the land of freedom.

I was a stranger in a strange land.

My home, after all,
was down in Maryland,

'cause my father and mother,

brothers and sisters and friends
was all there.

But I was free. And they should be free.

I believe that.

I'd make a home in the North

and bring 'em there, God helpin' me.

I prayed then.

I said, "Lord",

"I'm-a hold steady on to you,

and I know you'll see me through."

I was goin' back.

By the time I did, the activity...

the activity in the capital
had shifted the ground

from under us.

And nowhere was safe
in these United States

for me or mine.

Mr. Douglass could always speak
on the Fugitive Slave Act,

the Bloodhound Law, better than I could.

He'd say something like...

"Your lawmakers from up high

"have commanded
all good citizens to engage

"in this hellish sport
where the fugitive slave

is but game."

Any of y'all know him,

don't you dare tell Fred I did this.

He'd chastise me at our next meetin'.

"There isn't anywhere safe
in these United States"

"for the fugitive slave."

"The whole armory of Northern
law has no shield for you."

"In fact, the point of its sword
is at your neck."

He right.

This law change everything.

Wasn't no more solid ground to stand on.

Not but a year after I escape.

A year.

Felt like longer.

I had a terrible ache
where family should have been.

It felt like I had fallen
into that empty space

my momma's grief clawed at.

I took her name to keep her close

and to become the woman
that swept floors and cooked.

Housework,

or domestic work as they call it
here in the North,

I... I took it any way I could find it.

Can you believe that?

I ran all the way North

to become the very thing
I ran so hard from as a child.

But that's the way of it...
sometimes you got to

circle back on it
to see how different you be.

And it was different.

Knowin' I ain't had no rawhide
on the mantle waitin' for me,

I swept and dusted

with a glad heart and a willin' hand.

It be the first work

where the reward be entirely my own.

Ain't no massa with an open hand
to rob me of it.

But the most important thing
was I had a purpose:

To get my kin out of bondage.

By any means.

Ain't nothin' can't be endured
when you got a purpose.

I'd dust every inch of the North
if it'll help me rescue mine.

And that's what I set out to do.

In every hotel and home
that would have me.

At the time,

I didn't know where to begin
my pursuit to rescue my kin,

but I knew I'd need money
to pull it off.

And I'd need a plan.

My own escape was too impulsive.

It was a risk worth takin'
when it was just my life,

but it wouldn't stand
when it come to others.

I'd need a route back.

And somewhere in the middle
of a most hostile territory

to hole up in while I got word
to my kin somehow.

And all that's just the gettin' there.

'Member how I said earlier?

He will provide?

He will.

But you got to do your part.

So I began a pattern

that I would repeat
for many years after.

Workin', plannin',

and waitin' on the dark months.

December, January, February.

The nights are longer,

and the chill got most huddled
by the fire inside they homes.

That's the time

when you can slip
across state lines unseen.

And I'd acquainted myself

with the black folks workin'
the boatyard along the Delaware.

They kept me in contact
with the eastern shore.

I'd need to know the coming and going

if I was lookin' to come and go.

It was through a bondsman
in that boatyard that I got word

my niece Kessiah and her chillun

were being set to be sold on the
steps of the county courthouse.

I went to Baltimore straightaway

so I could better communicate
with Mr. Bowley.

That was Kessiah's husband.

Bein' a freeman, he could bid
on the family at auction.

The day of the auction came.

I was 100 miles away in Baltimore.

Prayin'.

Waitin'.

The dread I felt that day
was somethin' powerful.

Though that rescue was successful,

and the one after that,

I knew I couldn't sit back anymore

and pull strings from afar.

Too many things could go wrong.

I'd have to go all the way back.

That'd be the best chance.

And yes, I was scared.

But I started with this idea in my head.

There's two things I got a right to:

Death...

or liberty.

One or the other I mean to have.

No one will take me back alive.

I shall fight for my liberty.

And when the time come for me to go,

the Lord will let them kill me.

So I set about preparin' to head back

for the first time.

To a place I'd call home

as long as any of my kin
still live there.

My singular aim:

To bring my husband back.

I decided I'd take a boat
down the Chesapeake,

retracin' the route
my niece's family had taken.

I'd holed up 'bout eight miles
from Caroline County,

where I'd lived with John.

Now, I wouldn't go to him.

I decided I'd send word
with someone I could trust

and let him know
I'd come to take him North

and wait for him to come to me.

That was the safest way
I could figure it,

and that way ain't failed me since.

There ain't much
that surprises me these days.

But findin' out John
had taken up with another woman

in my absence...

that was hard.

Hearin' that they was livin'
as man and wife

in the same home we had.

Knowin' I'd come all that way for him,

and he refused to come back with me.

I was hurt.

I was angry.

And jealous.

I wanted to run to
his house... my house...

and make all the trouble I could.

But how foolish it was just for
temper to make mischief.

If he could do without me,
I could do without him.

And just like that,
he dropped from my heart.

But the Lord had a reason
for that betrayal.

He was tryin' to show me somethin'.

That I was thinkin' too small.

While I was waitin' for John,

some others heard that I was there,

and they had come to me
and asked me for my help.

See, I'd only been thinkin'
about me and mine.

And that ain't good enough, not for him.

I had the means
to help those who came to me.

And so help I would.

I led 11 souls to freedom that trip.

Didn't stop in Philadelphia, either.

Took 'em all the way to Canada West.

The North wasn't safe no more.

I couldn't trust my people
with Uncle Sam.

The ground keep shiftin' beneath us.

And so it was from then on.

I wasn't married to no one
but the cause.

I'd make another trip South.

And another one.

Always alertin'
other black folks to my presence

by walkin' the back trails

near the slave quarters, singin'.

After folks heard that,

word of where and when
I was headin' North

would spread quickly.

And I'd keep to it, no matter what.

If you ain't there,
you was gon' be left behind.

And I had my gun with me
so that anybody with me

ain't turn back.

I done led countless souls
in they flight to freedom.

Each one a testament of the path
that he has shown me.

And in his own time,
the giver of all good things

give me what I want.

The kin whose love
had been the only balm

in my days of bondage be free now.

I done got what I wanted.

But maybe it ain't what I need.

I know the work I do,

th-that a lot of us do
in this room is important.

But I'm startin' to believe
it ain't enough.

That first day at Miss Susan's,

takin' a beatin' and keepin' at it,

she had me clean the parlor

'cause her sister was comin' to call.

Miss Emily was her name.

And when she saw me barely standin',

welts all up my arm, neck and face,

somethin' must have broke
in her heart, just a little.

She took pity on me.

Told me what I was doin' wrong.

See, I'd sweep,
then I'd dust right away.

Wasn't givin' no time
for the dust to settle.

So all my hard work was comin' undone.

That's the way
I been feelin' these days.

Can't get no sleep.

And it ain't just my momma's complainin'

about the Canadian cold
every night, either.

When I do sleep...

there ain't no dreamin'
of flyin' no more.

My feet be firmly planted on the ground.

I'm always in a wilderness
sort of place, with...

all full of,
full of rocks and-and bushes.

And up from behind one of them
rocks, a serpent rises up.

It don't scare me.
I just be standin' there.

And as it rises higher and higher,

its head becomes the head of a old man

with a long white beard.

I ain't got no idea who this man is,

but he be gazin' at me wishful-like,

as if he got somethin'
of grave importance to tell me.

But he just can't,
he can't seem to form the words.

And then two more heads
come out of his body.

And those be the faces of younger men.

I ain't know them, either.

And that old man's eyes
hold steady onto me.

What he want from me? I don't know.

Then, out of nowhere,

a crowd of men come out,
and they rush the serpent,

and they strike down
the two younger heads

and then the old man's.

And still, I-I'm just
standin' there, watchin'.

That old snake man's gaze stay on me.

And it ain't like he lookin' at me.

He lookin' through me.

I ain't know what this was foretellin'.

And I still ain't exactly sure.

But I got some small understandin' of it

after a unexpected meetin'

earlier this year in St. Catherine's.

A visitor come to my door.

And you know what I saw
when I opened it?

I saw an old man
with a long white beard.

And a wishful look in his eye.

Like me, he had been known
by many names.

The most fittin' I could see
be "Captain Brown."

No doubt that you've heard of him

and his exploits
as a friend of the cause.

He's no friend.

- He's a murderer.
- The Captain is the future of this fight.

Mr. Brown and his methods

are too extreme.

And his methods get results.

His methods give all of us a bad name.

Everyone, stop.

We're here

to hear Harriet speak.

So let her speak.

It took me some time

to line up my thoughts on the Captain.

Here was this white man,
standin' before a room

of black folks
who had all been in bondage,

tellin' us that he was ready
to take up the cause

of a race that was not his own.

He ain't know
the cripplin' grip of slavery.

He ain't know the intractable
will of the slaveholders.

And everything I knew told me
no white man would be willin'

to risk his own blood
for black folks' freedom.

But the Captain would,

and he already had.

His son bled with Kansas.

Died in the Pottawatomie massacre.

So every time I thought on it,

everything that confused me about him

built my admiration for him.

I only know two other men
ready to sacrifice their sons:

The prophet Abraham

and the one who done
ordered that sacrifice.

The Captain spoke

of the conspiracy of the slave power.

He shared my disdain for abolitionists

who are unable to take
direct action against it.

That thing I felt...
that dust that wouldn't settle...

he had it, too.

Except he had a name for it.

War.

When he spoke it,

he spoke it quiet, like a... a prayer.

And ain't that it?

Ain't a prayer just a plea?

A hope.

A desire to believe
there's somethin' better

on the other side of it.

And don't we all want better?

War.

The more he said the word to me,
the more sense it made.

Slavery ain't just a sin,
it's a state of war.

Profitin' off the bodies of others.

Rapin' the bodies of others.

Killin' the bodies of others.

Those are all acts of war.

Been that way since the dawn of man.

And we ain't been
callin' it that because

there's a nationwide conspiracy
workin' against us...

a conspiracy, as the Captain called it,

of slaveholders actively at war,

workin' hard to make it seem
the way of things.

They pass it on
to their sons and daughters.

They strengthen it through government.

They justify it through religion,

callin' it Christianity.

That ain't my Christianity.

Callin' it God's will.

That ain't my God.

Down South,

they got men-stealers for ministers,

women-whippers for missionaries,

cradle-plunderers for church members.

It's the most blasphemous of frauds.

Mr. Douglass said that last part,

and it's somethin' we all agree on.

The Captain is steadfast
in his conviction.

And I have no doubt
he's willin' to die for it.

I don't intend to die for the cause.

I will.

To give up oneself... that be vital.

It's the act of every saint and martyr.

John the Baptist.

Joan of Arc.

But Minty of Dorchester

just don't have the same
ring to it, does it?

I want to live a long and full life.

I'm tired of livin'
under the threat of death.

Violence with no cause is brutality.

That's the way of the slaveholder.

But beatin' back against
those tryin' to kill you...

that's hope.

That's prayer.

That's believin' you will live
a long and full life.

War.

Trust me,

I don't want to go there either.

But it's where we be.

In the last year, by my estimation,

I done helped over 50 souls
find their way North.

I know I'm doin' the Lord's work.

I know we is changin' lives.

But I also know
the world ain't changin'.

I believe it's got to.

We all here 'cause
we believe it's got to.

But we...

all here... talkin' to each other.

Right now we ain't out there
changin' it, are we?

We here, in Philadelphia,

this shinin' city
that I heard of from afar,

that I thought might be heaven
when I arrived,

where freedom rings like that bell.

But how many white folks rioted

when the fugitive slaves
moved too close?

How many Yankees we pass
in the streets every day

in their suit jackets and petticoats

made of the cotton
that done bloodied the hands

of half this country?

We call ourselves abolitionists.

But we ain't abolished nothin'.

So much of our breath be spent
arguin' over methods

that it overshadows the purpose.

We speak of the cause with such fervor,

yet we see no effect.

A passionate debate
about action is important,

but it should never be mistaken
for action itself.

As we fight amongst ourselves
on how to defeat the enemy,

the enemy takes more ground
in this war every day,

from ballot boxes to breedin' farms,

marchin' in lockstep against us,
while we bicker

over what song our fife
and bugle should play.

We make enemies of ourselves

over of a deep fear of the real enemy,

a fear borne of
the daunting odds of us winning.

Yeah, winning this war is tough.

Tough, but not impossible.

I've witnessed firsthand the heroism

and feats accomplished

by our network of abolitionists
in name of the cause.

Our numbers... our numbers have grown,

as has the power of the Underground.

But we got a ways to go

to meet what is required in this fight.

The work everybody in this room
been doin' is good.

It's important.

But it ain't enough.

You may think it is.

You can think it is, 'cause you free.

Nothin' be expected of you.

And nothin' is to be gained
for you and yours

from the abolition
of this wretched institution.

This line of thinkin', though
it lightens your burdens,

it can be akin to apathy.

I've felt it myself,
bein' free in the North.

I can be guilty of similar thoughts.

Them runs down South can be hard
on the body and the spirit,

and I ain't gettin' no younger.

Neither are my parents,
livin' with me now,

needin' me to provide for them.

All I done?

I believe it be enough.

I can believe it 'cause I'm free.

But Captain John's visit

reminded me of somethin' I learned

when I was that
troublemakin' little girl.

There ain't no negotiations on freedom.

Big or small.

There ain't no compromises

or no half measures that mean anything,

not to those in bondage.

And not for any of us either.

'Cause a country built on bodies

will always need more for the slaughter.

As long as slavery stands,
ain't none of us,

no matter hue, man or woman, be free.

And if you refuse to see
the chains that we all wearin',

then you livin' in a dream,

and the rest of us are sufferin'
in the real world 'cause of it.

I'm sure you all came here

to hear the horrifyin' stories
of brutality

and the triumphant tales of courage.

When Mr. Still asked me to speak,

he told me all I needed to do
was tell my story.

But my story ain't over.

And it ain't my own.

Our action,

and our inactions,

changes the course of things... all us.

Me?

I aim to continue to act.

And it seem to me Captain Brown's path

be the only way left for me to travel.

I done talked a lot about
what my momma taught me,

but my daddy taught me
a lot of lessons, too.

He showed me every
which way to fell a tree,

dependin' on its lineage or condition.

He taught me there ain't no tree
that could best a axe

in the right hands,
no matter how strong its trunk,

no matter how long it's been there.

And he taught me
about plantin' seeds, too.

An acorn, hard as a rock when it fell,

would be swallowed up
by the ground, cracked open,

in what may seem like
a violent act of destruction.

But that be growth, too.

The acorn must come completely undone

in order for new life to emerge.

And I admit,

as I stand here
at the start of a new path,

lookin' forward...

I'm feelin' somethin' like
what my brothers must have felt

all them years ago.

And I'm prayin' to him
for that wildfire in me

to burn away all doubt.

And if Captain Brown's prayer
ain't yours...

if you don't have it in you

to take up arms against the injustice,

then you got to pray another prayer.

And you got to walk in it
with conviction.

He will provide,
but you got to do your part.

You got to find what it means
for you to be a soldier.

Beat back those that are tryin' to kill

everything good and right in the world,

and call it makin' it great again.

We can't afford to be just
citizens in a time of war.

That'd be surrender.

That'd be givin' up our future
and our souls.

Ain't nobody get to
sit this one out, you hear me?

Synced & corrected by -robtor-
www.addic7ed.com.