I often wonder can a people who were enslaved really love their oppressors. Is that really grace and justice?;— or, is that mere foolishness. Love conjures one into an imaging, where imitation becomes an emblem of honor and respect. Therefore, to love your oppressors means you then must assemble some of their characteristics: greed, malice, hatred, strife, selfishness, etc.
I am not being overzealous with my approach, but love is not a flexible concept. It has to be rigid in its function but comfortable in its application. So, a slave master can’t love his slaves and slaves can’t love their slave master. In the case of the slave, it’s simply fear. They mimicked the slave master in order to be invisible. (As I stated earlier, love is about imaging and imitating.) Invisibility, not in the sense of not being viewed, but in the sense of not being seen. Because once a slaved was seen, their humanity was validated, which, subsequently, led to the slave master feeling the need to dehumanize the slave. So, the slave must mimic the characteristic and desires of the slave master in order to survive. Therefore, the functioning of love has no type of comfortability assigned within its bandwidth.
Understand, love never has to concede its function in order to be comfortable, it just is.
Love is a renegade thought in an immoral, uncivilized society. It absolutely makes no sense why Black people should even consider love as an option within a white supremacist system like America. Violence feels like the best response, but violence yields unmitigated consequences usually equating to social death of some form. Therefore, love re-enters, and consumes the room in its revolutionary posture: strong, vibrant, beautiful and protecting, by any means necessary.