Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”— Martin Luther King Jr.
Freedom has always been messy. But it seems that the oppressor’s greatest offense is not the pain they inflict but the way the oppressed dare to fight back. Throughout human history, black and brown victims of oppression have been told how they should fight for their freedom—and more often than not, it should be in a way that fits the comfort and narrative of those doing the oppressing.
When enslaved people rebelled, white society was horrified by what they labeled as “savagery.” But what they failed to see—or conveniently ignored—was the savagery they themselves unleashed upon those very people. The chains, the rapes, the brutal killings, the whips, the brutal labor, the ripping apart of families, and the systematic stripping of humanity were somehow acceptable. But the moment the oppressed fought back, they became the monsters.
This hypocrisy is nothing new. We’ve seen it repeated time and time again, all over the world. When indigenous people fought to reclaim their lands, their freedom, they were called terrorists. When colonized nations revolted against imperial powers, they were branded as violent insurgents. Oppressors always seem baffled by the fact that the oppressed will not quietly endure forever. They cannot accept that on the path to freedom, acts of defiance—even acts that make them uncomfortable—are inevitable.
For generations, black and brown people were expected to endure unimaginable cruelty—to accept their lands being stolen, their cultures being erased, and their futures being stolen from them. They were told to bring children into a world that offered no hope, no opportunity, and no dignity. And through it all, they were expected to stay quiet, to keep their heads down, and to never disrupt the system.
But how much someone is supposed to endure? How much dehumanization can one absorb before they fight back? While the oppressed are told to endure everything, the oppressors won’t even tolerate the slightest inconvenience. They can’t handle it if their coffee order isn’t exactly how they requested, yet they expect entire communities to accept lifetimes of brutality, systemic inequality, and erasure.
How ironic that those who built empires on stolen land and enslaved labor find it so shocking when their victims dare to resist—and even more so when they resist fiercely. Freedom, it seems, must be polite, sanitized, and non-threatening to be deemed valid. But history shows us that freedom is rarely, if ever, handed over peacefully. It is taken. It is demanded. It is fought for, in ways that are not always neat or palatable.
When black and brown people march, riot, resist, and rise, they are reclaiming their dignity. They are saying, “Enough.” They are refusing to ask for permission to be free. And that, perhaps, is what makes the oppressor most uncomfortable—the realization that they no longer hold the power to dictate the terms of someone else’s liberation.
Freedom is not a gift. It is a right. And it does not come neatly packaged to fit the comfort of those who denied it in the first place. So don’t tell me how to fight for my freedom. Don’t police my anger, my grief, or my defiance. Don’t tell me to wait for a better time, a better method, or a better way. Because freedom has never been neat, and it has never come without a fight.
Just me thinking out loud this Sunday morning.
With all my love,
Salima