Oppressed by Kira Saito Page B

has its
problems, Monsieur,” I said softly.
    He scoffed. “Not as bad as this
disaster.”
    I wasn’t sure how to respond to his
question so I kept quiet and stared ahead at the city that
stretched out so beautifully before us and tried to think of
another topic in order to avoid an argument. placées weren’t ever
supposed to get upset, so I bit my tongue.
    He placed his arm around me and
brought his lips to my ear. “Cecile, these streets are filthy, vile
and a threat to a woman so refined and beautiful as
yourself, non ?
Every day is a struggle. Most are bound by illiteracy, poverty, and
slavery. Even when they say “you’re free” we both know it’s a lie.
That’s not what you want for your children, is it? I have no
illusions when it comes to love- maybe we’ll grow to love one
another and maybe we won’t- but that doesn’t matter. What matters
is I can offer you protection and security in return for your
charming company. Any children you have will never have to worry
about being victims to this mess,” he said, as he dramatically
waved his hand over the balcony. “Where there is vast wealth there
is power, non ?
Everyone understands that.”
    My body tensed at his words and my
shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight had been placed on them. I
glanced at the city’s rooftops and then looked down at its
dimly-lit, muddy streets. I closed my eyes and took in the random
familiar sounds I loved so much, such as the voices of passionate
young Creole men engaging in duels, shrill screams, drunken
laughter, haunting violins playing into the night, and every so
often the wild howl of a distant wolf. Despite my undying love for
the city, I knew that the rich lived in luxury while the poor
suffered, struggled and fought day and night just to make ends,
meet regardless of their race or sex.
    Besides poverty and oppression there was
the constant threat of disease and death, which was everywhere. The
city was notorious for its murders and other horrendously violent
crimes. It seemed as if every day children were trampled by horse
carts, bodies were fished out of the canal, swamps, and river. Wild
and savage cuttings, shootings, and other grisly crimes were a
normal part of day-to-day life, and on top of that there were a lot
of people who mysteriously died because they could not handle the
often brutal climate.
    I was one of the lucky ones and at that
very second I knew I had to think like a rational adult and not a
spoiled child who danced with eccentric, moody spirits. Even if I
had spirit, how was that going to help anything? I had to think
about my future and the future of my children
realistically.
    Rumors of war and revolution
were brewing in the air and every day more and more restrictions
were being placed on gens de couleur libres. Before my very eyes I saw our class
being stripped of our rights and liberties. The rest of the country
did not recognize us as an official class, and in its eyes we were
no different than the common uneducated slave. Only in Louisiana
was our position and positive contribution to society openly
acknowledged, even encouraged, but that was rapidly
changing.
    I couldn’t make sense of why the
government wanted to oppress us since as a majority we were
flourishing as doctors, teachers, merchants, artisans, business and
property owners. More and more of us were quickly acquiring
education and skills that would ensure the security of our own
future and the futures of our children. But the more we rose the
more restrictive laws had started to become. The situation had
become so ugly that it was now a challenge to walk freely through
the city without fear, because even the most respected free person
of color could be whipped, fined, or imprisoned at the whim of a
white person.
    For the most part the upper white class
respected us as long as we “knew our place” and never imagined
ourselves equal to them, while the lower classes feared us;
especially those who did not understand our