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Racism stories about Harriet Tubman

My name is Harriet and I'm not dead.
I'm not dead when I found out that the real chains are made of human skin, the most resistant metal in the world.
And I did not die even when I was about to convince myself that there was something right, meaningful, even normal.
In human skin chains.
I'm not dead when I realized how much I was deluded to think that having free hands and feet was enough to have peace.
And I'm not dead when I finally realized that having peace was not enough to get hands and feet free.
I'm not dead when flipping through the pages of the mirror I found a multitude of reasons to feel unworthy of being reflected.

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