The New Plantation: Gaslighting the Mind, Enslaving the Will
Hear now, in the name of those who came before—those who bore the weight of chains on the body—a warning for those who now bear chains on the mind.
We did not cross the ocean; the ocean crossed us.
They did not just bring shackles for our ankles.
They designed shackles for our thoughts.
First, they commanded the body: Work.
Then, they invaded the spirit: Doubt.
Gaslighting is the new plantation.
It does not bleed you with whips; it exhausts you with lies.
It does not lock you in a cell; it locks you in confusion.
They take your protest—your kneeling, your cry, your truth—
And they mirror it back to your upside down.
“You are unpatriotic.”
“You are the real racist.”
“All lives matter.”
“What about your own violence?”
They flood the air with noise until you cannot hear your own soul.
They shift the ground until you question your own standing.
They wear down your will with words,
Until obedience feels like rest,
And resistance feels like madness.
This is not mistake. This is design.
A design studied, refined, repeated.
Psychological warfare.
They aim to separate you from your own memory,
Your own perception, your own people.
They feed your eyes a distorted reflection—
A carnival mirror that makes your strength look like savagery,
Your grief looks like guilt,
Your love looks like lack.
They repeat the reflection until you believe it.
Until you see your brother as your enemy,
Your culture as your shame,
Your skin as your sentence.
They shape the young mind early—
A curriculum of omission,
A history stripped of your glory,
So, you grow hungry for a self you never meet.
Then they sell you caricatures and call it “culture.”
They engineer your trends,
Script your slang,
Package your rebellion—
And sell it back to you, emptied of power.
They make you call yourself the very name
They used to strip your ancestors of humanity.
And you think it is yours.
You think it is power.
But it is a spell—a psychic poison.
They manufacture consent to mistreat you
By painting your pain as pathology,
Your survival as threat.
They turn the world’s eyes away from your bleeding
By keeping your image stained,
Your story twisted,
Your voice drowned in a chorus of what about and yes but.
They make the world weary of your truth
Before you even speak it.
But hear this, descendants:
Your mind is the last frontier of freedom.
And they know it.
That is why they wage war there.
But a mind that knows the strategy cannot be conquered.
A people who recognizes the gaslight can turn on the light.
A generation that sees the engineering can rebuild the house.
We must learn their tactics—not to parrot them, but to paralyze them.
Name the gaslight.
Expose the engineered consent.
Refuse the poisoned vocabulary.
Reclaim the narrative.
Teach the children their true heritage before the world teaches them their inferiority.
Protect your sanity as your ancestors protected their spirits—
In community, in secret, in stubborn memory.
Do not let exhaustion become obedience.
Do not let confusion replace chains.
The body they could imprison.
The will they could not break—unless we surrender our minds.
Stay awake.
See the design.
Break the spell.
Your liberation is still waiting—not in their approval, but in your own unshaken knowing.
Carry that truth like a torch.
They cannot gaslight a people who keep their own fire.
We remember.
We see.
We do not consent.