More things change, more they stay the same

Recently I was asked, how my ancestry search was going. I said it was almost ended, at the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. It began with the number 9, that was assigned to a 15-year-old boy, who was sold to the Glenn family, later given the slave name of “DANIEL” (my maternal great-greatgrandfather). From there, my ancestry becomes a percentage, a 36% chance my people came from the Ivory Coast of Africa and a 17% chance we came from Central Africa. Who knows?

Now, you are at it again — years from now, brown children along the southern border of the United States will start a search for their ancestry, it too will end with just a number. Not from places like mine, Prince Edward Island, VA; Charleston, SC, Savannah GA, or New Orleans LA. But from places like San Diego, CA; Yuma, AZ; El Paso, TX, or Laredo, TX. Knowing only that they came from somewhere in South America.

Ironically, my ancestor’s shackles were “CHAINS,” these kids’ shackles is “CHAINLINK!”

The more things change, the more they stay the same. EDWARD MCDONALD Yuma