An End to Race Hatred

He is a black man. He comes to mow our lawn every week. For many months I felt sure he harbored hatred of the white man, the ruling minority in his—and my—country.

I made every effort to show him kindness, courtesy, and friendliness. I wanted him to know that I cared about him.

The man ignored me. He refused even to greet me. I was unhappy and even annoyed, but I kept on trying. Trying to do what? Trying to make someone respond the way I wanted him to? Trying to make someone love? This is what I asked myself one day.

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Poem
REBUKE
September 16, 1972
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