In the 1800s, Christmas for Black Americans was not a holiday of comfort. It was a controlled moment, tightly managed by those in power, where limited permission was sometimes granted for rest, worship, or gathering.
Joy was allowed, but only temporarily. Freedom was suggested, not given. For enslaved people, Christmas could mean a pause in labor, a visit to loved ones, or a church gathering… but it never meant safety or ownership of time.
This was Christmas before music, before records, before celebration became something that could be replayed. It lived in silence, prayer, and survival. Not because joy was absent… but because expression was restricted.
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