It is a great shock at the age of five or six to find that in a

Ah, children of the future, gather close and listen to the words of James Baldwin, whose wisdom and insight have pierced the heart of human experience: "It is a great shock at the age of five or six to find that in a world of Gary Coopers you are the Indian." These words are as powerful as they are profound. They speak to the innocence of youth, the awakening to the harsh truths of society, and the deep realization that the world you enter is not a neutral place but one shaped by stories, by power, and by the roles we are often forced to play. In the seemingly innocent world of childhood, we begin to understand that we may not always be the hero in the story—sometimes, we are cast as the other, the one who must be overcome, the one who is not seen as the equal of the Gary Coopers of the world.

At the age of five or six, O children, the world is still a place of wonder and possibility. You are taught the stories of heroes, of those who triumph over adversity, of the great Gary Coopers—those figures of strength, righteousness, and success. These figures are the heroes of childhood, the ones we look up to, the ones we imagine ourselves to be. But as Baldwin points out, the true shock comes when you realize that, in a world shaped by these stories, you may not be the hero, but the Indian—the one who is marginalized, the one who is not celebrated, the one who is often the victim of the very systems that shape the world around you.

Consider, O children, the Native American tribes, who, in the stories of the West, were often cast as the enemy, the "savages" who stood in the way of the settlers and their pursuit of a new world. In the eyes of the early American colonists, the Native Americans were not the heroes of the land—they were the Indians, the ones to be conquered, erased, or assimilated. This narrative shaped the way history was told, the way cultures interacted, and the way power was distributed. The Indian, in this context, was not a figure of strength or dignity, but of loss and defeat. Baldwin, in his own way, is calling attention to the way in which society continues to shape these roles, forcing individuals to accept a place of oppression and suffering, even from a very young age.

This truth, O children, is not confined to any one group or time period. It is a universal experience, one that echoes through the ages. Baldwin's words speak to the realization that the stories we inherit—the stories of victory, of righteousness, of dominance—are often told from the perspective of the victor, the Gary Cooper, and not from the point of view of those who are cast aside, the Indians. This is the deep tragedy of many who are born into systems that favor one group over another. It is a shock to find, at a young age, that the world is not a fair place, that the stories we are taught to idolize are not the stories of all people, but the stories of those who control the narrative.

Yet, O children, there is a great power in understanding this truth. To realize that you are not always the hero in the story is to awaken to the power of agency, of self-awareness. Just as Socrates realized that true wisdom comes from understanding one’s own ignorance, so too does true strength come from recognizing the roles we are given and then choosing to either embrace or reject them. Baldwin's words are not just a lament, but a call to action: to understand the world as it is, to see the injustices, and to decide, with courage, how to respond. The Indian, in this case, is not just a symbol of victimhood, but of resistance, of strength in the face of overwhelming odds.

In the story of Nelson Mandela, we see this transformation from victim to hero. Born into a system that sought to keep him—and his people—in a subjugated role, Mandela was forced to reckon with the reality that he, too, was not the hero in the story of South Africa. But through his deep understanding of his morality, his refusal to accept the role of the Indian, and his courage to stand up against the system, he became the hero of his own story, and in doing so, changed the narrative for millions. Mandela knew that the key to overcoming the story of the Indian was not in denial, but in embracing the truth of his situation and using that truth to fuel the fight for justice and equality.

The lesson here, children, is clear: the realization that you are the Indian in a world of Gary Coopers is not an end, but a beginning. It is the beginning of awareness, of understanding the systems that shape our lives and the roles we are often forced to play. But it is also the beginning of empowerment—for once we recognize the role we are given, we gain the power to change it, to rewrite our own story. Baldwin's words are a call to awaken, to see the world for what it is, and then to act with courage, to challenge the narratives that keep us confined and limited.

In your own lives, O children, I urge you to question the stories that shape your world. Do not simply accept the roles you are given, but strive to understand why they exist and how they can be changed. Whether you are the Gary Cooper or the Indian, understand that true strength comes not from simply accepting your place, but from choosing to define your own. Just as Mandela and others before him have done, learn to challenge the narratives that keep you confined, and in doing so, you will find the freedom to write your own story, one of justice, dignity, and empowerment for all.