Now, my dear namesake, these innocent and well meaning people, your countrymen, have caused you to be born under conditions not far removed from those described for us by Charles Dickens in the London of more than a hundred years ago.You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity and in as many ways as possible that you were a worthless human being.I hear the chorus of the innocents screaming, "No, this is not true. How bitter you are," but I am writing this letter to you to try to tell you something about how to handle them, for most of them do not yet really know that you exist.Your countrymen were not there and haven't made it yet.To be loved, baby, hard at once and forever to strengthen you against the loveless world.This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it intended that you should perish.Let me spell out precisely what I mean by that for the heart of the matter is here and the crux of my dispute with my country.