Memory writes a standard the present cannot meet, and then an ordinary hard day starts to feel like murder.
Slavery gets remembered by its meat pots, because a hunger happening now outranks a whip that has stopped. Measured against a remembered full table, a day's ration reads as a death sentence; measured against bondage, the same ration reads as the price of freedom.
The conditions held still between those two readings and the standard moved, which is where the whole of the agony was manufactured. The reading sets the despair, the despair sets the demand to go back, and a people whose blueprint points backward will ask for their chains every time the road gets thin, spending forty years to cross eleven days of ground.