MANY THINGS CONSIDERED: Let America Be America Again

All I know for certain is that we are one incident away from something even worse than another ICE officer(s) shooting and killing a person on the streets of a major U.S. city.

We have an erratic, deranged lunatic at the head of our government. And he has flooded a great city with a paramilitary force of largely untrained men who have been told they have complete immunity for their actions. The people leading this paramilitary force have – and certainly will again – lied with impunity about what is going on.

Local police are caught in the crossfire, almost literally. The civilian population is protesting in mass.

This is a crisis created almost entirely by one man that Americans elected twice, and who approaches his responsibilities with no thought to bring calm or common sense to a profoundly divided country.

Where is the end?

I won’t say more now, but rather let the words of a great America sit with you today.

Be safe and take what action you can.

 

Langston Hughes, the great poet of the Harlem Renaissance, was born in Jim Crow Missouri in 1902 and graduated in 1929 from the first degree granting historically Black college, Lincoln University.

Hughes was a radical – many thinking people were in the segregated 1920’s and the Great Depression years of the 1930’s and the witch hunting days of the 1940’s and 1950’s.

He wrote one of his most memorable poems – “Let America Be America Again” – in 1935 and it was published in 1936.

It seems all too relevant today.

Let America Be America Again

By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That’s made America the land it has become.

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,

And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came

To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?

Surely not me? The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we’ve dreamed

And all the songs we’ve sung

And all the hopes we’ve held

And all the flags we’ve hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay—

Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—

The land that never has been yet—

And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,

We must take back our land again,

America!

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain—

All, all the stretch of these great green states—

And make America again!

Copyright Credit: Langston Hughes, “Let America be America Again” from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes. Copyright © 1995 by Langston Hughes.