Written in 1935 by Langston Hughes, but might as well
have been written today. It is a moving
call to “…take back our land again ….Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster
death…”
Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967
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—
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| Norman Rockwell's The Golden Rule (1961) |
