It is a surreal feeling to know that you could go to war and fight for your country, survive the war and instead of coming back as a celebrated hero, be assaulted and lynched by the people whose freedom you fought for them to have. That was the reality of many black veterans who returned from World War I and World War II, a history that is not taught. For fear of black people becoming to “uppity” and demanding their rights after coming back from war, there were white people who needed to make examples of black veterans and keep them in their place, that they owed nothing to these soldiers who went off to fight a fight for them.
Today we hear the phrase “Make America Great Again,” but often I am reminded of how much America was great only for the selected few. That the so-called American Dream was way out of reach for many. That terror and terrorism has been something many in this country experienced before it became a dog whistle to discriminate against brown people. Stories like that of Charles Lewis, Sergeant Isaac Woodward, George, Mae and Dorothy Dorsey and Roger Malcolm, and countless other black veterans who were either violently attacked or lynched reveal the hypocrisy of so-called patriots. That even when one fights for their country, they are not honored, but reviled. This post is dedicated to all the black veterans who did not die in battles outside of America but died in the constant battle for recognition of their humanity at home.
Let America Be America Again
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!
Beaumont to Detroit: 1943 by Langston Hughes
Looky here, America
What you done done —
Let things drift
Until the riots come.Now your policemen
Let your mobs run free.
I reckon you don’t care
Nothing about me.You tell me that hitler
Is a mighty bad man.
I guess he took lessons
From the ku klux klan.You tell me mussolini’s
Got an evil heart.
Well, it mus-a been in Beaumont
That he had his start —Cause everything that hitler
And mussolini do,
Negroes get the same
Treatment from you.You jim crowed me
Before hitler rose to power —
And you’re STILL jim crowing me
Right now, this very hour.Yet you say we’re fighting
For democracy.
Then why don’t democracy
Include me?I ask you this question
Cause I want to know
How long I got to fight
BOTH HITLER — AND JIM CROW.
Further Reading
Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (Golden Day section)
Sherese Francis: Futuristically Ancient 