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.”
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,
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!
Back in November, I was terrified by the prospect of a Trump presidency. Today, I’m even more stumped at how such a man could conceivably win. Bigoted, racist, misogynistic, bombastic, narcissistic. Trump is a fear-mongering demagogue who deals in divisiveness and threatens to destroy the very foundations on which our democracy is built. If you could somehow get past his unconscionable proposals to ban Muslim immigrants and build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico, if you could somehow ignore his despicable behavior towards women, if you could somehow disregard the countless allegations women have made accusing him of sexual harassment and assault, how could you possibly ignore the fact that he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to how our government works? Trump is a business man, not a politician. While many right-wing nut jobs (looking at you, Sarah Palin) claim that’s his appeal, it’s only logical that a man with no experience in government would have a hard time in the White House. Unlike Clinton who proposed detailed, meticulous plans to reach her objectives, Trump only made vague promises during his campaign…and offered no concrete means of fulfilling them. Terrorism? ‘Ban Muslims!’ Immigration? ‘Build a wall!’ As J.K. Rowling so insightfully noted, Trumpism is synonymous with proposing “crude, unworkable solutions” to complex problems.
So how has this man rallied such passionate, borderline frenzied support? Trump’s ascendancy can no doubt be attributed to a widespread dissatisfaction with the status quo, a general feeling that the system is rigged against the little guy. Trump sticks an unrepentant middle finger at social niceties: when he’s not calling his opponent a “nasty woman,” he’s telling Access Hollywood how he “grabs women by the pussies.” Though such comments should be appalling, many Americans appreciate Trump’s particular brand of brash frankness. To those disillusioned blue-collar workers in Trump Land, the Republican candidate’s refusal to succumb to modern standards of political correctness is part of his charm. His reviling comments are even a badge of his honesty. “Look what he openly says about minorities and women!” Trump nuts must think, “he won’t pussyfoot around the issues!”
The kinds of people Trump attracts are just one of the many ironies of last year’s election season. Trump is a titan of the 1%, a New York City billionaire, not a self-made man but the product of generational nepotism, yet his campaign won the allegiance of millions of Trump soldiers from the lower middle classes. Why? Trump-of all people-won’t represent their interests; if anything, he’ll proceed to represent his own. In office, you can bet he’ll slash taxes for the rich and continue an onslaught of dangerous economic reforms that will line the pockets of the elite and make the poor poorer. Clinton has been a champion for the lower classes her whole career yet the white lower classes refused to vote for her. She’s “untrustworthy,” “dishonest,” “power-hungry,” they said. How, I wondered last November, how could people be so stupid? How could people so blindly, willingly, enthusiastically vote against their own interests?!?!
Because Trump stands as the master of the most effective political tactic of all: divide and conquer. According to Karl Marx, father of the communist movement, the ruling class protects its power by pitting the lower ranks against each other. Trump has been taking a play from the Hitler playbook all along. Like the infamous furor, Trump capitalizes on the fear and discontent of average men to garner support for his cause. And much like Hitler, Trump has found a convenient scapegoat to blame for all of America’s problems. Whether it’s illegal immigrants or possible terrorist Muslims, Trump exploits the blue collar, white American fear of the foreign other…and the particularly white fear of losing their long-standing power.
Trump campaigned on the promise to “make America great again,” a promise many have interpreted to mean once again make America white, racist and exclusionary. Like many of his conservative predecessors, Trump took advantage of a kind of widespread nostalgia, a yearning to resurrect our former national glory. And like many, he exploited the inherent ambiguousness of the term “America.” What does it really mean to be American? What is America? For the conservative, America is capitalist industry, rugged individualism, free markets; for the liberal, America is equality of opportunity, multiculturalism, diversity. What, exactly, America is remains open to debate: it’s a relative term whose meaning shifts depending on the dictionary.
Unlike Trump who yearns for an America long past, poet Langston Hughes believes America is a dream that has yet to be fulfilled. Though there’s a nostalgic quality to his longing (in the first line, he wistfully pleads, “Let America be America again” in a way that eerily echoes Trump’s campaign slogan), there’s equally a sense that America is an ideal we have yet to achieve. In what will become a pattern in the first third of the poem, Hughes punctuates the end of the first stanza with a parenthetical aside:
“America,” he confesses, “was never America to me” (Hughes 5).
Here “never” poses a logical contradiction: how can America be itself “again” if it “never” existed in the first place?
Hughes may employ the romanticized images of our national history-the dauntless “pioneer,” for example, settling the rugged, untrammeled frontier-but he does so to reveal them as mythos. Just as our history books conveniently rewrite the genocide of millions of Native Americans as the glorious fulfillment of manifest destiny, we cherish the American dream as truth when, for many, it’s nothing more than a fairy tale. Hughes’s parenthetical speaker reminds us of this unsettling fact. Though we pay lip service to democratic notions of tolerance and equality of opportunity, the fact that the speaker is syntactically ostracized by parentheses proves that “liberty and justice for all” ironically only applies to a privileged class.
One of Hughes’s many narrative talents is his ability to shift perspectives. Later in the poem, he adopts the voice of mainstream America, an America who’s shocked-even a little offended-that someone could make such a claim:
“Say who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?” (Hughes 17-18).
Here, the presence of italics indicates the intrusion of another voice, one we haven’t heard before. Because these lines are phrased as questions, we can assume they’re directed at someone. But who? Hughes’s choice of words might provide some insight. The people to whom the speaker refers are not expressing themselves loudly or confidently but “mumble” which suggests they’re silenced and marginalized. “Darkness” furthers this idea as those he addresses are literally rendered invisible by ignorance and denial. If we consider the context of the poem, it makes sense that the voice is responding to our earlier parenthetical speaker:
“There’s never been equality for me
No freedom in this ‘homeland of the free'” (Hughes 15-16).
For most Americans, the realization of their country’s hypocrisy is too devastating to bear. Who, they wonder, would draw such a “veil across the stars?” (Hughes 18). If stars are proud symbols of American patriotism, the fact that such accusations draw a “veil” across them implies America’s legacy of exclusion diminishes the speaker’s national pride. The word itself carries solemn connotations, evoking doleful images of attending a funeral. However, the only thing that’s died is our speaker’s aggrandized portrait of America. Turns out the “dream” he’s treasured so dearly is just that, a dream-it only exists in the abstract.
So “who,” to return to our earlier question, is our speaker addressing? who is “mumbling in the dark”? The answer comes in the following lines:
“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” (Hughes 19-22).
For Hughes, it is the presence of the working-class man, the Indian and African American, that indisputably proves the American dream an enticing but ultimately untrue fiction. His use of Whitman-esque anaphora proves the defining feature of the stanza. Each beginning with the emphatic repetition of “I am” before listing yet another class barred access to the American dream, these lines reflect Hughes’s vision for his homeland. In much the same way that each line originates in the same place but ends in difference, in Hughes’s America, each person is bound by a common identity but permitted the freedom of their own distinct individuality. The poor white man, the Negro, the red man driven from his rightful home: though at the time this poem was published such minority groups were still struggling for self-determination, Hughes believed they had an equal right to sit at the American table. Today in the era of Trump, this same struggle continues. While Hughes’s America is expansive enough to accommodate a multitude of voices, Trump’s America seems terrifyingly restrictive.
But when the future of our nation seems bleak, as it does today, we must not despair. Rather we should remember Hughes’s rousing words: though he says it “plain” that “America never was America to me,” at the end of the poem, he swears a triumphant oath that “America will be!”