I am reading Richard Wright's 1945 narrative "Black Boy," and I am struck once again by the unremitting cruelty that is so common under White supremacy during the 1920s and 1930s. Regardless of where Richard turns, he runs up against the most oppressive and painful racism imaginable.
In an encounter with a group of drunken white boys, he is asked if he wants to drink from a flask. He answers, "Oh, no," and a whiskey bottle is suddenly smashed between his eyes, bringing stars and a near loss of consciousness. The White men making the offer shout out, "Nigger, ain't you learned no better sense'n that yet? Ain't you learned to say SIR to a white man yet?" The complete lack of concern for Richard's welfare becomes part of his challenge of navigating the uncaring world of White supremacy.
Working at an optical company in the deep South for many weeks, eager to learn the optical trade and to make a decent living, but constantly assigned to the most menial tasks, Richard finally goes up to one of the skilled workers and asks to learn. The retort is sharp and short: "What are you trying to do, get smart, nigger?" Seeking out another skilled worker for guidance, Richard is scolded, "Nigger, you think you're white, don't you?" No matter who he talks to or seeks out for mentoring, the answer is always the same. Who do you think you are? Some uppity nigger? You should just be satisfied to be where you are. Ambitions like yours are dangerous. They only lead to trouble.
In time, the Whites where Richard work trump up a conflict that puts Richard at risk. They show no regard for his well being, for his welfare. They focus on making Richard as nervous and as anxiety-ridden as possible. They make up stories, they manufacture conflicts, all designed to place him in the worst light possible. His firing doesn't matter. His suffering doesn't matter. His economic situation is irrelevant. Ensuring that he is on the hook, that his well being is hanging by a thread, this is what the practitioners of White supremacy most desire.
When Richard finally quits his job because he cannot stand the hatred and the uncertain cruelty any longer, he refers to himself as an unfeeling "non-man" who feels only vaguely human. He had lost touch with his humanity, which is exactly what the practitioners of White supremacy sought. They wanted him to lose himself, to be uncertain and weak in a world of overwhelming prejudice and unstoppable oppression. Lost in a sea of hate, Richard turns away, obsessed with a desire to escape the South and desperate to find a place where he had a chance, however slim, to become his full, creative, and truly magnificent self.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
What leaders do...
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to help others become leaders, too.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to give others at least as much credit and recognition as they receive as leaders.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to follow others thoughtfully when that is the right role for them.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to keep learning from those around them.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to support other people's growth, even as they also look after their own.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to build a culture in which people are constantly learning from each other.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to show unremitting passion for doing important work in collaboration with others.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to appreciate and honor their co-workers.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to dwell on assets and strengths at least much as they do on weaknesses.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to give everyone around them the opportunity and motivation to lead.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to insist on excellence, while also insisting just as adamantly that co-workers have the resources and support they need to actually achieve excellence.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to give others at least as much credit and recognition as they receive as leaders.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to follow others thoughtfully when that is the right role for them.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to keep learning from those around them.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to support other people's growth, even as they also look after their own.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to build a culture in which people are constantly learning from each other.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to show unremitting passion for doing important work in collaboration with others.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to appreciate and honor their co-workers.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to dwell on assets and strengths at least much as they do on weaknesses.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to give everyone around them the opportunity and motivation to lead.
What leaders do, when they are at their best, is to insist on excellence, while also insisting just as adamantly that co-workers have the resources and support they need to actually achieve excellence.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Minimum Wage Revisited
Since it's Labor Day, let's revisit this whole minimum wage issue that was brought up on this blog a couple of days ago. Along with many other progressive commentators, I continue to be very worried about how low the U.S. minimum rate remains. It results in poverty-level salaries that make it difficult for people to put enough food on their tables, let alone have the resources to afford decent healthcare or be able to send their children to college.
There is an intriguing piece in the online Atlantic, however that suggests the minimum wage rate in the U.S. compares more favorably than one might think to other Western nations. When you take into account the cost of living in these countries, then the $7.25 an hour rate in the U.S. comes in at an adjusted $7.10 per hour, whereas the highest adjusted rate can be found in Luxembourg at just a little over $10.00 a hour. Australia, which enjoys a very generous unadjusted rate of $16.00, falls to an adjusted rate that is less than $10.00. France's adjusted rate is almost identical to Australia's. So it turns out there is less of a difference between the U.S. and other wealthy countries than it first appears.
Yet, as the Atlantic is quick to point out, these adjusted rates do not take into account other factors, such as the cost of healthcare and higher education. And since in most of the countries the U.S. is compared to, healthcare is free and higher education is far less expensive or even free, the minimum wage gap once again widens considerably.
The Atlantic concludes that the U.S. looks just a bit better using these comparisons. But my sense is that when you compare, say $10.00 an hour to $7.00, and acknowledge that in France and Australia, the minimum wage workers have all their healthcare costs covered, well, that's a hell of a difference, probably on the order of $5.00 or $6.00 difference, maybe more. This differential is exactly the amount that many people believe should become the basis for an increase in the minimum wage. That is, the minimum wage in the U.S. should now be at least somewhere between $12.00 and $14.00 an hour. Reassuringly, of course, once the Affordable Care Act really kicks in, this additional difference will lessen, though this will vary by locale and job type. In any case, an unnecessary and easily remediable burden on the low-wage American worker will remain.
To sum up, then, whatever light the Atlantic was trying to shed on this issue, we return to the original conclusion. The minimum wage in the U.S., by any standard or comparison, is too low, way too low. An artificially low minimum wage hurts people. It puts undue financial pressure on workers and their children. It keeps them and their children from eating well or getting the healthcare they deserve. The time has come to give the most serious consideration to significant increases in the minimum wage. It is in all of our interests to pursue this.
There is an intriguing piece in the online Atlantic, however that suggests the minimum wage rate in the U.S. compares more favorably than one might think to other Western nations. When you take into account the cost of living in these countries, then the $7.25 an hour rate in the U.S. comes in at an adjusted $7.10 per hour, whereas the highest adjusted rate can be found in Luxembourg at just a little over $10.00 a hour. Australia, which enjoys a very generous unadjusted rate of $16.00, falls to an adjusted rate that is less than $10.00. France's adjusted rate is almost identical to Australia's. So it turns out there is less of a difference between the U.S. and other wealthy countries than it first appears.
Yet, as the Atlantic is quick to point out, these adjusted rates do not take into account other factors, such as the cost of healthcare and higher education. And since in most of the countries the U.S. is compared to, healthcare is free and higher education is far less expensive or even free, the minimum wage gap once again widens considerably.
The Atlantic concludes that the U.S. looks just a bit better using these comparisons. But my sense is that when you compare, say $10.00 an hour to $7.00, and acknowledge that in France and Australia, the minimum wage workers have all their healthcare costs covered, well, that's a hell of a difference, probably on the order of $5.00 or $6.00 difference, maybe more. This differential is exactly the amount that many people believe should become the basis for an increase in the minimum wage. That is, the minimum wage in the U.S. should now be at least somewhere between $12.00 and $14.00 an hour. Reassuringly, of course, once the Affordable Care Act really kicks in, this additional difference will lessen, though this will vary by locale and job type. In any case, an unnecessary and easily remediable burden on the low-wage American worker will remain.
To sum up, then, whatever light the Atlantic was trying to shed on this issue, we return to the original conclusion. The minimum wage in the U.S., by any standard or comparison, is too low, way too low. An artificially low minimum wage hurts people. It puts undue financial pressure on workers and their children. It keeps them and their children from eating well or getting the healthcare they deserve. The time has come to give the most serious consideration to significant increases in the minimum wage. It is in all of our interests to pursue this.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
The Whole Dream of Democracy
"The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletarian to the level of stupidity attained by the bourgeois." -Gustave Flaubert
I have been reading an absolutely stunning novel from 1984 called "Flaubert's Parrot" by Julian Barnes. The premise is to examine Flaubert's life through the explorations and reflections of a retired and widowed physician who is obsessed with Flaubert as artist and person. Which is ironic on many levels, as Flaubert thought his work should stand entirely on its own, without reference to details from his personal life. But the protagonist in Flaubert's Parrot, who is keenly aware of Flaubert's preferences, nevertheless ends up compiling a kind of catalogue of the novelist's personal quirks and opinions.
One especially fascinating reference is to Flaubert's attitude toward democracy, captured succinctly by the epigraph above. This is, of course, a familiar perspective, that democracy is a form of government in which the blind lead the blind, more or less, into mediocrity. As it turns out, Flaubert had a vague preference for some kind of oligarchic rule by a few well seasoned wise men. But in the end his attitude toward politics was a cynical one in which deliberations about public goods almost always lead to the perpetuation of the status quo from which those very oligarchs would most benefit.
The problem here, I think, is that creating high art and maintaining a decent society are two very different things, with quite different criteria for success. I don't quarrel for a minute with the idea that Flaubert was a writer of the highest order, whose painstaking choice of the right words, sentences, and paragraphs set him apart from most other writers. His literary standards were impeccable, and one of the reasons we still read him with satisfaction was his insistence, like all great poets, on committing himself to a final result that puts the best possible words in the best possible order.
But maintaining a humane, democratic society is a very different project. It is by definition messy, unstable, even a bit chaotic. Any effort to take account of the interests of the multiple constituencies that make up a democratic community is going to lead to tensions and conflicts that are not easily resolved and thus give the appearance of indecisiveness. This is the nature of the beast. My sense is, though, that we, on the whole, we have done surprisingly well at acknowledging and balancing those different interests.
Of course, we are far short of a democratic ideal, and we continue to favor the privileged over the least well off, as has been noted often on this blog. But in my view it would be worse, much worse, if we relied on some kind of elite board of decision makers akin to Plato's guardians. And to the extent I am right, this is where we want to avoid the tendency to give artists more influence than is healthy. Flaubert, as great as he was as a writer, is no more qualified than even the lowliest citizen to make judgments about the kind of society we should have. It is therefore at our peril that we rely on public intellectuals during civic deliberations whose biases and particular ways of seeing the world often distort their vision regarding the needs of a whole community.
We need the Flauberts, of course, to represent a certain category of citizen but no more so than the Smiths or Gonzalezes or Changs, who also know best what their neighbors most require to become their best selves and to thrive as persons and as contributors to the democratic project. Too often, to the Flauberts, with their daunting artistic standards, this project appears to be an immense illusion. Perhaps it is. But it is an illusion well worth maintaining, just in case it can lead us to something finer and more in keeping with our better angels.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Dogs and Civic Engagement
You used to be said that the best way to initiate a romantic encounter is to get a dog, because dogs always attract attention and interest, and once you have that it's just a short step to going out for a dinner and a movie.
The same can be said for civic engagement. If you want to connect with your community, to get to know people in your neighborhood, and to start doing something worthwhile with others, the best thing you can do is start walking your dog regularly. You'll meet lots of people who love dogs and want to hang out with them, and before you know it, they'll be hanging out with you as well. And, hey, while you're at it make your first project together a public dog run so that while all the doggies are running and jumping at each other you can be hatching all sorts of interesting plans to improve the community. Before you know it, you'll have more community projects to follow through on than you can handle, and more than anyone you'll have that wonderful dog of yours to thank.
The same can be said for civic engagement. If you want to connect with your community, to get to know people in your neighborhood, and to start doing something worthwhile with others, the best thing you can do is start walking your dog regularly. You'll meet lots of people who love dogs and want to hang out with them, and before you know it, they'll be hanging out with you as well. And, hey, while you're at it make your first project together a public dog run so that while all the doggies are running and jumping at each other you can be hatching all sorts of interesting plans to improve the community. Before you know it, you'll have more community projects to follow through on than you can handle, and more than anyone you'll have that wonderful dog of yours to thank.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Supporting the Working Poor
Labor Day weekend is coming up and along with it dreams of getting away for an extra long weekend with few worries or cares to burden us. For many, many people in this country, however, lack of employment and low wages are constant concerns, taking their toll on families everywhere and preventing them from enjoying a holiday that is truly care-free.
Of course, the causes of this problem are complex and multifaceted, but it is pretty clear that one of the strategies at our disposal that could help a great deal in reducing the plight of the working poor is to raise the minimum wage. The federal minimum wage is currently $7.25 an hour, somewhat higher in some states and localities, but this is what prevails in most places. For a 40-hour work week, a $7.25 an hour wage translates to $290 a week or $14,500 a year. You can perhaps skimp by on this as an individual, depending on where you live, but this is tantamount to poverty wages for a family of 2 or more. It just isn't sustainable without extra support and a generous allocation from SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), better known as Food Stamps. In fact, we know more confidently than ever that the best ways to fight poverty and hunger are to raise the minimum wage and to fully fund SNAP. Yet it often seems we are moving in the opposite direction, as if it were the fault of the people who work so hard for a living despite their ability to command a living wage.
We hear often about the problem with raising the minimum wage, how it can actually depress employment and undermine economic growth, but it turns out that the evidence for this is surprisingly slim. Moreover, don't we owe it to people who work incredibly hard in fast food restaurants and Walmarts to be able to count on a salary that allows them to live at least somewhat reasonably? Having a decent apartment, relatively unworn clothing, and nutritious, healthy food is hardly a lot to ask. But even these things are impossible without a greatly increased minimum wage.
This tendency to defend policies that make a few people rich, while hoping ingenuously that somehow the wealth created will trickle down to benefit everyone, seems on the face of it to be absurd. There just isn't any evidence that it works even for the middle income worker. The evidence for trickle down is still flimsier for the working poor. So why do we cling to it?
Primarily because we simply don't care about poor people. We want them as far removed from our lives as possible and thus, because they are so detached from our everyday realities, their welfare becomes quite irrelevant to our own well being. They just don't matter to us. How do we make them matter?
Through stories, I think, of what it is like to be a worker who works hard but remains poor. A few years ago, the fine journalist and New Yorker editor, David Shipler, wrote a book called "Working Poor: Invisible in America" in which he recounts the stories of people who are struggling to make ends meet but who nevertheless work long hours and are, in fact, reliable, loyal workers.
Here are the words Shipler uses to introduce his book: "The man who washes cars does not own one. The clerk who files cancelled checks at the bank has $2.02 in her own account. The woman who copyedits medical textbooks has not been to a dentist in a decade."
"This is the forgotten America. At the bottom of its working world, millions live in the shadow of prosperity, in the twilight between poverty and well-being."
Note the subtitle, by the way. Like many people of color, the working poor are invisible, forgotten, neglected, not people to be concerned about. They help us to do all the things that make our better remunerated work possible, but they are, for the most part, ignored, left behind, and really kind of looked down upon. And, amazingly, I don't think they mind this treatment all that much. But when it comes to having enough to eat, being able to afford seeing the doctor when necessary, enjoying a decent roof over their heads, they do expect some kind of minimum that allows a decent existence. But again, the invisibility theme helps to explain why this doesn't happen. Bringing attention to the plight of the working poor is the first step. Maybe we can start this Labor Day. It is about labor, but fairly compensated labor that respects workers as humans, family breadwinners, and important contributors to our public good.
Of course, the causes of this problem are complex and multifaceted, but it is pretty clear that one of the strategies at our disposal that could help a great deal in reducing the plight of the working poor is to raise the minimum wage. The federal minimum wage is currently $7.25 an hour, somewhat higher in some states and localities, but this is what prevails in most places. For a 40-hour work week, a $7.25 an hour wage translates to $290 a week or $14,500 a year. You can perhaps skimp by on this as an individual, depending on where you live, but this is tantamount to poverty wages for a family of 2 or more. It just isn't sustainable without extra support and a generous allocation from SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), better known as Food Stamps. In fact, we know more confidently than ever that the best ways to fight poverty and hunger are to raise the minimum wage and to fully fund SNAP. Yet it often seems we are moving in the opposite direction, as if it were the fault of the people who work so hard for a living despite their ability to command a living wage.
We hear often about the problem with raising the minimum wage, how it can actually depress employment and undermine economic growth, but it turns out that the evidence for this is surprisingly slim. Moreover, don't we owe it to people who work incredibly hard in fast food restaurants and Walmarts to be able to count on a salary that allows them to live at least somewhat reasonably? Having a decent apartment, relatively unworn clothing, and nutritious, healthy food is hardly a lot to ask. But even these things are impossible without a greatly increased minimum wage.
This tendency to defend policies that make a few people rich, while hoping ingenuously that somehow the wealth created will trickle down to benefit everyone, seems on the face of it to be absurd. There just isn't any evidence that it works even for the middle income worker. The evidence for trickle down is still flimsier for the working poor. So why do we cling to it?
Primarily because we simply don't care about poor people. We want them as far removed from our lives as possible and thus, because they are so detached from our everyday realities, their welfare becomes quite irrelevant to our own well being. They just don't matter to us. How do we make them matter?
Through stories, I think, of what it is like to be a worker who works hard but remains poor. A few years ago, the fine journalist and New Yorker editor, David Shipler, wrote a book called "Working Poor: Invisible in America" in which he recounts the stories of people who are struggling to make ends meet but who nevertheless work long hours and are, in fact, reliable, loyal workers.
Here are the words Shipler uses to introduce his book: "The man who washes cars does not own one. The clerk who files cancelled checks at the bank has $2.02 in her own account. The woman who copyedits medical textbooks has not been to a dentist in a decade."
"This is the forgotten America. At the bottom of its working world, millions live in the shadow of prosperity, in the twilight between poverty and well-being."
Note the subtitle, by the way. Like many people of color, the working poor are invisible, forgotten, neglected, not people to be concerned about. They help us to do all the things that make our better remunerated work possible, but they are, for the most part, ignored, left behind, and really kind of looked down upon. And, amazingly, I don't think they mind this treatment all that much. But when it comes to having enough to eat, being able to afford seeing the doctor when necessary, enjoying a decent roof over their heads, they do expect some kind of minimum that allows a decent existence. But again, the invisibility theme helps to explain why this doesn't happen. Bringing attention to the plight of the working poor is the first step. Maybe we can start this Labor Day. It is about labor, but fairly compensated labor that respects workers as humans, family breadwinners, and important contributors to our public good.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Another Dreamer's Dreams
Today is a good day for thinking about dreamers, as it is the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington in which Dr. Martin Luther KIng, Jr. declared: "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
But, of course, Dr. King wasn't the only one who had a dream. Another prominent and highly talented African American who started writing poetry prolifically in the 1920s also had a dream. His name was Langston Hughes and he often invoked the image of a dreamer who struggled to find himself within the outmoded tradition of the American dream.
For instance, in a relatively early poem that he called "Dream Variations," the poet imagines himself free to dance, to whirl, to play, to let himself go, to be liberated from all constraints, conventions, and restrictions. When he was writing in the 1920s, such a dream for a Black man was simply impossible, completely out of reach. To be oneself, to go natural, to release oneself from inhibitions was to risk upsetting the white man, to appear as if you wanted to unend the whole white power structure. At least until well into the 1960s, such boldness wasn't likely. In the 1920s it was utterly taboo.
In the poem "America," Hughes again sees the Negro striving, reaching, straining for the stars, not letting himself be held back by anyone. He identities the Negro with the European immigrant similarly striving, but there are hints of how unfairly he is actually treated, and how stained democracy is as a result. At the same time, Hughes as poet wants to declare himself absolutely unique, not so much like a European immigrant or even a Black man bludgeoned by another round of unrelenting discrimination, but somehow his "own sole self" in an America where dreams come true and where everyone is freed to "seek the stars."
Or in "The Negro Mother," we learn of the universal Black mother, the one "beaten and mistreated" by slavery and racial oppression whose dream is achieved through her children. She kept trudging on because she had to, because she so desperately sought to become the "seed of the coming free." At times she had nothing to live for except the dream of her children making things anew. But now she returns to see her dream come alive through her children, but issues this caveat to them to never weaken or to take for granted how hard won this dream of freedom has been.
Or in "Let America be America Again," we hear again of the dream and the dreamers who dream it. We hear of the poet's call for America to "be the dream the dreamers dreamed," where love is strong and true and lasting. In this poem we also hear the parenthetical refrain "America never was America to me." Meaning, presumably, that the dream the white man takes for granted has never even been a glimmer of hope for the Negro. He goes on: "For all the dreams we've dreamed/ And all the songs we've sung/ And all the flags we've hung/ The millions who have nothing for our pay---Except the dream that's almost dead today." In the midst of this rising despair, the poet rescues the possibility that the dream may yet be lived out: "O, yes,/ I say it plain,/ America never was America to me,/ And yet I swear this oath--/American will be!"
And then perhaps most famously and desperately of all there is his poem simply called "Harlem" in which the quest for the dream has reached its endpoint with no hope in sight and no sign of redemption or progress. It begins with a question and seems somehow to address this opening question with still more questions: "What happens to a dream deferred?/ Does it dry up/ like a raisin in the sun/ Or fester like a sore--/ And then run?/ Does it stink like rotten meat?/ Or crust and sugar over--/ Like a syrupy sweet?/ Maybe it just sags / like a heavy load/ Or does it explode?
King may have had his dream, but no African American writer dreamt with as much intensity and persistence as Langston Hughes. Sometimes the dreams were hopeful and sweet, but as the years dragged on and the hopes for real progress seemed to bog down in an everyday racism that would be hard for anyone to bear, the dreams grew fewer and darker. Why do the dreams of our youth so often become the nightmares of our all too seasoned adulthood?
But, of course, Dr. King wasn't the only one who had a dream. Another prominent and highly talented African American who started writing poetry prolifically in the 1920s also had a dream. His name was Langston Hughes and he often invoked the image of a dreamer who struggled to find himself within the outmoded tradition of the American dream.
For instance, in a relatively early poem that he called "Dream Variations," the poet imagines himself free to dance, to whirl, to play, to let himself go, to be liberated from all constraints, conventions, and restrictions. When he was writing in the 1920s, such a dream for a Black man was simply impossible, completely out of reach. To be oneself, to go natural, to release oneself from inhibitions was to risk upsetting the white man, to appear as if you wanted to unend the whole white power structure. At least until well into the 1960s, such boldness wasn't likely. In the 1920s it was utterly taboo.
In the poem "America," Hughes again sees the Negro striving, reaching, straining for the stars, not letting himself be held back by anyone. He identities the Negro with the European immigrant similarly striving, but there are hints of how unfairly he is actually treated, and how stained democracy is as a result. At the same time, Hughes as poet wants to declare himself absolutely unique, not so much like a European immigrant or even a Black man bludgeoned by another round of unrelenting discrimination, but somehow his "own sole self" in an America where dreams come true and where everyone is freed to "seek the stars."
Or in "The Negro Mother," we learn of the universal Black mother, the one "beaten and mistreated" by slavery and racial oppression whose dream is achieved through her children. She kept trudging on because she had to, because she so desperately sought to become the "seed of the coming free." At times she had nothing to live for except the dream of her children making things anew. But now she returns to see her dream come alive through her children, but issues this caveat to them to never weaken or to take for granted how hard won this dream of freedom has been.
Or in "Let America be America Again," we hear again of the dream and the dreamers who dream it. We hear of the poet's call for America to "be the dream the dreamers dreamed," where love is strong and true and lasting. In this poem we also hear the parenthetical refrain "America never was America to me." Meaning, presumably, that the dream the white man takes for granted has never even been a glimmer of hope for the Negro. He goes on: "For all the dreams we've dreamed/ And all the songs we've sung/ And all the flags we've hung/ The millions who have nothing for our pay---Except the dream that's almost dead today." In the midst of this rising despair, the poet rescues the possibility that the dream may yet be lived out: "O, yes,/ I say it plain,/ America never was America to me,/ And yet I swear this oath--/American will be!"
And then perhaps most famously and desperately of all there is his poem simply called "Harlem" in which the quest for the dream has reached its endpoint with no hope in sight and no sign of redemption or progress. It begins with a question and seems somehow to address this opening question with still more questions: "What happens to a dream deferred?/ Does it dry up/ like a raisin in the sun/ Or fester like a sore--/ And then run?/ Does it stink like rotten meat?/ Or crust and sugar over--/ Like a syrupy sweet?/ Maybe it just sags / like a heavy load/ Or does it explode?
King may have had his dream, but no African American writer dreamt with as much intensity and persistence as Langston Hughes. Sometimes the dreams were hopeful and sweet, but as the years dragged on and the hopes for real progress seemed to bog down in an everyday racism that would be hard for anyone to bear, the dreams grew fewer and darker. Why do the dreams of our youth so often become the nightmares of our all too seasoned adulthood?
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