Amid Independence Day celebrations and Americans racing into a turbulent election season, I was reminded this week of Amanda Gorman.
During President Joe Biden’s swearing-in ceremony in Washington on January 20, 2021, I felt comforted listening to Ms. Gorman recite her poem, The Hill We Climb. At that time, she was a 22-year-old Los Angeles resident, a Harvard graduate, the first national youth poet laureate, and the youngest inaugural poet.
Her words touched my heart and made me grateful again to be an American.
When she spoke, only 14 days had passed since the attack on the Capitol on January 6th. That day, I felt horror and anguish and questioned what our country had become and where it would end up.
Once again, it seems that so much has changed in this country in the three and a half years since the inauguration. Often, there are more negative actions than positive ones, especially if you watch the nightly news.
In the summer of 2018, a close friend and I visited Washington, D.C., and had the honor of experiencing a guided extended Capitol tour. I was in awe of the history the building symbolized. I remembered the presidents who lay in state in the Rotunda, wandered the same halls where famous politicians walked and marveled at the art, craftsmanship, and beauty. It was and is a magnificent building and a tribute to our country.
According to the Architect of the Capitol, the attack on January 6th caused the building an estimated 1.5 million dollars of damage. It pained me to see this beautiful structure, along with our seemingly stable political past and current democracy, shattered in a single terrifying afternoon.
But yet, our democracy wasn’t destroyed.
Quoting from The Hill We Climb:
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
So this Fourth of July and throughout the Presidential election season, I will do my darndest to remember that line and others that resonated with me (in bold)
from this inspiring poem.
It is this next generation of young activists like Amanda Gorman, David Hogg, Parkland survivors, Cori Bush, Matthew Segal, Greta Thunberg, Malala Yousafzai, and others who continue to give me hope and the knowing that our history and our democracy:
“will not march back to what was,
but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole.”
Still, I do not intend to sit back and solely rely on younger generations to accomplish what we, the Boomers, the Silent Generation, and our predecessors, have yet to achieve.
I am committed to continually casting my vote, staying well-informed, and rejecting any form of injustice.
“Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” —-Winston Churchill
Please enjoy rereading this powerful poem, or I am pleased to share it with you for the first time.
Happy Independence Day!
Thanks for reading!
Keep smiling!
xx
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The Hill We Climb
When day comes, we ask ourselves:
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.
We braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,
and the norms and notions of what “just is”
isn’t always justice.
And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken, but simply
unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time
where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised
by a single mother
can dream of becoming president,
only to find herself reciting for one.
And, yes, we are far from polished,
far from pristine,
but that doesn’t mean we are striving to
form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose,
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors,
characters, and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us,
but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promised glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith we trust,
for while we have our eyes on the future,
history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.
But within it we found the power to author a new chapter,
to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert,
how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was,
but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation,
become the future.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain.
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change, our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the West.
We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers
first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked South.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.
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