Jacob Lawrence, “The Ironers”
Charles Blow, a New York Times columnist who is one of my favorite pundits, had an inspiring column this past Saturday. I’m convinced that he was channeling a Langston Hughes poem while writing it.
Blow was raised poor in Louisiana by a single mother. Having known hunger, he has been appalled at the way the GOP is beating up on the poor, seeking to slash food stamps, end unemployment benefits, and deny health insurance to millions. He sees how callous the well-off are when they caricature them as lazy dependents, when like Paul Ryan they call the social safety net a hammock. As he sees it, it’s self-serving for the privileged to accuse the poor of whining and playing the victim.
That being said, he is also against impotent complaining. Because he has been poor himself, his words of advice have a special credibility. Here’s what he has to say:
I decided long ago to achieve as an act of defiance — to define my own destiny and refuse to have it defined for me. I fully understand that trying hard doesn’t always guarantee success. Success is often a fluky thing, dependent as much on luck and favor as on hard work. But while hard work may not guarantee success, not working hard almost always guarantees failure.
I frame the argument to myself this way: If you know that you are under assault, recognize it, and defend yourself.
Trying hard and working hard is its own reward. It feeds the soul. It affirms your will and your power. And it radiates from you, lighting the way for all those who see you.
Then he shifts analogies:
For some folks, life is a hill. You can either climb or stay at the bottom.
If you know Langston’s poetry, you probably know the lyric I have in mind. It’s entitled “Mother to Son”:
Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
Notice how there’s no self pity here. While life has been unfair and while it is our responsibility as citizens to rectify such unfairness, the speaker chooses to focus on the climb.
Elsewhere Blow has related how his mother, working to get an advanced degree, would take him to her classes when she couldn’t anyone to care for him. He remembers doodling (he would go on to become an artist before a columnist) while she took notes. I imagine his mother giving him the advice in the poem.
If so, he’s now passing that advice along.
