Margaret Burroughs

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since 1963. Then, my concern was particularly for my own people and this version was written especially for them. I am happy that it has done and is doing its job. However, I want it to be known, that I am not a proponent of the concept of cultural nationalism. I dearly love and am proud of my good, serious, sincere black people, yet at the same time, my concern is with all people of goodwill no matter the color. I make no mystique of blackness. I am a humanist. Indeed, I am a universalist. This truth, I know. The liberation of black people in the United States is tightly linked with the liberation of black people in the far flung diaspora. Further, and more important, the liberation of black and oppressed people all over the world, is linked with the struggles of the workers of the world of every nationality and color against the common oppressors, overlords, and exploiters of their labor. Thus it was only natural that I should write "What Shall We Tell Our Children?" in 1973. I have tried to tell them the facts of life and the truth as I see it: I hope I have succeeded. What shall we tell our children who are black? What shall we tell our children who are white? What shall we tell children of every race and hue? For all children are the children of all of us And all of us bear responsibility for all children What shall we tell them? How can we show them the conditions of their lives So they will see how they can change them? Those who are poverty stricken in the midst of plenty Who must live in rat-infested slums While decent homes stand empty Who go to bed hungry While grocery shelves are heavy Who huddle in tattered rags While racks in stores are sagging Who yearn for a good education But languish in programmed illiteracy Whose intellectual growth is stunted And whose ignorance is compounded While the Academies produce more drones for the labor colony What shall we tell them? How can we show them the conditions of their lives So they will see how they can change them? What shall we tell our children The men and women of the future? We shall tell them the truth It is our bounden duty to tell them the truth It may be painful. We must tell them the truth We may be criticized. We must tell them the truth We may be castigated. We must tell them the truth The truth it shall be, shall show them the conditions of their lives Of a glorified way of life, the greatest in the world Which is not concerned with people, but with profits Not with the well-being of many, but with the interests of a few Not with the welfare and future of the people But only with the profit-making present We shall tell them the truth about a way of life The greatest in the world Where freedom and equality is granted to every man, woman, and child Where everyone, providing he is willing to do what is necessary Can become rich and wealthy by doing others before they do you Where everyone, including you Can acquire life's most important goodies Like split-level houses, with wall-to-wall carpeting completely furnished And two cars and two color T.V.'s And the latest style clothes and minks And schminks and everything! We shall tell them the truth About a way of life The greatest in the world Which rejects the wisdom of its seers and sages And whose culture is dictated and delineated by Violent, vicious, destructive Murderous, unfeeling, crude And quick on the draw supermen Who deem the men and women of the future As expendable and shunt them off to Purposeless death in the name of patria and patriotism Who slaughter the innocents who protest or speak for Peace We shall tell them the truth We shall tell them the truth About a way of life, t

1963 What shall I tell my children who are black Of what it means to be a captive in this dark skin What shall I tell my dear one, fruit of my womb, Of how beautiful they are when everywhere they turn They are faced with abhorrence of everything that is black. Villains are black with black hearts. A black cow gives no milk. A black hen lays no eggs. Bad news comes bordered in black, black is evil And evil is black and devils' food is black… What shall I tell my dear ones raised in a white world A place where white has been made to represent All that is good and pure and fine and decent. Where clouds are white, and dolls, and heaven Surely is a white, white place with angels Robed in white, and cotton candy and ice cream and milk and ruffled Sunday dresses And dream houses and long sleek cadillacs And angel's food is white…all, all…white. What can I say therefore, when my child Comes home in tears because a playmate Has called him black, big lipped, flatnosed and nappy headed? What will he think When I dry his tears and whisper, "Yes, that's true. But no less beautiful and dear." How shall I lift up his head, get him to square His shoulders, look his adversaries in the eye, Confident of the knowledge of his worth, Serene under his sable skin and proud of his own beauty? What can I do to give him strength That he may come through life's adversities As a whole human being unwarped and human in a world Of biased laws and inhuman practices, that he might Survive. And survive he must! For who knows? Perhaps this black child here bears the genius To discover the cure for…Cancer Or to chart the course for exploration of the universe. So, he must survive for the good of all humanity. He must and will survive. I have drunk deeply of late from the foundation Of my black culture, sat at the knee and learned From Mother Africa, discovered the truth of my heritage, The truth, so often obscured and omitted. And I find I have much to say to my black children. I will lift up their heads in proud blackness With the story of their fathers and their fathers Fathers. And I shall take them into a way back time of Kings and Queens who ruled the Nile, And measured the stars and discovered the Laws of mathematics. Upon whose backs have been built The wealth of continents. I will tell him This and more. And his heritage shall be his weapon And his armor; will make him strong enough to win Any battle he may face. And since this story is Often obscured, I must sacrifice to find it For my children, even as I sacrificed to feed, Clothe and shelter them. So this I will do for them If I love them. None will do it for me. I must find the truth of heritage for myself And pass it on to them. In years to come I believe Because I have armed them with the truth, my children And my children's children will venerate me. For it is the truth that will make us free!

Let it be known to all, the story Of the glorious struggle of my people. Let it be known that black men and women Helped to build this our country. Let it be known that black men and women of the past In an effort to make this country What it ought to be, gave up their very last To make America, a real democracy A true homeland of the free. Let our leaders of today go back into the past And come fighting forth envigored with the spirit Of Turner, and Vesey, Douglass, Tubman and Truth. Let our stalwart black youth, lift their heads in pride As they tell of their fathers' fight for freedom To the white youth by their side. Yes, let it be known. Let all of the old folks tell it Sing it to the babes yet in arms. Let us read the glorious story Right along with our Bible. Let it be known to all, The story of the glorious struggles of my people. Too long…Too long has it been kept from us.

Venerable black women You of yesterday, you of today. Black mothers of tomorrow yet to be These lines are homage to you, for you. Magnificent black women The poets and singers have been remiss Have sung too few poems and songs of you And the image makers have not recorded your beauty. Sheba, Nefertiti, Zaiditu, Cleopatra. Black women, Mothers of humanity, Mother original Your black children here salute you. You, bartered, sold, insulted, raped and defiled, Debased and debauched for four centuries. Strong women, Gannet, Tubman and Truth. Weary black women Your breasts gaunt from nurturing theirs first And later sustaining yours, caring for theirs At the same instance providing for yours also. Women forgotten, Mandy, Melindy, Cindy, and Lisa. Gentle black women While being hated, yet teaching love Being scorned, yet teaching respect Being humiliated and teaching Compassion. Humble women, Bessie, Mattie, Lucey, Ann and Willie Mae. Resourceful black women, with tact Managing to make do, alter clothing, Stretch meals, Making room, Prodding, Bolstering Nudging us on, Protecting, teaching survival. Laney, Bethune, Keckley, Terrel and Brown. Militant black women, defending yours with fury Standing firm, picketing and demonstrating Kneeling in, sitting in and wading in Standing, walking, marching and boycotting. Parks, Wells, Pleasant and Louvestre. Discerning black women, women of genius Setting your children a proper example Teaching that each generation must do its part To improve life for those coming after. Nannie, Gaines, Burroughs, Maggie Walker. Courageous black women, brave and fearless Seeking to make a home among the unfriendly Sending your children off to school To pass unscathed through walls of hate. Lucy, Bates, Richardson, and Hamer. Angry black women and understanding Aware of efforts to stunt your men Yet urging them manhood again. Diana, Gloria, Thelma, Ethel, Eva and Marion. Heroic black women, women of glory Not turning back, never giving up Equalling, surpassing the stature Of any race of women, anywhere, any time. Billie, Ella, Dinah, Sis-Sirretta, Mahalia. Black women of genius, brilliant women Walking through the hateful valleys In dignity, strength and such serene composure That even your enemies tremble insecure. Hansberry, Talbert, Bonds and Baker. Magnificent black women, hopeful women Believing that trouble doesn't last always Knowing this truth, that those who are slaves today May well be the masters tomorrow, even sooner. Sisters with all women, black women Your sufferings echo those of all the oppressed. Join together all of you in a universal cry For Peace and the good life for all. The world listens.

(For all children who wondered about the tragic event of April 4, 1968 at Memphis.) My children, my children, remember the day When the Drum Major of Freedom's parade went away. Stop crying now little children and listen And you will know for the future what really did happen. You will know why your father was solemn and grim And why mother's eyes were wet at the rim. You will know why the flags flew at half mast And why all the buildings were shut tight and fast. The Drum Major was down in Memphis that day Helping the workers to win a raise in pay When an evil assassin's bullet Snuffed his bright young life away. That's why we were all so saddened that day When the life of the Drum Major was taken away. Who will come forward to stand in his stead? Who'll be the Drum Major in the Freedom parade? My children, our Major was such a good man Whose life was based on the divine plan. He loved this country, its people black and white And believed that all should be imbued with the right. That's why we were all so saddened that day When the life of the Drum Major was taken away. We are looking for someone to stand in his stead We now seek a new leader for the Freedom parade. Do you know my children that he bore the brunt, He marched unafraid right up in the front He marched for Justice for children like you And a bountier life for your parents too. That's why we honor Martin Luther King He tried with love to make Liberty ring. He wished everyone in our tortured country To live together in peace and harmony. That's why we were all so saddened that day When the Drum Major's life was taken away. Do you know someone who can stand in his stead? Do you know someone to lead the parade? I hear you my children. I hear what you said. That you children yourselves would lead his parade That you'll carry the banner of the Drum Major dear And march on to full Freedom without any fear. Our spirits are lifted, our sorrows subside. You children shall lead us with Dr. King at your side. You children of Freedom will stand in his stead. You children of Freedom will lead the parade. March on my children to his distant drumbeat. March on my children, keep alive his heartbeat. When this Peace and Freedom is finally won Then will Martin Luther King's work be done.

(May 22, 1965) When we look at ourselves We see ourselves through eyes Which have been schooled To see comely only the opaque, Comely to us skin that is fair, Comely to us eyes that are light, Comely to us hair that is straight, Comely to us lips that are thin, Our gods and goddesses Glow in opalescent whiteness And daily we worship at this shrine. Ugly to us our satin black skin, Ugly to us our fulsome lips, Ugly to us our midnight eyes, Ugly to us our crisping hair Thus we have rejected our image. But this is not as it should be We black people must be born again. Know that the black people like other races Have their own distinct beauty, Know that the Stygian night too is beautiful.