I used to think I hated this place,
Couldn’t wait to tell the president
Straight to his face.
But lately, I’ve changed.
These days,
I embrace it all:
Beautiful ideals,
And the flaws that made it fall.
You gotta care enough
To give a testament,
To speak on this deeply depressing mess we're in.
It’s home.
So we better make the best of it.
I still want to make this country what it says it is,
Still dreaming in vivid, still living in color,
No matter how many times
My love’s been smothered.
Whoever’s above us
Won’t just let us suffer.
All of this struggle,
God, it must amount to something.
This is a letter to my countrymen,
Especially those my age
And younger than.
We’re up against
The ugly truth,
Everybody hustling,
Nobody touching the roots.
No group singing.
No dancing.
No anthem.
Nobody holds hands anymore,
Instead, they give you a handheld
To carry the burden of life
By your damn self.
But one thing can’t be debated:
Power never changes on its own.
You gotta make it.
That’s why community
Is so sacred,
It’s the symbol we create
Every time we raise it.
We don’t like to talk about
The race thing,
The whole
“Our grandparents used to own slaves”
Things.
We pat ourselves on the back
Every February,
Looking at pictures of Abe Lincoln
And the great King.
But the real picture
Is far more embarrassing,
We're still not even close
To truly sharing things.
The situation of the oppressed
Shows what we really feel it means
To be a human being.
What does it mean
To be American?
I think the struggle
To be free
Is our inheritance.
And if we’re honest,
Our lily skin
Still gives us privilege.
Advantages gifted to the few,
Built deep into the roots
Of our biggest institutions.
That’s the truth.
And in this life,
We all have to choose:
Do I fight in the movement,
Or feel entitled to it?
This ain’t no practice life.
This is the big game.
We’ve got to attack it right,
Before the grave calls our name.
This old crooked world
Won’t be saved
By the passive type.
This is a letter to my countrymen,
Not from a Democrat or Republican.
But from one among you.That’s why you call me brother.
And I’m not scared to say it:
We’re in trouble,
Because I love you.
They call me a dreamer.
They ridicule.
They feel defeated,
Bitter and cynical.
But excuse me,
I see it from a different view.
I still believe
In what a driven vision
Can really do it.
I know the masses
Want to sleep,
Would rather hear me rap to a beat.
But I want to pass this planet to my son,
A little better than it was
When they handed it to me.
So I wrote a letter
To my countrymen.
Even if it only reaches
One of them.
Reporting live, brother
Ali.
Your brother.
Good morning in America.
Dreaming.
Dr. Cornel West:
“And my dear Brother Ali,
I think you know,
Deep down in your soul,
Something something just ain’t right.
You don’t want to be well-adjusted
To injustice.
You don’t want to be well-adapted
To indifference.
You want to be a person
with integrity.
A soul
That leaves a mark on this world.
So that when you’re gone,
They can say:
He left the world
Just a little better
Than you found it.
I understand.
I want to be like that too”.
