Letter to My Countrymen By Brother Ali

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”.