Langston Hughes and the Negro Artist

I must admit that as I consider Langston Hughes' admonition to African-Americans in the 1920s, I feel a little out of place. First of all, I am not black. I have never known anything other than white privilege. Secondly, I don't understand the cultural and social milieu of the Jazz Age. I come from the world of the early 21st century, post-Civil Rights Era, post-Black Panthers. While all is far from perfect, our nation is now coming to the realization that we may have an African-American president in another six months.

However, for what my opinion is worth, I will offer my reflections.

Langston Hughes favors the black lower class, which he sees as more authentically Negro (to use his term). If I put myself in his position, I can understand his frustration about middle- and upper-class African-Americans. I can see why he would see the "white" culture that has consumed these families as bland or stifling. (Mind you, I don't see my culture as boring or tasteless, but I respect the opinions of others, even if I disagree with them.)

However, I question Hughes' description of poor blacks. Perhaps they have maintained their authenticity, but I thought his portrayal of their lives was glamorized. He seems to think that these people have a more easygoing lifestyle-- he pictures them breaking into song and dance for every occasion. I wonder whether the black lower class was comparatively better off in the 1920s than today. If their financial position was no better than at present, I would accuse Hughes of viewing life through rose-colored glasses.

When I spent a semester in North Philadelphia, my classmates and I would walk through the neighborhood every week to get to the community center where we were volunteering. I didn't see anyone singing, and nobody was dancing in the streets. I saw rowhouses crumbling and vacant lots filled with trash. I remember one block where only one shabby house was left standing. There were no grocery stores, no parks. The ineffective public school system had become notorious for violence against teachers, and many children were at least a year behind acceptable reading levels. The neighborhood was plagued by gangs, drugs, and gun violence. We didn't dare walk down the side streets after dark.

After studying the information that the Census Bureau had collected concerning our neighborhood, we found that many times multiple families lived in one dwelling. Most of the men who were of marrying age-- or had fathered babies-- were either dead, imprisoned, or delinquent. This left scores of unmarried young women raising families, wandering from one boyfriend to the next. Very few families had health insurance, and we learned that many mothers waited until their children's illnesses had become so severe that they had to go to the emergency room because they could not pay to see a family practitioner. Because of these stressful financial issues, education took second place to basic survival. Only some men and women had attained high school degrees. Very few had completed college.

I find it hard to believe that our neighbors in North Philly would have approved of Hughes' description of the lower class. In my estimation, with the exception of the tenacious inner-city church, today's African-American communities inspire very little joyful singing. I only hear angry, disenchanted hip-hop.