I've Learned That My People Are Not

Yes, I Heard My People Singing!-in The Glow Of Parlor Coal-stove And On Summer Porches Sweet With Lilac Air, From Choir Loft And Sunday Morning Pews-and My Soul Was Filled With Their Harmonies. Then, Too, I Heard These Songs In The Very Sermons Of My Father, For In The Negro's Speech There Is Much Of The Phrasing And Rhythms Of Folk-song. The Great, Soaring Gospels We Love Are Merely Sermons That Are Sung; And As We Thrill To Such Gifted Gospel Singers As Mahalia Jackson, We Hear The Rhythmic Eloquence Of Our Preachers, So Many Of Whom, Like My Father, Are Masters Of Poetic Speech.

The Intolerance Of The Few, Or The Risk Of It, Carries The Day Against The Wider Humanity Of The Many.

You Want To Shut Up Every Negro Who Has The Courage To Stand Up And Fight For The Rights Of His People, For The Rights Of Workers, And I Have Been On Many A Picket Line For The Steelworkers Too.

Through The Years I Have Received My Share Of Recognition For Efforts In The Fields Of Sports, The Arts, The Struggle For Full Citizenship For The Negro People, Labor's Rights And The Fight For Peace.

And At Home In The United States We Found Continued And Increased Persecution, First Of Leaders Of The Communist Party, And Then Of All Honest Anti-fascists.