Photo Courtesy of Unsplash.
Years ahead, when our country reflects on the 46th inauguration, we will remember the five minutes reserved for Amanda Gorman. The Capitol building, insurrected 14 days prior to the ceremony, reclaimed its palpable glow as Gorman stood, heightened, in front of it. Countless eyes, present and overseas, fixed on her vibrant display as she mustered might to deliver “The Hill We Climb.” It was a poem poured powerfully, each stanza succored by her delicate hand motions. The 110-lined composition rejuvenated the exhausted hopes of listeners nationwide and officialized Gorman’s status as the youngest inaugural poet in U.S history.
Colorfully clad, the 22-year old wordsmith dazzled in a crown-like headpiece and canary-yellow overcoat to weld words in immaculate style. Gorman embodied light and grace to recite a length of sentiments that exposed the nation’s collapsing core. “We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace/ And the norms of what just is/ Isn’t always just-ice,” she articulates. Her rhyme emboldens us to recognize that a truly great union does not shy away from accountability and repair, but strives towards reconciliation and recovery. Gorman strips our democracy of its prideful disguise and shines a light on its impropriety. To weave the heart-rending truths of this nation into poetry, whilst representing a race dehumanized and abused by those truths, is a traumatic feat. The cum laude graduate of Harvard University had a significant task before her, and she conquered.
“The Hill We Climb” filtered through captivated ears and awoke a sense of humanity in the depths of each listener. A poetic plea like Gorman’s inspires one to do away with the bias they’ve accumulated thus far so that only an untouched sense of morals remains within. Gormans’s ability to breach the human heart catapulted her into abrupt fame. An admirable trope of the “The Hill We Climb” is its assertion that hope, intermingled with action, will birth a nation we can all take pride in. Since pen first strode paper to compose the ideals and amendments of a great union, patriotism has historically been reserved for white Americans. For Gorman to emit prideful energy towards a country that has fundamentally functioned to devastate her is heroic. This is why we applaud Ms. Gorman.
Our democracy is a layered wound deprived of adequate treatment. There are periods of crippling comfort in which we suppose another bedazzled band-aid over this nation’s gaping gash will suffice; but, it is clear a systemic operation is needed to heal our rotted roots. “And yes we are far from polished/ Far from pristine/ But that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect/ We are striving to forge a union with purpose,” Gorman reads. Within the horrifying years that the 45th president reigned, the rate at which our democracy submitted to more infection was unspeakable. “The Hill We Climb” is an ode to justice, ethics, and decency. Gorman asks us to believe in the light that will heal our wound, “if only we’re brave enough to see it/ If only were brave enough to be it.” The choice is ours to make.
