Every 4th of July, we all seem to gravitate to the “tried and true” characterizations of America. One of those characterizations, whether it’s still true or not, is America the Working Class Nation. While the fireworks explode above our heads, we’re bound to hear John Mellencamp’s Little Pink Houses and Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA, both subversive rock anthems from the 80’s that chronicle the small triumphs of the voice-diminished working class. Isn’t it funny that even those in the upper echelons of American society and government seem to find these two songs in particular patriotic?
Anyway, before Springsteen and Mellencamp sang of our working class heroes, there was one man who sang just as loud and, through his own echoes, is still singing of them today. Let’s not forget to acknowledge how critical Walt Whitman’s songs have been to America’s history, its present, and (let’s hope) its future. It’s sad to say it, but Walt Whitman knew democracy better and more fully than anyone serving in the White House–or in any tier of government for that matter–as of late. (My inclination and hope is that Barack Obama may be the first presidential candidate since Kennedy who seems to be in touch with the heartland of America and a true understanding of democracy.)
America would be smart to take a couple of lessons from the 19th century poet on the true nature of democracy.
For now, though, here are a couple of words from one of Walt Whitman’s most powerful songs:
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day – at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
