Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-and then run?
-Langston Hughes
You completed your first play at the age of 27, a play that would be held in the highest regard for all time. For actors and writers alike, it would be holy ground. You have created such a scintillating piece. The conversation held in A Raisin In the Sun expounded upon so many layers of what was the black experience of the 50s; job discrimination, lack of opportunity to obtain an education, real estate segregation, and classism amongst black people. Using your own familial upbringing as the basis for the play, I had the sense of watching a real family that I know myself that could belong even in this generation. Right now. A family right now having to grapple with the sad and still very true fact that we are not allotted the American dream because of having bronze skin.
The reality that many of us will not reach our fullest potential because the system is out to get us from the beginning. But damn it, we have dreams. Most of ours die by the hands of our teachers who hold immense power in shaping our children's minds, yet they take it upon themselves to personally shatter our hopes early on. Then comes witnessing preference for others over you, the disrespect from people in the grocery stores, the criminalized looks people give you, the lost job opportunities for wearing your natural hair, the unjust convictions and arrests. We, like Ruth and Lena, have been programmed to "know our place" in this nation and so many of us, robbed of high hopes early on, operate in auto-pilot. Others, like Walter Lee, are tortured by their dreams that they still hold but are held back by the struggle their skin color presents. Then there are some who hold the power to break the cycle of oppression, like Beneatha, like you, like me, who have the opportunity to obtain an education in the hopes of being recognized a fraction by the system.
There is this crazy puzzle that I am trying to piece together; how our families' lost dreams affect us through our own lives. Much like you, I witnessed as a child the hardship my parents went through and their tales of what they used to think their lives would be like as they got older. I carry the constant reminder that I have access to the opportunities that my parents, grandparents and great parents did not. That I, on my back, carry the responsibility of living up to what has been robbed of my own blood. Having been robbed for so long has left me feeling as though I have not gained ground just because I get to have a chance to run in the race. I bear on my conscience the neglect my family has endured. You crafted from your experience a piece telling to real experiences personally faced.
A Raisin In The Sun forever holds a special place in my heart. Our life stories make for stories that can hold as a testament to life conditions and can create a space for conversation and confrontation. That is what your work tells me. It is your weapon of choice in fighting for civil rights. I often think of the many more magnificent pieces you would have gone on to make if your life had not been taken so soon. You were a real star amongst us with a beyond thoughtfully curated creative process. Thank you for the immersive art that you have gifted us and for allowing me to see what I can, through my story, represent during my lifetime.
Sincerely,
Kayla Mary Jane
Comments