We Were the Foundation

“True Color,” Lee Watkins, ’27

They built the roads, the banks, the rails, the bones of this land,

Wrote brilliance into history with a manacled hand.

From working the cotton fields to being in classrooms, from the front line to the mic,

They turned “you can’t” into “watch me”, turned wrong into right.

Child of color, you work for prosperity, but it turns its back upon you,

A nation rich in memory loss, forgetting who built that view.

Like Jeremiah G. Hamilton, vision wealthy, name scrubbed out,

First Black millionaire vanished without a trace.

It’s not just him, whose stories were never passed along,

Pages ripped from history textbooks, silence stretched too long.

They quote the dream but dodge the grind behind the sound

They play the speech, but ignore the pressure that kept pushing it around.

They love that dream when it’s calm, when it fits their agenda,

But when it asks for fairness, they tend to look the other way.

They praise the words about character, polished and clean,

Ignore the call to fix what the system has been.

The message trends one month a year,

But the meaning stays muted, loud and clear.

They want the voice softened, patient, and tame,

Not the demand for dignity spoken straight, without shame.

Still, there’s a voice at the table they tried to deny,

Saying I belong here too, and it won’t stay quiet.

Even a child knows fairness before history interferes,

With innocent eyes asking, Why is it unequal here?

Yet joy still survives, humor survives, rhythm too,

Smiling through erasure with confidence, like, Yeah, we see what you can do.

From jazz to memes, from braids to beats,

Turning inherited pain into culture, no force can delete.

So this month isn’t memory, it’s proof we remain,

Erased doesn’t mean gone; forgotten isn’t shame.

Black history lives on, present, steady, and true,

Still singing America

Even when America forgets who sang it first.