Unfortunately the whole question of the Negro has been beclouded by misrepresentation as has no other social question before the American people, and the race asks simply first of all that the tissue of depreciation raised by prejudice be done away with in order that it may be judged and estimated for its quality. America can make no charges against any element of her population while she denies the fundamental right of citizenships—the protection of the individual person. Too often mistakes are made, and no man is so humble or so low that he should be deprived of his life without due process of law. The Negro undoubtedly has faults. At the same time, in order that his gifts may receive just consideration, the tradition of burlesque must for the time being be forgotten. All stories about razors, chickens, and watermelons must be relegated to the rear; and even the revered and beloved "black mammy" must receive an affectionate but a long farewell.
The fact is that the Negro has such a contagious brand of humor that many people never realize that this plays only on the surface. The real background of the race is one of tragedy. It is not in current jest but in the wail of the old melodies that the soul of this people is found. There is something elemental about the heart of the race, something that finds its origin in the forest and in the falling of the stars. There is something grim about it too, something that speaks of the lash, of the child torn from its mother's bosom, of the dead body swinging at night by the roadside. The race has suffered, and in its suffering lies its destiny and its contribution to America; and hereby hangs a tale.
If we study the real quality of the Negro we shall find that two things are observable. One is that any distinction so far won by a member of the race in America has been almost always in some one of the arts; and the other is that any influence so far exerted by the Negro on American civilization has been primarily in the field of æsthetics. The reason is not far to seek, and is to be found in the artistic striving even of untutored Negroes. The instinct for beauty insists upon an outlet, and if one can find no better picture he will paste a circus poster or a flaring advertisement on the wall. Very few homes have not at least a geranium on the windowsill or a rosebush in the garden. If we look at the matter conversely we shall find that those things which are most picturesque make to the Negro the readiest appeal. Red is his favorite color simply because it is the most pronounced of all colors. The principle holds in the sphere of religion. In some of our communities Negroes are known to "get happy" in church. It is, however, seldom a sermon on the rule of faith or the plan of salvation that awakens such ecstasy, but rather a vivid portrayal of the beauties of heaven, with the walls of jasper, the feast of milk and honey, and the angels with palms in their hands. The appeal is primarily sensuous, and it is hardly too much to say that the Negro is thrilled not so much by the moral as by the artistic and pictorial elements in religion. Every member of the race is an incipient poet, and all are enthralled by music and oratory.
Illustrations are abundant. We might refer to the oratory of Douglass, to the poetry of Dunbar, to the picturesque style of DuBois, to the mysticism of the paintings of Tanner, to the tragic sculpture of Meta Warrick Fuller, and to a long line of singers and musicians. Even Booker Washington, most practical of Americans, proves the point, the distinguishing qualities of his speeches being anecdote and vivid illustration. It is best, however, to consider members of the race who were entirely untaught in the schools. On one occasion Harriet Tubman, famous for her work in the Underground Railroad, was addressing an audience and describing a great battle in the Civil War. "And then," said she, "we saw the lightning, and that was the guns; and then we heard the thunder, and that was the big guns; and then we heard the rain falling, and that was drops of blood falling; and when we came to git in the craps, it was dead men that we reaped." Two decades after the war John Jasper, of Richmond, Virginia, astonished the most intelligent hearers by the power of his imagery. He preached not only that the "sun do move," but also of "dry bones in the valley," the glories of the New Jerusalem, and on many similar subjects that have been used by other preachers, sometimes with hardly less effect, throughout the South. In his own way Jasper was an artist. He was eminently imaginative; and it is with this imaginative—this artistic—quality that America has yet to reckon.
The importance of the influence has begun to be recognized, and on the principle that to him that hath shall be given, in increasing measure the Negro is being blamed for the ills of American life, a ready excuse being found in the perversion and debasement of Negro music. We have seen discussions whose reasoning, condensed, was somewhat as follows: The Negro element is daily becoming more potent in American society; American society is daily becoming more immoral; therefore at the door of the Negro may be laid the increase in divorce and all the other evils of society. The most serious charge brought against the Negro intellectually is that he has not yet developed the great creative or organizing mind that points the way of civilization. He most certainly has not, and in this he is not very unlike all the other people in America. The whole country is still in only the earlier years of its striving. While the United States has made great advance in applied science, she has as yet produced no Shakespeare or Beethoven. If America has not yet reached her height after three hundred years of striving, she ought not to be impatient with the Negro after only sixty years of opportunity. But all signs go to prove the assumption of limited intellectual ability fundamentally false. Already some of the younger men of the race have given the highest possible promise.
If all of this, however, is granted, and if the Negro's exemplification of the principle of self-help is also recognized, the question still remains: Just what is the race worth as a constructive factor in American civilization? Is it finally to be an agency for the upbuilding of the nation, or simply one of the forces that retard? What is its real promise in American life?
In reply to this it might be worth while to consider first of all the country's industrial life. The South, and very largely the whole country, depends upon Negro men and women as the stable labor supply in such occupations as farming, saw-milling, mining, cooking, and washing. All of this is hard work, and necessary work. In 1910, of 3,178,554 Negro men at work, 981,922 were listed as farm laborers and 798,509 as farmers. That is to say, 56 per cent of the whole number were engaged in raising farm products either on their own account or by way of assisting somebody else, and the great staples of course were the cotton and corn of the Southern states. If along with the farmers we take those engaged in the occupations employing the next greatest numbers of men—those of the building and hand trades, saw and planing mills, as well as those of railway firemen and porters, draymen, teamsters, and coal mine operatives—we shall find a total of 71.2 per cent engaged in such work as represents the very foundation of American industry. Of the women at work, 1,047,146, or 52 per cent, were either farm laborers or farmers, and 28 per cent more were either cooks or washerwomen. In other words, a total of exactly 80 per cent were engaged in some of the hardest and at the same time some of the most vital labor in our home and industrial life. The new emphasis on the Negro as an industrial factor in the course of the recent war is well known. When immigration ceased, upon his shoulders very largely fell the task of keeping the country and the army alive. Since the war closed he has been on the defensive in the North; but a country that wishes to consider all of the factors that enter into its gravest social problem could never forget his valiant service in 1918. Let any one ask, moreover, even the most prejudiced observer, if he would like to see every Negro in the country out of it, and he will then decide whether economically the Negro is a liability or an asset.
Again, consider the Negro soldier. In all our history there are no pages more heroic, more pathetic, than those detailing the exploits of black men. We remember the Negro, three thousand strong, fighting for the liberties of America when his own race was still held in bondage. We remember the deeds at Port Hudson, Fort Pillow, and Fort Wagner. We remember Santiago and San Juan Hill, not only how Negro men went gallantly to the charge, but how a black regiment faced pestilence that the ranks of their white comrades might not be decimated. And then Carrizal. Once more, at an unexpected moment, the heart of the nation was thrilled by the troopers of the Tenth Cavalry. Once more, despite Brownsville, the tradition of Fort Wagner was preserved and passed on. And then came the greatest of all wars. Again was the Negro summoned to the colors—summoned out of all proportion to his numbers. Others might desert, but not he; others might be spies or strikers, but not he—not he in the time of peril. In peace or war, in victory or danger, he has always been loyal to the Stars and Stripes.
Not only, however, does the Negro give promise by reason of his economic worth; not only does he deserve the fullest rights of citizenship on the basis of his work as a soldier; he brings nothing less than a great spiritual contribution to civilization in America. His is a race of enthusiasm, imagination, and spiritual fervor; and after all the doubt and fear through which it has passed there still rests with it an abiding faith in God. Around us everywhere are commercialism, politics, graft—sordidness, selfishness, cynicism. We need hope and love, a new birth of idealism, a new faith in the unseen. Already the work of some members of the race has pointed the way to great things in the realm of conscious art; but above even art soars the great world of the spirit. This it is that America most sadly needs; this it is that her most fiercely persecuted children bring to her.
Obviously now if the Negro, if any race, is to make to America the contribution of which it is capable, it must be free; and this raises the whole question of relation to the rest of the body politic. One of the interesting phenomena of society in America is that the more foreign elements enter into the "melting pot" and advance in culture, the more do they cling to their racial identity. Incorporation into American life, instead of making the Greek or the Pole or the Irishman forget his native country, makes him all the more jealous of its traditions. The more a center of any one of these nationalities develops, the more wealthy and cultured its members become, the more do we find them proud of the source from which they sprang. The Irishman is now so much an American that he controls whole wards in our large cities, and sometimes the cities themselves. All the same he clings more tenaciously than ever to the celebration of March 17. When an isolated Greek came years ago, poor and friendless, nobody thought very much about him, and he effaced himself as much as possible, taking advantage, however, of any opportunity that offered for self-improvement or economic advance. When thousands came and the newcomers could take inspiration from those of their brothers who had preceded them and achieved success, nationality asserted itself. Larger groups now talked about Venizelos and a greater Greece; their chests expanded at the thought of Marathon and Plato; and companies paraded amid applause as they went to fight in the Balkans. In every case, with increasing intelligence and wealth, race pride asserted itself. At the same time no one would think of denying to the Greek or the Irishman or the Italian his full rights as an American citizen.