I assume Gwendolyn Brooks had Black readers primarily in mind when “truth” was published, in 1949. Likely, she was anticipating the tremendous courage that would be needed as the civil rights movement gained momentum. But she could also have been thinking of the ways Whites were in denial and resisted change. Either way, the poem is, sadly, as relevant today as ever.

For me, it’s impossible to read without “woke” coming to mind – that innocent-sounding word which, when used these days deeply rattles and rankles so many.

You might be asking why I would bring “wokeness” into this. What role could such triggering language possibly play in building bridges? Isn’t it best just to steer clear of divisive topics at a time when even objective facts such as reports from the census bureau and the weather service yield multiple and conflicting truths?

In building bridges, engineers ignore inconvenient numbers at their peril – not to mention our peril. In the same way, bridges between people can’t be trusted if the words exchanged are not honest, truthful, and well-intended. When White cultural elites started claiming to be “woke,” that appropriation carried with it the whiff of “I’m-woke-and-you’re-not” smugness. That sort of posturing was certainly not constructive. (So much better to have said, “I just learned something that has changed the way I look at things,” but so much more satisfying to say, “I can’t believe you don’t know this.”)

Sometimes we learn things that we can’t unlearn. We see things that we can’t unsee. Sometimes, in other words, we are awakened to the truth. But even then, is it the whole truth? Don’t we all know people who seem to have awakened to truths that are very different than ours? And haven’t we all been first inclined to deny those different truths rather than ask about them?

There is plenty of what Brooks calls “snug unawareness” to go around.

I wonder. Can we imagine a place – a bridge, maybe – where it would be possible for people of all persuasions to sit down together with the facts and share the stories those facts awaken in them? Would we have the courage to speak our own truth? Could we bring ourselves to listen to the truths of others? Or would we prefer that “the dark hang heavily over our eyes”?

– Dennis Huffman, Advisor, Building Bridges Word by Word

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917 – 2000) was born in Topeka, Kansas. Her family moved to Chicago when she was six weeks old – part of the great northward migration of African Americans. She made the city her home, teaching writing at various universities there, and around the country, throughout her long career. Brooks won the Pulitzer in 1950 with her collection, Annie Allen (1949), where “truth” first appeared.

What’s Your Story?

In his reflection, Dennis Huffman supposes that we all have moments when we defensively bristle at those who challenge what we believe, even if the challenge is the sharing of a truth that we don’t want to hear or acknowledge. Given this, he wonders:

Can we imagine a place – a bridge, maybe – where it would be possible for people of all persuasions to sit down together with the facts and share the stories those facts awaken in them? Would we have the courage to speak our own truth? Could we bring ourselves to listen to the truths of others? Or would we prefer that “the dark hang heavily over our eyes”?

Though it is hard to imagine such a place, without it how can we begin to build bridges or even take a step or two toward each other? Like all bridges, there are two starting places and two destinations. But if either end is not on solid ground, the bridge cannot hold. So, we must, as Brooks writes, “not flee into the shelter” of the familiar haze that keeps us comfortable but instead be willing to face the facts, the truths, and begin to talk and listen to one another.

Has there been a time when you’ve been inclined to deny someone’s different truths rather than ask about them? What was that like? Looking back, what did that tell you about yourself? Could you envision a different outcome?

Or has there been a time when you had the courage to speak your own truth and listen to another? How did that come about? What did it look like, feel like?

Consider sending in a short reflection (up to 250 words) on these questions or on Dennis’s reflection, or on Brooks’s poem (perhaps it says something different to you than it did to him). We’ll post your story here and on the Building Bridges Word by Word Substack.

Why write? Why share? Sharing your reflections can help to build a bridge where we can “sit down together with the facts and share the stories those facts awaken in us.”

How to get started? Check out the guidelines and next steps in the button below. Questions? Email me at mscribner.buildingbridgeswbw@gmail.com. I look forward to working with you to share your story.