Reflecting on “The Hill We Climb”

Or, the indisputable best part of Biden’s inauguration

It feels like there’s a lot on my mind right now, but I guess there are technically only two things on my mind: my wedding and yesterday’s presidential inauguration. Well, those two things were nearly enough to make me forget to write something for ATF today!

I’m not so sure you all want to read about how I’ve been booking vendors left and right (I really am killing it out here, though, if I do say so myself), so instead, I’ll focus on something from the inauguration: my favorite part, Amanda Gorman’s beautiful poem “The Hill We Climb.” I’ll break it into chunks and (loosely) analyze and react to Gorman’s expertly chosen words.

The Hill We Climb

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.

We braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

Man, that “‘just’ is” / “justice” line definitely got an audible reaction out of me in the moment. I also love the fantastical, mythical references she uses here: “A sea we must wade” and “the belly of the beast.” It makes you feel like we, the American people, have been on some kind of epic journey together, and we’re desperate to return to our Ithaca. But back to the justice part…it really lines up with what I’ve been teaching my 8th graders lately. Between Parts 1 and 2 of To Kill a Mockingbird, we’ve been watching the documentary 13th. It’s not always easy subject matter, but I feel it is my duty to teach these young teenagers about the deep, long-standing, systemic flaws in our justice system.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.

Gorman’s positivity felt really necessary today. We’re all still worried about the state of our country, but the perspective of us being “unfinished” is refreshing. Maybe our civilization won’t fall after all; maybe we’re just still being built.

We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

This made me tear up. GORMAN FOR PRESIDENT 2036!

And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.

Though this poem is definitely optimistic, I appreciate its realistic nature as well. Obviously our country is flawed, but that doesn’t mean we should give up on it. And, like Gorman says, it also doesn’t mean it’ll never be flawed. Just like humans, nations are by nature imperfect. That last line is one I’ve seen going around on social media. Gorman urges us to not worry so much about our differences (“what stands between us”) but instead to focus on working together toward solving the bigger problems (“what stands before us”). Some might write that off as being simplistic, but I think it’s lovely.

We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

There’s that same idea again — the importance of working TOGETHER as a united America in order to achieve genuine greatness. The message also becomes explicitly pacifistic here: what need do we have for guns, for war, for invasions? These things only cause greater division.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Gorman is correct, I think, in saying that we need to listen to “the globe.” Our popularity as a nation has dwindled significantly in the past several decades, but that doesn’t mean we can’t redeem ourselves.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.

My nerdy Catholic self loves a good biblical nod. Once again, Gorman emphasizes the need for diplomacy over force, peace over war (“victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made”). We also get the poem’s title here: “The Hill We Climb.” It’s a challenge from Gorman to the American people. We can solve the problems we have caused, “if only we dare.”

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.

That last line gives me Hamilton vibes (although, MAJOR confession here…I still haven’t seen it! I really need to do that soon…). This section more explicitly references some of the troubles surrounding the last presidential administration — particularly the riots and attack on the Capitol Building that occurred earlier this month. I like that Gorman refers to “a force that would shatter our nation” instead of, say, people “that would shatter our nation.” In doing so, she avoids villainizing individual Americans who may be listening to her and instead puts the blame on the beliefs and the system that led those people to doing such awful things. It’s honestly a very Christian way of looking at things, truth be told. All humans can be saved, can be redeemed, can be forgiven — no matter how cruel and gripping the sickness that poisoned their minds.

This is the era of just redemption.

We feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.

But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

I feel that in these lines, Gorman is trying to make an appeal to other young Americans like herself. She’s acknowledging that, yes, we live in some pretty scary times. And we’re still not really sure things are going to improve all that much. In spite all of that, though, Gorman reminds us that we have “the power to author a new chapter” and that we will find happiness within it.

So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.

We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain.

If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

I haven’t really touched on this yet, but I really admire Gorman’s mastery of rhyme. She doesn’t follow any kind of standard rhyme scheme or meter in this poem, but hearing it out loud, it just sounded perfect. Honestly, even while reading it back in my head, the poem still flows so beautifully. Now, back to the lines at hand. Gorman continues with her optimistic take on things but includes a warning about the responsibility we bear to future Americans (“Our blunders become their burdens”). Millennials and Gen-Zers are constantly harping on Boomers for their mistakes…so let’s not let future generations feel that way about us! I agree with Gorman: love should be our legacy, as corny as that may sound to some.

So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.

I like to call this section the modern day version of “America the Beautiful.” Gorman touches on the four general regions of the United States, complimenting the beauty, history, and magic of each place. In doing so, she continues her message on working together as a united country. No coastal elitism here. We want everyone from everywhere to rise up and climb the hill!

And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid.

The new dawn balloons as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

I scrambled to write down those last two lines as soon as I heard them. Of course, they’d be transformed into a graphic and shared all around the web only a few hours later…but I just HAD to have them in my possession immediately. There’s definitely some Dumbledore vibes here, but I’d argue this poem tops anything Dumbledore ever said. I also want to point out Gorman’s description of the American people emerging “battered and beautiful.” See, we aren’t perfect, we never will be perfect, and we even may be kind of beat up when all is said and done. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t beautiful. I think this message works when applied to both the American people and America itself. Even the most cynical of Americans still love this country, in spite of all the reasons they shouldn’t. We have something special here, and we need to fight to keep it, to repair it, and to improve it. Thank you, Amanda Gorman, for reminding us of that.

Originally published on January 21, 2021