O beautiful, to make amends
For our abhorrent acts
Our country built by labor forced
On stolen lands and backs
America, repent for this
Repair and say what’s true
Let equity our promise be
Declare these truths anew

(Nerissa Nields, https://www.facebook.com/TheNields/posts/america-the-beautiful-revised-lyricso-beautiful-for-spacious-skiesfor-amber-wave/10158434437015751/)

If we are to live by principles of our forefathers, then we must know the human frailty of our forefathers and mothers. The verse of America the Beautiful” that ends “God mend thy every flaw” naturally flows into the verse above of Nerissa Nields’ “America the Beautiful.”

“O Beautiful to make amends” reflects both the extraction of Native peoples’ lands and the enslavement of a race kidnapped from their homeland.  “[S]tolen lands” recalls the dominance of conquering powers from Ghengis Khan to 19th century European imperialism. Ours was a gradual displacement of the Indian tribes, almost unremarkable.  “A country built by labor forced” echoes the enslavement of subdued peoples from the time of the Exodus to the Spanish overrunning of Latin America.

How did this “extraction and exploitation” (as Walter Johnson, author of The Broken Heart of America: St. Louis and the violent History of the United States, calls it) escape notice in our textbooks, where we noted the brutality of the Spanish with the Aztecs and Incas, but barely flinched at the displacement of the Osage and the Sioux in the Missouri Valley?  Why do we shake our heads at the enslavement of the Hebrews under Pharaoh in 13th century BCE, but consider the enslaved African as a fixture of our nineteenth century economy?

Understanding that the birthplace of modern democracy was also the site of “Indian removal” from most of the west disrupts the narrative of “manifest destiny” we have cultivated in our textbooks. The enduring brutality of slavery both ante- and post-bellum disrupts a false narrative of increasing toleration of African-Americans from one decade to the next. As the lyrics say, “Repair and say what’s true.” We need a clear-eyed perspective on our shadowy history narrative, and a willingness to accept the original sins of our early and present history.

“Declare these truths anew,” the verse ends.  White supremacy remains obdurate in the face of history.  Consciously or unconsciously we have dismissed this sordid history, because we consider Native and African-American peoples a lower grade of humanity. Our gestures of affirmative action or reparations have been condescending, as if we had done more than they deserve. The time has come to bury this guilt, we reason. We have done more than decent people can  expect.

Only when we can see humanity in the eyes of our darker brothers and sisters can we comprehend the shame and abuse we have inflicted over the generations.  Repentance goes a little deeper than “Sorry about that.”  It requires a hunger for understanding and resolve to listen for the residual offenses.  Can there be reparations? Perhaps, if the circumstances ask for it, but not payoffs intended to settle the score. We can not buy our way out of human carnage.

That’s why I like the concluding lines of this verse:

Let equity our promise be
Declare these truths anew

The words  suggest a heightened concern in the future, not a “that settles it” attitude. I think we are too quick to claim we have put all offense behind us, not appreciating that the hearts of offender and victim are not easily changed.  Relationships heal only with persistent attention.

The power of these added verses to “America the Beautiful” is in their juxtaposition of glory and infamy.  In no sense does our recognition of racism compromise our love of all things beautiful. It is an amalgam of justice and brutality that makes our country what it is.  What we make of this checkered history is what makes us both flawed and stunning.