Chapter 3c: Engaging World War I, 1910-1919
Nearly 400,000 Black soldiers served in the Army during World War I, at a time when the U.S. military remained completely segregated by race. Initially, many of the Black regiments sent to Europe were limited to serve as 'stevedores' -- essentially limited to manual labor, though over time many would find their way to combat. The "Harlem Hellfighters" (the 369th Infantry Regiment) from New York were particularly distinguished. This account notes that in fact, since U.S. military commanders were worried about the impact of morale on white troops, Black regiments sent to France were both trained for combat by the French and iniitally went into battle under French command.
A number of Black women were also sent to Europe as part of a support framework for Black soldiers. Their story is memorably told by Carrie Williams Clifford's poem "Our Women of the Canteen".
Many African American poets, especially those who published war poems in The Crisis, expressed pride at the Black contribution to the War effort. Some expressed optimism that participation would lead to changed social and political circumstances in the near future. Georgia Douglas Johnson's "Homing Braves" might be an example of this optimism in action.
However, others expressed deep ambivalence about the war effort. Why fight for a country that does not grant us full civil rights, or protect us from racialized violence? Why fight when we are not treated equally – and perhaps not really free?
A powerful example of a poem expressing exactly those sentiments might be Clara Burrill Bruce’s “We Who Are Dark”:
Clara Burrill Bruce, “We Who Are Dark” (1918)
We who are dark
And know the lash
On bodies worn,
Insensate made
Through years of wrong;
That feel no more
The scourge, the whip--
We who are dark
And know the hurt
Of pitiless scorn
On souls that live
And feel the dart
And thrust of wrong;
The greedy glance
Of sinful lust--
We who are dark
And know the urge
Of blinding rage
And fury red,
that eats and burns;
the ache of hands
Pressed on by hearts
On vengeance bent--
We've won your praise
That side by side
With those who taught
Us all our woes
We bravely march
Nor backward glance,
Not hesitant,
Nor slow, but with
Quickening treat
Old wrongs, old sores
Forgotten lie;
Brothers-in-arms,
As we march forth
To Victory,
Bearing aloft
To foreign lands
A freedom sweet
That's not our own.
This poem starts with a fierce awareness of the toll taken by racialized violence. In plain, sparse language, the poet shows us what it feels like to be Black in America in 1918: “We who are dark / and know the lash…” and then later “We who are dark / And know the hurt/ Of Pitiless scorn.” The pain and anger in these opening lines gathers momentum as the poem progresses, before changing gears somewhat abruptly in mid-stream, suggesting an ability to forgive and overlook the pain of the recent past. By the end of the poem, the language appears close to a full-throated embrace of the war effort: “As we march forth / To Victory, / Bearing aloft / To foreign lands/ A freedom sweet / That’s not our own.” That last surprising line brings back all of the anger and pain of the first lines, and reminds the reader of the mixed feelings of many Black supporters of the war effort.
Several other women writing during this period published poems that express somewhat similar sentiments.
Here are a few additional examples of World War I poems by Black women to check out:
Peters Sisters, Boys on To France (1919)
J. Pauline Smith, A War-time Prayer (1917/1922?)
Mary J. Washington, Peace on Earth (1919)
Effie Lee Newsome, Morning Light (1918)
Georgia Douglas Johnson, Smothered Fires (1918)
Sarah Collins Fernandis, Our Colored Soldiery (1918)
Alice Dunbar-Nelson’s “I Sit and Sew” (1920) takes a somewhat different approach. Here the speaker is a woman frustrated with being excluded from the main scene of battle at a time of desperate need:
Alice Dunbar-Nelson, "I Sit and Sew" (1920)
I SIT and sew—a useless task it seems,
My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams
The panoply of war, the martial tread of men,
Grim faced, stern eyed, gazing beyond the ken
Of lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death,
Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath—
But—I must sit and sew.
I sit and sew—my heart aches with desire—
That pageant terrible, that fiercely pouring fire
On wasted fields, and writhing grotesque things
Once men. My soul in pity flings
Appealing cries, yearning only to go
There in that holocaust of hell, those fields of woe—
But—I must sit and sew
The little useless seam, the idle patch;
Why dream I here beneath my homely thatch,
When there they lie in sodden mud and rain,
Pitifully calling me, the quick ones and the slain?
You need me, Christ. It is no roseate dream
That beckons me—this pretty futile seam
It stifles me—God, must I sit and sew?
Dunbar-Nelson’s poem expresses a feminist frustration with exclusion. She feels her sewing project to be small and “useless,” while something terrible is going on on the battlefield.
See our full collection of World War I poetry by African American poets here.