Each One, Pull One
(Thinking of Lorraine Hansberry)
We must say it all, and as clearly
Trying to bury us.
As we can. For, even before we are dead,
Were we black? Were we women? Were we gay?
Were we the wrong shade of black? Were we yellow?
Did we, God forbid, love the wrong person, country?
Or politics? Were we Agnes Smedley or John Brown?
But, most of all, did we write exactly what we saw,
As clearly as we could? Were we unsophisticated
Enough to cry and scream?
Well, then, they will fill our eyes,
Our ears, our noses and our mouths
With the mud
Of oblivion. They will chew up
Our fingers in the night. They will pick
Their teeth with our pens. They will sabotage
Both our children
And our art.
Because when we show what we see,
They will discern the inevitable:
We do not worship them.
We do not worship them.
We do not worship what they have made.
We do not trust them.
We do not believe what they say.
We do not love their efficiency.
Or their power plants.
We do not love their factories.
Or their smog.
We do not love their television programs.
Or their radioactive leaks.
We find their papers boring.
We do not worship their cars.
We do not worship their blondes.
We do not worship their penises.
We do not think much
Of their Renaissance
We are indifferent to England.
We have grave doubts about their brains.
In short, we who write, paint, sculpt, dance
Or sing
Share the intelligence and thus the fate
Of all our people
In this land.
We are not different from them,
Neither above nor below,
Outside nor inside.
We are the same.
And we do not worship them.
We do not worship them.
We do not worship their movies.
We do not worship their songs.
We do not think their newscasts
Cast the news.
We do not admire their president.
We know why the White House is white.
We do not find their children irresistible;
We do not agree they should inherit the earth.
But lately you have begun to help them
Bury us. You who said: King was just a womanizer;
Malcom, just a thug; Sojourner, folksy; Hansberry,
A traitor (or whore, depending); Fannie Lou Hamer,
merely spunky; Zora Hurston, Nella Larsen, Toomer:
reactionary, brainwashed, spoiled by whitefolks, minor;
Agnes Smedley, a spy.
I look into your eyes;
You are throwing in the dirt.
You, standing in the grave
With me. Stop it!
Each one must pull one.
Look, I, temporarily on the rim
Of the grave,
Have grasped my mother's hand
My father's leg.
There is the hand of Robeson
Langston's thigh
Zora's arm and hair
Your grandfather's lifted chin
And lynched woman's elbow
What you've tried to forget
Of your grandmother's frown.
Each one, pull one back into the sun
We who have stood over
So many graves
Know that no matter what they do
All of us must live
Or none.
Literary Analysis
This literary analysis was generated with AI and may contain interpretive differences. Provide your analysis in the comments section.
Summary
Alice Walker builds the poem as an urgent address to Black artists and activists, beginning with the fear of being erased, misnamed, or reduced by hostile power. The opening questions test the cost of being Black, female, queer, politically radical, or simply honest on the page. From there, the poem widens into a fierce refusal of the culture and institutions that try to control memory, taste, history, and art.
As the poem moves forward, the tone becomes more insistent and collective. Walker repeats the declaration that she and others do not worship the values of the dominant society, then turns that refusal into a warning against betrayal from within the community. The final movement is both elegiac and militant: the dead are gathered back into living memory, and survival becomes a shared obligation. The central tension lies between burial and rescue, forgetting and witness, isolation and solidarity. The poem insists that art cannot be separated from lived struggle, and that saving one another is inseparable from saving the truth.
Theme
- Witness and truth-telling - The poem treats clear, honest expression as a moral duty, especially for writers and artists who must record what they see without softening it.
- Erasure and historical burial - Walker imagines enemies trying to bury Black, female, queer, and radical voices, showing how cultural power can work through forgetting as much as through violence.
- Collective survival - The repeated call for one person to pull another back suggests that no one survives alone; the well-being of each depends on the rescue of others.
- Resistance to dominant culture - The poem rejects the symbols, products, and values of the ruling order, exposing its false claims to superiority.
- Black memory and lineage - By naming ancestors and public figures, the poem restores a living chain of inheritance that counters silence and misrepresentation.
- Art as political responsibility - Painting, writing, singing, and dancing are presented not as private acts but as forms of participation in a larger struggle for justice.
- Solidarity against betrayal - The poem condemns those who help diminish important figures and communities, showing how internal dismissal can aid oppression.
Literary Devices
- Anaphora - The repeated openings with "We do not" and "Each one" create pressure and momentum, turning refusal and rescue into chants of conviction.
- Rhetorical questions - The early string of questions dramatizes the insecurity of marginalized identity and forces readers to confront how many ways a person can be targeted.
- Repetition - Key phrases recur throughout the poem to hammer in its arguments, especially the insistence that the community does not worship oppressive values.
- Cataloging - Walker lists people, institutions, and cultural objects in long sequences, creating a sweeping sense of what must be resisted and remembered.
- Enjambment - The broken lines push the poem forward urgently, mirroring the tension of speech under pressure and the need to keep moving.
- Direct address - The poem speaks to "you" as well as "we," making the accusation and the appeal immediate and personal.
- Metaphor - Burial, mud, the grave, and pulling someone back into the sun work as extended metaphors for cultural erasure and recovery.
- Allusion - The naming of figures such as Hansberry, King, Robeson, and Hurston brings history into the poem as a field of contested memory.
Symbolism
- The grave - A symbol of erasure, silence, and the social death imposed on marginalized people and their histories.
- Mud - The mud of oblivion suggests the dirty, suffocating force of forgetting that covers people and stories.
- The sun - Pulling someone back into the sun symbolizes renewed visibility, life, and public recognition.
- Hands, arms, legs, and other body parts - These separated body images suggest that memory and kinship are physical, inherited, and still urgently needed to restore wholeness.
- Pens - The attack on pens represents the attempt to destroy writing itself as a tool of testimony and resistance.
- The White House - The reference stands for political authority and official power, which the poem treats with skepticism rather than reverence.
Tone
Alice Walker's tone is defiant, grave, and uncompromising, but it is also deeply protective. She speaks with the force of someone determined to correct distortion and to keep people from being written out of history. For readers, the mood shifts from alarm and anger to resolve and hard-won hope. The poem feels like a public warning, a rallying cry, and a memorial all at once.
Historical Context
The poem belongs to the tradition of late twentieth-century Black literary and political writing, where poetry often served as both art and intervention. Its concern with race, gender, sexuality, labor, and artistic integrity reflects the overlapping struggles that shaped Black feminist thought and broader freedom movements in the United States. The poem also draws strength from the long practice of naming ancestors and cultural heroes as a way of preserving a threatened history.
Its references to well-known Black figures, civil rights memory, and political dissent place it in dialogue with the era's debates over representation, respectability, and cultural authority. The poem's insistence that artists are accountable to their people echoes a wider literary belief that language can help preserve a community under pressure and challenge the stories told by power.
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