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"The caged bird sings

With a fearful trill

Of things unknown

Simply longed for still

And his tune is heard

On the distant colina

For the caged bird

Sings of liberty."

  • From the verse form, Caged Bird by Maya Angelou (1983)

THE caged bird has long been the symbol of man'southward struggle against the shackles of oppression. In his 1899 poem, Sympathy, African-American poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, wrote about knowing how the caged bird feels. How it grieves for its loss of freedom, and "beats his wings till its blood is red on the fell bars." This paradigm of the caged bird crying and clamoring for freedom is one that fabricated an indelible mark on Maya Angelou's young mind.

In her masterful 1969 memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, (the first book of a vii-part series), Angelou herself is the caged bird trying to break out of a world rife with racism, sexism, and strife. Detailing her early on years to her adolescence, this poignant autobiography shows us Maya Angelou's transformation from a withdrawn and self-witting child to a confident trailblazer whose works would somewhen influence, give vocalization to, and elevate an unabridged nation.

(SPOILERS BELOW)

The Unwanted Child: An Effort at Normalcy in Stamps, Arkansas

"Stamps, Arkansas, was Chitlin' Switch, Georgia; Hang 'Em Loftier, Alabama; Don't Permit the Sun Assault Yous Hither, Nigger, Mississippi; or whatsoever other proper name simply as descriptive. People in Stamps used to say that the whites in our town were so prejudiced that a Negro couldn't buy vanilla ice cream. Except on July Fourth. Other days, he had to be satisfied with chocolate.  (p. 49)

Motion-picture show this: Two pocket-sized children onboard a train—a iii-year-onetime girl and a four-year-old boy. They sit on the border of their seats, clasping each other'southward hands and then tightly their knuckles turn white. They're traveling from Long Beach, California, to Stamps, Arkansas, and don't seem to have anyone else with them. A journeying of over 1,500 miles with no ane to watch over them. Their tickets are pinned to the boy's glaze pocket, and if y'all look closely enough, you'll detect tags on their wrists addressed to the porter. The tags read: "To whom it may concern…"

Nowadays, such an occurrence is hard to imagine. Nobody in their right heed would send two preschoolers on a cross-country train trip without adult supervision. And if someone ever did, information technology's the blazon of event that would cause an uproar. The children's parents would probable be sued for neglect. But times were very unlike in the 1930s. While information technology was always heartbreaking for railroad train passengers to encounter these children frightened and alone, it happened often enough that the children'southward parents never really got into much problem.

The example higher up is by no ways a pretty picture, but it is an accurate one. This was how Maya Angelou and her blood brother, Bailey, came to live with their grandmother, Momma, and Uncle Willie in the heavily segregated town of Stamps, Arkansas. Their parents had but put an terminate to their "baleful marriage," and likely thought that it was the best arrangement for their children.

After all, Momma was a strong, resourceful, and successful businesswoman. She was the proud possessor of the Wm. Johnson General Merchandise Store—the Store that provided for the everyday needs of the boondocks's entire Black community. And true enough, Momma did a peachy chore raising Maya and Bailey. She gave the kids as much love, intendance, and discipline every bit any not bad female parent could give. But while their home life provided the children the stability they needed during those early years, information technology even so proved impossible for Momma to completely shelter them from the hardships that came with living in the racist south.

At a young age, Maya and her brother became privy to the dangers and difficulties that came with bigotry. During the cotton fiber-picking season, Black workers from boondocks would enter the store, thrumming with optimism over the promise of an abundant harvest. By nightfall, they would return, deflated and bone-weary. Their hands sore from an entire day of picking prickly cotton, their hearts heavy and their pockets still nearly empty.

There was likewise the looming threat of the KKK riding in at any time, looking for an excuse to punish a Blackness man for one crime or another. Any man with nighttime pare would exercise. It was punishment by proxy. The segregation likewise meant that medical services were difficult to come by; as nearby white doctors and dentists refused to treat anyone with 'colored' peel. As Maya later on observed, equality but came in the event of a national crisis.

 "It was when the owners of cotton fields dropped the payment of ten cents for a pound of cotton wool to eight, vii, and finally five that the Negro community realized that the Depression, at least, did non discriminate." (p.l)

In a way, it was a blessing that the Black customs in Stamps was a tight-knit one. With segregation in Stamps being almost absolute, nigh of the children in their part of town lived in some course of a bubble.

"In Stamps the segregation was and so consummate that most Black children didn't really, absolutely know what whites looked like. Other than that they were different, to be dreaded, and in that dread was included the hostility of the powerless against the powerful, the poor against the rich, the worker against the worked for and the ragged confronting the well dressed." (p. 25)

What piddling interaction Maya had with the whitefolks during this period were with the powhite trash that lived in Momma's land. And withal, even with the barest of interactions, those moments all the same filled young Maya with dread, frustration, and anger. I particular incident made its postage stamp in the writer's consciousness. A group of young white women came to the store and proceeded to mock her grandmother. They danced around like puppets, fabricated racist remarks, and 1 even did a knicker-less handstand. The entire time, Momma said aught. She refused to react to the insults, opting instead, to stand her ground only remained polite throughout the spectacle.

As Maya watched from within the firm, angry tears slid downwardly her cheeks. How dare they care for a great woman like Momma with such disrespect? Why was Momma not doing annihilation? Just she later realized that through her silent display of strength and resilience, her grandmother was teaching Maya an of import lesson. This was to stand up your ground in the face of adversity and hardship. A lesson that Maya took to heart and practiced throughout her life.

Now, as distasteful as those moments were, they were rare occurrences. At least during the children'due south early years. For the near part, their main concern was adjusting to their new life in Stamps. Bailey seemed to practise fine, but Maya had difficulties coming out of shell. In her words:

                "If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the pharynx." (p.iv)

The feelings of abandonment and displacement hounded Maya and Bailey. Information technology was a pain they had to struggle with, privately and quietly. Only but equally they were adjusting to life in Arkansas, what little peace they acquired from under Momma's care shattered with the inflow of presents from their parents.

 "I couldn't believe that our mother would laugh and consume oranges in the sunshine without her children…The gifts opened the door to questions that neither of us wanted to inquire. Why did they ship us away? And What did we do and then wrong? So wrong? Why, at three and four, did we have tags put on our arms to be sent by train alone from Long Embankment, California, to Stamps, Arkansas, with just the porter to look later on u.s.?" (p.52-53)

The presents were soon followed by their begetter'due south arrival. He had come to take them abroad, off to St. Louis to live with their mother.

A Phonation, Silenced.

Living with their mother was similar a dream for Maya and Bailey. The bustling streets of St. Louis in the mid-1930s was vastly different from the sleepy town of Stamps. The identify was a fount of new and exciting experiences. They met interesting characters and indulged in novel snacks like peanuts and jelly beans, thin-sliced ham, and sandwiches with lettuce in them.

(This was too where Maya earned her nickname. Bailey refused to call her Marguerite. Instead, opting to refer to her as "Mya Sister." The name stuck.)

Now, like Momma, Grandmother Baxter was a respected figure in the customs. She was a precinct helm, and many of their neighbors looked to her for help and advice. Their uncles were besides regarded as some of the toughest men in town. As for their mother, Vivian Baxter, she was the most cute and clever woman Maya and Bailey had ever seen. Her intelligence, talent, and beauty attracted many admirers—including Mr. Freeman. So when Mr. Freeman asked their mother to movement in with him, information technology was an unspoken understanding that he would provide for her children also.

 "Mother was competent in providing for us. Even if that meant getting someone else to furnish the provisions. Although she was a nurse, she never worked her profession while we were with her. Mr. Freeman brought in the necessities and she earned extra coin cutting poker games in gambling parlors. The straight 8-to-v world simply didn't have enough glamor for her, and it was twenty years afterward that I offset saw her in a nurse's compatible."

Mr. Freeman worked as a foreman. He was a large and placidity man. From the kickoff, Maya ever felt a lilliputian distressing for him. He seemed to her, at first, to exist a kind and harmless erstwhile man who only came alive at the presence of their mother. That's why, when the abuse start started, Maya felt confused, frightened, and a bit guilty, every bit if she was the one who did something incorrect.

As a kid, Maya suffered from terrible nightmares. To assist condolement her, her female parent allowed Maya to slumber in her bed. One day, when her female parent was out, Mr. Freeman started property her. Being and then young, Maya had no idea what was going on. Since nothing injure, the whole thing didn't strike her as inappropriate or bad. It was only when he made a threat that she realized she may be in trouble.

"Ritie, you love Bailey?" He sat down on the bed and I came close, hoping. "Yes." He was bending down, pulling on his socks, and his back was so large and friendly I wanted to residuum my head on information technology.

                "If you ever tell anybody what we did, I'll have to impale Bailey." (p.74)

Maya didn't understand this. What had they done? Why was Mr. Freeman challenge she had wet the bed when she didn't? She was at a loss. Starved for affection and approval, she had wondered if she was the one at fault over something she didn't understand. In this i, heartbreaking line, Maya Angelou sums up the confusion experienced past an abused child:

                "I had made him ashamed of me." (p.74)

The corruption shortly escalated into rape. And poor Maya was forced into silence. She was afraid to tell her mother or Bailey what happened. What if they stopped loving her? She meant to go on her silence, just the hole-and-corner came to low-cal when Maya savage ill. The judge and jury sentenced Mr. Freeman to a year and a twenty-four hour period, only it was fourth dimension that was never served. Days afterward the trial, Mr. Freeman'due south battered body was found behind a slaughterhouse.

A Return to Stamps: Finding Her Voice

Following Mr. Freeman's death, Bailey and Maya moved back to Stamps. At this point, all the conflicting feelings of fearfulness, dread, helplessness, and guilt had caused Maya to fall silent. A long time would get by before Maya would speak once again.

In the end, it was the kind guidance of Mrs. Bertha Flowers, the genteel, "aristocrat of Blackness Stamps," that helped Maya rediscover her vox, literally and literature-wise. Mrs. Flower's would lend Maya books and ask her to recite her favorite poems. Beyond encouraging her to speak once more, this menses helped awaken Maya'due south dear for poesy and literature.

Life before long improved for the young daughter. Maya began to brand friends and did and so well in course that she graduated 8th grade with top marks. But fifty-fifty during this period of triumph, a dark cloud loomed heavy over their customs. Graduation was a large deal in Stamps and anybody was in the mood for a celebration. That is, until Mr. Edward Donleavy'south commencement spoken communication.

Now, Mr. Donleavy was a white man from Texarcana. And as you lot can imagine, his speech wasn't so much a congratulations as information technology was a painful reminder of the African-American youth'southward place in order.

"The white kids were going to have a chance to become Galileos and Madame Curies and Edisons and Gauguins, and our boys (the girls weren't even in on information technology) would attempt to exist Jesse Owenses and Joe Louises.

                Owens and the Brown Bomber were great heroes in our world, but what school official in the white-goddom of Little Stone had the right to decide that those two men must be our only heroes? Who decided that for Henry Reed to get a scientist he had to work like George Washington Carver, as a bootblack, to purchase a lousy microscope? Bailey was obviously always going to be too minor to exist an athlete, so which concrete affections glued to what country seat had decided that if my blood brother wanted to get a lawyer he had to first pay penance for his skin past picking cotton fiber and hoeing corn and studying correspondence books at night for twenty years?

…We were maids and farmers, handymen and washerwomen, and annihilation college that nosotros aspired to was farcical and presumptuous." (p.180)

Beyond hearing these discouraging remarks, there was some other incident that acted every bit a sordid reminder of the dangers of discrimination in the segregated South.

During an errand in the white part of town, Bailey witnessed a dead 'colored' human being being fished out of a pond. The corpse was wrapped in a white sail, already bloated and stinking with rot. A white man was overseeing the trunk'south removal. Upon seeing Bailey and other African-American men standing nearby, he ordered them to bring the corpse into the calaboose. There, he callously joked that he would lock Bailey and the others up likewise.

This sadistic display of racism and cruelty frightened Momma enough to send Bailey and Maya back to their parents. Momma accompanied them to California. And from there, the children traveled northward with their female parent to live in San Francisco.

Starting afresh in San Francisco

Living in San Francisco during World State of war II was a pivotal menses for Maya. Under the tutelage of her George Washington High School teacher, Miss Kirwin, Maya constitute her passion for learning. While the night classes at the California Labor Schoolhouse awakened her fervor for drama and trip the light fantastic toe. At 14, Maya was blossoming into a driven and talented immature adult female.

That following summertime, Daddy Bailey invited her to spend some fourth dimension with him and his girlfriend in southern California. She accepted with enthusiasm. Only what had been a promising vacation became a menses of disappointment and reevaluation for Maya. Turns out, her big, potent, handsome and charming male parent was also very irresponsible. After getting stabbed by her father'due south girlfriend, Maya decided to run away and hibernate out until it was time for her to come up dwelling house. She didn't desire her female parent finding out most the incident with her father'southward girlfriend. So for an entire month, she lived in a junkyard with a group of other runaways. It was an feel that changed her, infusing her with wisdom and self-reliance. It is with this same conviction that Maya, upon returning to San Francisco, decided to become to work.

She wanted to a task on the streetcars, which wouldn't be so unusual except during those days, the Market Street Railway Company wasn't employing 'colored' people. This, of course, didn't stop Maya. With her female parent's encouragement, she persisted until she won the job and the respect of the people she worked with. It is this same resilience, this placidity strength and 'never surrender' attitude that would see Angelou overcoming and triumphing over the many challenges she would face in adulthood.

Final Thoughts on I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and Its Enduring Affect

I've always felt that the best and most impactful books are the hardest ones to review. The fact that information technology took me almost two months to write this lengthy piece should tell yous how special this volume is. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is a very well-written memoir. Though, actually, isn't that part expected? Maya Angelou is, after all, regarded equally ane of the almost talented storytellers in history. Only in this humble reader's opinion, what makes this memoir extra special is Angelou's treatment of her experiences.

Written in unproblematic verse, this memoir is highly readable—but it is not necessarily an easy read. Angelou doesn't just tell yous her story, she ropes you in for the unabridged ride. I remember reading an interview of hers where she said that to write this autobiography, she had to do and so in isolation and with the aid of booze. These were painful days to remember; days she had to relive to immortalize in print. And reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, you practise experience it. As you read virtually the ups and downs of Angelou's youth, you lot also feel the joy, ache, horror, and helplessness that she felt as a child.

It is a beautiful and heartbreaking memoir and an enlightening read. Considering beyond giving us her story, Maya Angelou besides gifts us with a potent history lesson. Through telling u.s. about her childhood, she presents us with the harsh reality of how information technology was like to live every bit Blackness child during the fourth dimension of segregation. She gives vocalisation to the struggles of an entire group of people—a group judged, punished, and discriminated against because of the color of their skin. It is a painful reminder that despite how far the African-American community has come up in terms of overcoming hundreds of years of oppression, their fight for equality is one that continues today.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is a slim volume that holds in its pages both tremendous weight and unsinkable hope. Information technology is a volume that has the ability to move its readers, down to the very marrow of their basic.

Grade: A+ (A must-read!)