"For we must be one thing or the other, an asset or a liability, the sinew in your wing to help you soar, or the chain to bind you to earth"
About this Quote
Cullen frames morality as weight and lift, and he does it with the kind of clean, unforgiving binary that turns a lyric into a reckoning. “One thing or the other” isn’t just emphasis; it’s a refusal of the comforting middle ground where most of us like to live. In Cullen’s hands, neutrality becomes its own verdict. You are either an “asset” or a “liability” to someone else’s chance at freedom.
The metaphor does the heavy work. “Sinew in your wing” is intimate, bodily, almost anatomical: help isn’t abstract goodwill, it’s structural support. A wing fails or succeeds because of what’s inside it. Then Cullen flips the image to the opposite physics: “the chain to bind you to earth.” Flight and captivity are paired as moral outcomes, not mere circumstances. It’s an indictment of how other people’s lives get determined by the social roles we choose - or accept - in a world built on hierarchy.
Context matters here: Cullen is writing in the Harlem Renaissance, a moment when Black artists were asked to “represent” their race, soothe white patrons, and prove respectability - while confronting the reality that American modernity still ran on racial constraint. The line reads like a warning aimed both outward and inward: to the nation that insists on keeping Black citizens grounded, and to the community itself, where complicity, colorism, or silence can become “chain” work.
The genius is the second-person pull: “your wing.” Cullen makes the reader responsible for someone else’s altitude. That’s not sentiment; it’s pressure.
The metaphor does the heavy work. “Sinew in your wing” is intimate, bodily, almost anatomical: help isn’t abstract goodwill, it’s structural support. A wing fails or succeeds because of what’s inside it. Then Cullen flips the image to the opposite physics: “the chain to bind you to earth.” Flight and captivity are paired as moral outcomes, not mere circumstances. It’s an indictment of how other people’s lives get determined by the social roles we choose - or accept - in a world built on hierarchy.
Context matters here: Cullen is writing in the Harlem Renaissance, a moment when Black artists were asked to “represent” their race, soothe white patrons, and prove respectability - while confronting the reality that American modernity still ran on racial constraint. The line reads like a warning aimed both outward and inward: to the nation that insists on keeping Black citizens grounded, and to the community itself, where complicity, colorism, or silence can become “chain” work.
The genius is the second-person pull: “your wing.” Cullen makes the reader responsible for someone else’s altitude. That’s not sentiment; it’s pressure.
Quote Details
| Topic | Relationship |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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