I see people who talk about America, and then undermine it by

Hear the voice of Azar Nafisi, who spoke with clarity and lament: “I see people who talk about America, and then undermine it by not paying attention to its soul, to its poetry. I see polarization, reductionism and superficiality.” These words are not the idle musings of a casual observer but the cry of one who has lived between worlds, who has seen nations rise and falter, and who knows that the life of a people depends not only on power and wealth, but on the preservation of its inner spirit. For a nation without poetry, without soul, is a body without breath, a vessel adrift on stormy seas.

What is this soul Nafisi speaks of? It is not found in markets or armies, nor in the shifting tides of politics alone. It is the hidden current of imagination, memory, and vision. It is the voice of poetry—not merely verse, but all that gives depth and dignity to human life. When a people attend to their soul, they remember the songs of freedom, the cries for justice, the stories of those who built and bled. When they forget, they fall into superficiality, speaking only in slogans, measuring only in numbers, forgetting the deeper truths that hold a nation together.

Consider the words of Abraham Lincoln, who in the darkest days of the Civil War did not speak only of armies and strategies, but of the “better angels of our nature.” He wove into his speeches the poetry of the American soul: the yearning for liberty, the dignity of labor, the sacredness of sacrifice. Had he spoken only in the cold language of politics, the nation might have fractured beyond repair. But because he gave voice to its soul, America endured. Here is the living example of what Nafisi calls us back to.

Yet today, as she warns, we see the rise of polarization, where citizens forget they are bound by a common destiny and instead turn against one another with suspicion and scorn. We see reductionism, where complex truths are flattened into soundbites, where men and women are judged not by their depth but by the tribe they are assigned. We see superficiality, where appearances are prized above reality, and fleeting noise drowns out enduring wisdom. Such things eat away at the roots of a people, leaving only the brittle shell of a nation.

But poetry—whether in song, in literature, in the language of the heart—has always been the antidote. For poetry slows us, makes us listen, forces us to reckon with mystery, contradiction, and humanity. It teaches us that life cannot be reduced to mere slogans. It binds us to one another in compassion and imagination. A people who keep their poetry alive keep their soul alive, and from this soul flows resilience, creativity, and hope.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, the lesson is clear. Do not be content only with the surfaces of life. Seek the poetry of your land and of your own soul. Read the words that have shaped your people. Sing the songs that remember struggle and triumph. Resist the temptation of easy division and shallow thinking. For the greatness of a nation is not measured only in its wealth or weapons, but in the depth of its spirit, and the care with which it tends its poetry.

What, then, must you do? Refuse to let polarization blind you to the humanity of your neighbor. Resist reductionism by seeking understanding in all its depth and nuance. Cast off superficiality and dare to live with integrity. And above all, keep close to the soul—yours and your nation’s—through art, through literature, through song, through the continual practice of imagination and compassion. For a people who forget their poetry may gain the world, but they will lose themselves. This is the warning and the hope Nafisi leaves us: that to save the soul of a nation, we must listen once more to its poetry.