despair and dreams deferred: reflections on a raisin in the sun
- Deyi Lin
- Mar 5
- 3 min read
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
"Harlem" by Langston Hughes, 1951
Lorraine Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun follows the Younger family as they face racial and economic hardship in 1950s South Side Chicago. When the family receives a $10,000 life insurance check, each member envisions a different future, but their dreams are shaped—and constrained—by forces beyond their control.

While watching the production, I couldn’t help but reflect on society's lack of progress. Despite being written decades ago, the systemic inequalities that shaped the Youngers' reality continue to exist. Chicago remains one of the most racially segregated cities in the United States, and it seems as though contemporary politics have been barreling towards regression.
With dreams deferred all the way down, it is difficult not to fall into a rut of doomscrolling and despair.
“Why struggle? Where are we all going and why are we bothering?”
This existential questioning from Act III forms the undercurrent of the play. As individuals, as families, and as a people, how do we persist in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles? How does one preserve integrity in a world structured to erode it?
It is especially in moments of despair that we must interrogate these questions and renew our resolves. In a pivotal moment where Beneatha, a young, ambitious college student, laments on the futile and circular course of history. Asagai, her boyfriend, reassures her:
“What you just said about the circle. It isn’t a circle—it is simply a long line—as in geometry, you know, one that reaches into infinity. And because we cannot see the end—we also cannot see how it changes. And it is very odd but those who see the changes—who dream, who will not give up—are called idealists ... and those who see only the circle we call them the ‘realists’...
...But I will teach and work and things will happen, slowly and swiftly. At times it will seem that nothing changes at all… and then again the sudden dramatic events which make history leap into the future.”
The play does not suggest that change is immediate or even linear, but it insists that persistence is necessary. The road towards justice is long, and can appear to simply be an extension of past struggles, but Hansberry reminds us that history is not static and that the future is not predetermined.
At this point, I think it is important to highlight that Hansberry deliberately focuses her story on an ordinary, working-class family. All three acts unfold within the domestic confines of their two-bedroom apartment. She very easily could have had a politician or revolutionary as her protagonist, yet she refuses the narrative of grand acts of rebellion and individual exceptionalism. Instead, she emphasizes that structural change is composed of quiet endurance as well as moments of upheaval. The Youngers remind us that the actions of everyday people hold immense significance.
Even as she acknowledges the weight of oppression, she affirms the necessity of hope. Change is neither inevitable nor impossible. It is the result of idealists: individuals who act with hopeful intention, individuals who refuse to stop dreaming.
I am reminded of a quote from the Uruguayan author Eduardo Galeano:
“Utopia is on the horizon. I move two steps closer; it moves two steps further away. I walk another ten steps and the horizon runs ten steps further away. As much as I may walk, I'll never reach it. So what's the point of utopia? The point is this: to keep walking.”
The despair we may feel now has always been felt, and it will always be felt. But A Raisin in the Sun urges us to continue walking toward the society we want to live in.

I encourage you all to see this play. Or read the script.
A Raisin in the Sun runs at UChicago's Court Theater until March 23rd.
-- sputnik sweetheart ⋆˙⟡♡
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