Les Miserables (National Tour - Hollywood Pantages)

I have a bit of a history with Les Miserables. I didn’t see the original tour run, although the billboards were everywhere in the Los Angeles I grew up in. However, in high school, I played some of the music for one of our concerts, and loved it. Later, I went on a law school trip to London, and we had our afternoons and evenings free. A few of us got some cheap scalped tickets for three nights of shows: The Mousetrap, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Miserables. While all were good, the best was definitely the last.

When I left for that London trip (and the week and a half on the continent which was my first real parent-free adventure), I had been going out with Amanda for a couple of weeks. She was jealous as heck about Les Mis, because she love the book, and had the musical pretty well memorized - but had never seen it in person. We started reading through the book together - aloud - and got to somewhere in the never-ending Waterloo digression before we got distracted by moonlight walks and the like. I probably need to go back and read it from the beginning.

Anyway, Amanda has wanted to see it live for forever, so when we saw it was coming to the Pantages, we were all over it. And decided to take the kids. (And yes, they all enjoyed it - it was their first truly big-budget show.)

It was interesting to see a rather different production than the one I saw in London. The music was the same (although orchestras are smaller these days, alas - at least there was one), and the book was the same. However, the sets were quite different. In the original, it was a rotating stage and two tumbling elements which could be configured to provide everything from the ship to the barricade. The new version definitely had more moving parts, and a huge variety of settings. Obviously, they were determined to use the entire budget. I made for an impressive spectacle which rivaled movie special effects - without the CGI.

The most impressive scene from a technical point of view was Javert’s suicide. In the original I saw, a trapdoor, fog, and projected ripples provided a dramatic result. But not like this one. The pieces of the bridge set were pulled up to make it look as if Javert was falling. And then, well, it is hard to explain, and I am not sure how they did it. Projected imagery combined with careful lighting and positioning by the actor made it feel as if our perspective rotated from a side view to a top view as he plummeted faster and faster. It was a moment that made you gasp.

And that was just the best part. Throughout, the technical stuff was amazing - and fascinating to my older son, the engineer (and also live theater geek since age 6…)

I also wanted to mention a few performances. This is, of course, a high-level professional troupe, so we expected and got generally excellent work. The only bit that bothered me a bit was that in the first half, Fantine (Mary Kate Moore) leaned just a bit sharp. It was weird because she would be fine on the long notes, but the connecting notes were just a tiny bit off. Now, I know I am a picky listener - most of us violinists have good pitch (if not always perfect intonation...it’s a lifetime battle) so I noticed small faults that others might not notice. Also, she was better in the second half, so I wonder if she had a bad ear monitor - that would certainly make sense.

One thing that little faults like this make clear is that a show like this is indeed live. No lip syncing. Indeed, there were the usual tiny vocal cracks and nuances that characterize live performance and make it so much better than even a good recording. As a performer myself, I appreciate the tremendous effort and hours of preparation which go into something like this - and I enjoy it as a result.

The Thenardiers (J. Anthony Crane and Allison Guinn) were good - and doing songs like that in dialect while still remaining intelligible is tough. The other parts were generally good - including the kids. The harmonies in the ensemble singing were top notch - very enjoyable.

The very best, though, were Eponine (Paige Smallwood) and Jean Valjean (Nick Cartell) Smallwood was unquestionably the best female vocalist on stage, and I mean no disrespect to the other fine singers. Smallwood was just a cut above, with power, range, and emotion. I could have listened to her all day.

 Paige Smallwood as Eponine

Nick Cartell as Jean Valjean

Except when I was listening to Cartell, who delivered as fine of a live theater performance as I have ever seen. His level of vocal control was amazing - I couldn’t believe his ability to hold notes in awkward ranges without needing operatic volume. There were some moments I had a dropped jaw. You wouldn’t know it from this performance, but he is a fairly young guy. Obviously, the aging was done well by the makeup people. But he nailed the physical aspect as well as the vocal gravitas.

I did want to talk about the story itself a bit too. The story is, after all, the best part. Victor Hugo does have some of the usual Victorian faults: long winded writing driven by financial concerns, extended digressions, overearnest naivete, bathos, and so on. But he also writes a powerful and empathetic story. He was perceptive about the complexities of human motivation, too, and created several timeless characters in Les Miserables. Also timeless is his uncomfortable look at the institutionalization of impoverishment - and indeed the criminalization of poverty. For those of us in the United States of the 21st Century, this seems all too familiar. Our national character is to grind the faces of the poor - it is no accident that we have the highest incarceration rate of ANY country in the world, as well as, far and away, more total prisoners than any other country.

We are a nation of Javerts.

Ah, Javert. I think if I had read Les Miserables as a kid, I would have missed his motivation. Seeing him for the first time as a law student, I think he made the greatest impression on me of any character. After all, he is the villain who could have been the hero in another book. The upright man serving faithfully and doing his duty. So why is he the villain? (Or at least a villain - he’s not the only one in the book.)

Hugo makes a few points here. One, of course, is that Javert is a cog in an unjust - and malevolent - system. That the Jean Valjeans of the world were (and are) imprisoned for being poor and human is the result, not of their own failings, but of a system which is designed to crush them. Javert participates, and not as an ignorant bystander. He is close enough to the action to see that the system is failing vulnerable humans.

But Javert doesn’t care - and why he doesn’t care is a key point. Javert is sure that God will love and reward him because he ruthlessly punishes those who fail to live up to his high standards. Javert isn’t a hypocrite in the strict sense - he doesn’t appear to indulge the vices he punishes in others. But he also has never had to face the hard choices his victims do. He will never watch his own child starve to death. He will never be a woman abandoned or fired from her job. He will never be run out of a town because of his past, or cheated of his wages. He always gets his - sucks to be the poor.

But Hugo goes far deeper than that. The climactic scenes are so powerful because we get to see Javert’s inner dynamics. Because Javert cannot extend grace to others, he cannot accept it for himself. In his mind, he has always deserved his good fortune and good life. He earned it, one painful choice at a time. That this is probably not a reflection of reality does not enter his head.

Thus, when the tables turn, Javert, who believes that Jean Valjean will always be a thief and a bad person, is left to face a horrifying truth:

Jean Valjean is a better man than Javert.

When Javert’s sense of self-worth crumbles, he has nothing left. His identity was as the “good guy,” and he constantly proved this to himself by his zeal to punish the “bad guys.” And then, when he is extended unexpected mercy by someone he believes to be his inferior, he can’t handle it.

And so he chooses annihilation.

I have mentioned in a few places that I don’t believe in the Evangelical version of hell. I won’t get into all the reasons here, but just that C. S. Lewis and Neil Gaiman both have influenced my views. But also, I should credit Victor Hugo. It was that viewing of Les Miserables that let me see a terrifying truth:

There are many who would choose annihilation rather than give up the pleasure of self-righteousness.

In fact, I tend to think these days that a lot of white Evangelicals will be like that. Particularly the white males in positions of authority. They have built their entire self-conception out of “I thank God I am not like other people.” For them to find out in the end that they were the bad guys, and all those gays, African Americans, refugees, impoverished people, and women they were so eager to put in their place and persecute were the “greatest in the Kingdom” all along, they will be like Javert. And choose to cease to exist rather than give up that comforting sense of self-righteousness they have clung to with bleeding fingers even as everyone around them outside the bubble turned away in disgust. That’s sad. But I think it is true.

Hugo, like many brilliant authors, had the ability to portray those on the margins of society with empathy and yet without making them into one-dimensional saints. One thing that struck me this time around is the way he captures the way that desperation makes humans turn on each other. The factory women, living tenuous lives for starvation wages, can’t resist the opportunity to slut shame Fantine. Other peasants turn on Jean Valjean. The prostitutes, even, don’t rally against an abusive john, but leave Fantine to her fate. Unfortunately, this is how the powerful and abusive stay in power.

Les Miserables also highlights another sad truth of most of history: women have always been treated as disposable. It isn’t just the prostitutes. The factory women are just cogs. Madame Thenardier has her fiefdom, but she is still treated like crap by her drunk abusive husband. Fantine can be tossed aside by her lover as soon as she becomes inconvenient. Eponine is useful to her parents as long as she gives unquestioning obedience - and she too is thrown away when she is no longer useful. It’s not just women. The working poor are treated as disposable. But women are particularly vulnerable.

It was good to experience this one again after a 20 year gap - I think my perspective has matured a bit - and current events have stripped more than a few illusions away. For example, I can’t really believe that Evangelicalism is any better than Javert. If anything, they relish cruelty for cruelty’s sake, which is further than Javert would go. (Sorry, I can’t un-hear or un-see things…) I am glad that the kids got to go. It was a splurge for us - we take the kids to local stuff all the time, but this was definitely more pricey. All those amazing sets and effects and the orchestra don’t come free. But there is something fun about an immersive spectacle. And Hugo’s story continues to reverberate today.

Do you hear the people sing?

Lost in the valley of the night

It is the music of a people

Who are climbing to the light

For the wretched of the earth

There is a flame that never dies

Even the darkest night will end

And the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom

In the garden of the Lord

We will walk behind the plowshare

We will put away the sword

The chain will be broken

And all men will have their reward!

Will you join in our crusade?

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Somewhere beyond the barricade

Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?

Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that we bring

When tomorrow comes!

Will you join in our crusade?

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Somewhere beyond the barricade

Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing

Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that we bring

When tomorrow comes!

***

Music clips!

This interview with Paige Smallwood includes a clip of her singing. The sound quality sucks, and doesn’t do her justice. But you can get a feeling of it. Believe me, in person, she was amazing.

The second is Nick Cartell. This clip is much better quality, and shows off his gorgeous voice quite well.

***

I do want to share this: my very first experience of Victor Hugo was this powerful poem.

After The Battle

MY father, hero of benignant mien,

On horseback visited the gory scene,

After the battle as the evening fell,

And took with him a trooper loved right well,

Because of bravery and presence bold.

The field was covered with the dead, all cold,

And shades of night were deepening : came a sound,

Feeble and hoarse, from something on the ground ;

It was a Spaniard of the vanquished force,

Who dragged himself with pain beside their course.

Wounded and bleeding, livid and half dead,

'Give me to drink - in pity, drink!' he said.

My father, touched, stretched to his follower now

A flask of rum that from his saddle-bow

Hung down : 'The poor soul - give him drink,' said he

But while the trooper prompt, obediently

Stooped towards the other, he of Moorish race

Pointed a pistol at my father's face,

And with a savage oath the trigger drew :

The hat flew off, a bullet passing through.

As swerved his charger in a backward stride,

'Give him to drink the same,' my father cried.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

Source of book: I own this.

My wife found a signed copy of this book, and it was recommended to me by a few friends as well. I had intended it to be a second selection for Black History Month, but I wasn’t able to fit it in. However, I did put it on my nightstand, and eventually reached that stratum. 

I have kind of mixed feelings about the book, and mixed feelings about having mixed feelings. Let me start with the things I was disappointed in, and then look at the things I loved.

The first probably stems from the fact that I am (1) not a genre fiction person and (2) generally prefer characterization to action. Children of Blood and Bone is YA fantasy by genre, and shares many of the same characteristics of other books I have read within said genre. In particular, fantasy books often tend to be action driven - and full of tension, danger, and violence. Which, if that is your thing, that’s fine. It just isn’t mine. (On a related note, I am not into action or superhero movies.)

This also ties into an observation I have made about a few YA or children’s genre fiction books: the feel is a lot like a combination of a video game and a movie. If you look past the specifics of the world the author builds or the details of the action, you can see the way the movie would be shot, frame for frame - or find it super easy to imagine the video game. Two of the worst offenders in this sense are Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson in their Peter and the Starcatchers series - which, despite some fun moments, seem very much like book adaptations of a movie. I would likewise mention Brandon Mull’s Five Kingdoms series, which works as an audiobook for travel - the action keeps one awake - but reminds me so much of the NES games I watched my friends play as a child.

Children of Blood and Bone is not as fluffy as those others, but I did feel like it was built around a near-constant sequence of dangerous or violent set-pieces. In practice, a plot driven book like this doesn’t give the characters time or room to develop. Outside of the group of main characters, the other sentient beings have to be sorted (really fast, usually) into “enemies that will kill me if I don’t escape or kill them,” or “people who might assist me in my quest.” Or, perhaps, as in the rudimentary RPG games I preferred to those requiring hand-eye coordination: “good, evil, or neutral.” The plot twists therefore consist in new and dangerous circumstances plus a potential change of a character from evil to good and back.

This constant peril and action means that the book mostly lacks ordinary human interactions. (There is an exception in a couple of chapters two-thirds of the way through - which is a nice, if temporary relief.) I will concede that this is a natural result of the needs of the plot. Fleeing for one’s life doesn’t leave much room for social niceties. But it also is really draining for someone like me, who finds the constant tension, danger, and violence to be exhausting. It’s just a personality thing. And likewise, please do not expect me to be good at improvising a plan while fleeing for my life. That is most certainly NOT my particular skill set. Because of the dark plot, there really wasn’t any humor in the book, which I missed. Again, that’s my personality.

One more thing that kind of bothered me is the way the book ended. As in, the big climax took place, and we had...wait for it...two pages of epilogue to wrap it up. That’s it. Actually, that isn’t it. There was literally two sentences after the final big reveal. And both of those sentences give the main character’s reaction, but don’t actually explain much of anything.

Okay, okay, I’m sure there will be a sequel. (Actually a trilogy is planned. Will it be five books by the time it is done?) But still, I thought, “wait, what??!” at the end, when I flipped the page, and there was...nothing more in the book. It was very abrupt, and I had lots of questions afterward.

Alright, enough of the bad stuff. There was a lot to like in this book too. Adeyemi is Nigerian American (and all of 25 years old, so some of the flaws may just be the result of youth and stuff). She says she was inspired to write the book by the ongoing police brutality against African Americans - particularly the unarmed, the innocent, or young children. To this end, Adeyemi combined West African mythology, Yoruba language and culture, and metaphorical representations of current and past injustices.

The fictional world is divided into two classes of people. The Maji are those who can (or at least used to be able to) use magic. The Kosidan are the non-magical people, who have become the ruling class, and brutally oppress the Maji, who have lost their magical abilities. While all of the characters have dark skin, the Kosidan are described as being slightly lighter. In contrast, the Maji have grey hair, which is an easy tell as to their identity. In the aftermath of a cataclysmic war, the Maji have been enslaved, killed, and brutalized by the Kosidan, who are determined that magic itself must be exterminated.

It isn’t difficult to see parallels to the slave trade, Jim Crow, police brutality, and other realities of the American past and present. Adeyemi does a good job of keeping the analogies from becoming preachy allegories, which I appreciated.

I also thought that the world building was good. Personally, I could have enjoyed a little more time on background and a bit less on battles, but I recognize that I am not the target audience for YA fantasy. Adeyemi did give enough information to make sense of her world, which felt consistent, and not like a rip-off of other worlds. I would be happy to explore the world further. (Side note here: Adeyemi cited Harry Potter as an influence. I also found that series - the first two books at least - to be a bit heavy on action and light on description and characterization.) So I do give credit for a compelling world. The connection of magic to the gods, to objects, and to people was particularly interesting.

My favorite facet of the book, however, was the nuanced moral ambiguity. While the Kosidan are currently in power, and thus have the wherewithal to be the villains and oppressors, the history doesn’t leave the Maji innocent. There seems to have been plenty of brutality, violence, and hate on all sides, and both groups have a colorable claim to a right to defend themselves against the other group. Adeyemi has all three main characters (who take turns narrating the story) wrestle with the question of whether bringing magic back will be a good or bad thing. On the one hand, the Maji are correct that without some power to hit back against their oppressors, they will never be respected or treated with dignity. On the other, would they actually be less evil than the Kosidan if they gained power? Or would they be just as brutal and murderous? Human history suggests a rather pessimistic view of the possibilities.

Likewise, the idea of cooperation and equality is raised, but in practice has proven to be difficult to establish, let alone maintain. The idealists rarely win. On the one hand, I give great credit to the author for her treatment of these moral and practical problems. On the other, so I really have to wait for the rest of the trilogy for some sort of resolution? Will I have to read two (or more) additional books and wade through much more violence and brutality? Will she pull a George Martin and kill off everyone decent who isn’t already dead? And, I suppose most importantly to me, will the main characters be able to find enough moral clarity to actually follow through on a plan?

My concluding thoughts would be as follows: Children of Blood and Bone raises interesting moral questions, creates an interesting world, and has a fast paced plot. I think it is better written than average, but still remains in the category of genre fiction, rather than literary fiction. Your mileage, of course, will vary, as tastes and personalities differ. If you like fantasy, have a tolerance for brutality and violence, but want a book that isn’t just escapist fun, there is a lot to like in it. It is, however, pretty brutal. If you lean more toward character-driven, slower paced literature, you might, like me, find it emotionally tiring to read for extended periods, despite the parts I enjoyed.

***

The Garlic Ballads by Mo Yan

Source of Book: Borrowed from the library

This is another of those books that has been on my list so long, I honestly don’t remember who recommended it or when.

What I do know is this: Mo Yan won the Nobel Prize for literature in 2012 for his body of work, including this book, Mo Yan is a pen name - it means “don’t speak,” the book was banned in China, and yet Mo Yan is unusual in that he won the prize and yet did not find himself in prison in China.

Mo Yan wrote quite a number of books prior to and after this one, and, like this one, most were translated into English by Howard Goldblatt, who also abridged some of them. It is not at all clear if that happened in this case - a quick internet search didn’t turn up anything definitive. In any case, it is fairly certain I will never read it in the original language, so what I read is what I had available.

 

 The Garlic Ballads was written in 1995, but is set in 1987, during a historical event - the “garlic glut.” The characters are fictional, but very much of the rest is quite historical. The basic events went down like this: officials of the local Chinese government order the local farmers to plant only one crop - garlic - and promise to pay a fixed rate for it. When the crop matures, there is a glut, and the same officials refuse to buy the garlic, it rots, causing a stink and ruining many of the farmers. They revolt and trash the office of the local commissioner, who hides in his home and refuses to respond. The government cracks down on the protesters, arresting many, who are then subjected to brutal conditions and abuse. Against this backdrop, Mo Yan writes a doomed love story, a tale of prejudice, and several episodes of corruption and oppression by the authorities.

Let me say at the outset that this book is brutal. And I don’t use that term lightly. It is thoroughly violent, with every kick and punch from the police landing with full force. Bodily fluids are everywhere, and if you can’t take people being forced to eat their vomit and urine, you probably shouldn’t read this book. I know our own law enforcement here in the United States has serious issues - and I wouldn’t want to be a young man of color here. But this is on a whole different level, where cattle prods and torture are considered a matter of course, and “justice” is not even an illusion - “confess or we make it harder on you” from everyone from the judge on down. So if you are looking for anything pleasant in this book, I warn that they are very, very few and far between.

The book focuses on two main characters - we see the events mostly through their eyes. The first is Gao Yang, a farmer who is socially disadvantaged because of his descent from people who were landlords before Communism. He is the recipient of much of the abuse in the book, despite his natural submissiveness and puzzlement at what is happening to him. (He got involved in the protests because he got caught up in the crowd, but is singled out as a “ringleader” apparently because of his social standing.) If anything “good” can be said to happen in this book, we assume it will happen in the future after he serves his time. And, to a large degree, we can hope things work out for him because of his wife, who is one of the truly decent people in the book. Perhaps because she is crippled (and therefore undesirable for marriage), she has both compassion and a resilience that other characters lack. The second is Gao Ma, another farmer, who has personal issues of his own, and who actually is a ringleader in the revolt. A smaller portion is told from the perspective of Fourth Aunt Fang, the matriarch of the Fang family.

Mo Yan doesn’t write a sequential story. We are plunged into the aftermath of the revolt with Gao Yang’s arrest, and it takes all of the book before we actually get back to the circumstances of the revolt itself. The characters essentially tell the back story through flashbacks, which are also interspersed with stories from legend and conversations with other characters. To top it off, part of the narrative is carried by short poetry excerpts at the beginning of the chapters, by the blind balladeer who sang the story of the garlic glut and revolt. (The title comes from these songs.) Thus, I would not say that the plot thread is easy to follow. Particularly at first, one can see glimpses of the past and future, but everything is so unclear. I would say that I was able to piece together the outline about halfway through, but many details were still not in place until near the end.

A couple of things really stood out to me about the book. The first is this: a lot of what we here in the West have been taught about Communism - particularly the Chinese version - is a big pile of excrement. It is particularly egregious on the part of the Right in their intentional oversimplification of Communist regimes to an economic system. I have written about this before in the past, specifically how systems like Communism and Nazism are united by their totalitarianism. Not so much religion or philosophy or economics, but by a belief in the necessity to exert absolute control over a population. Thus, it is the existence of the secret police - those above the law and answering only to the corrupt bosses - that define these regimes. I have read a number of books written by those who lived in these assorted countries during totalitarianism, and the universal theme is the lack of political, not economic freedom, which defines them. (One recent example is The Vagrants, by Yiyun Li, also about Communist China, from an insider.)

In this book, this is apparent from the outset. By 1987, at least, the rural Chinese farmers appear to own their land. It certainly seems that way. And, despite the “grow garlic and we’ll buy it,” edict, just about everyone still grows other foods for their own use. A few even hedge their bets, and don’t seem to suffer a consequence. The main way we can tell this is still a communist system is that there is a single buyer for the crops. Which, come to think of it, isn’t that far off from how some markets work here in the West. So no, it isn’t a truly free market, but it isn’t a full command economy, and “capitalism” exists in a recognizable form. After all, the farmers sell their crops and keep the proceeds. If they work harder and grow more, they get more money. So it isn’t somehow that people are too equal that is the problem. (And in practice, they aren’t that equal.) It is the totalitarianism.

What is striking, however, is the way that the totalitarian system readily adapts to the looser economic system - and becomes less a doctrinaire communism, and more like a corrupt kleptocracy, where those in power cheat and steal and take bribes and enrich themselves at the expense of others. And because absolute authority is accepted, they can get away with it.

This leads me to the second observation. In some ways, the Communism of Mao was a radical change from tradition. (Which is one reason why the Cultural Revolution led to mass starvation and other horrific results.) In this book, the past and present cultures both co-exist and fight for dominance.

The best example of this is at the heart of the doomed love story. Gao Ma is in love with young Fang Jinju, the only daughter of Fourth Aunt Fang. However, he is just a poor farmer and former soldier, so her family rejects the idea. Rather, what they want to do is marry her off to a much older and connected man with money...who hasn’t been able to marry before because he is gross and undesirable. But, in this case, there is a sweetener. If Jinju marries him, then Jinju’s deformed eldest brother will get a wife in exchange, which will allow the second brother to marry as well. So her body is basically sold in exchange for social and economic advantage.

Contracts like these are illegal under Communism, which has tried - with some success - to shift society to a more egalitarian view of the sexes. But out here in the rural districts, the law is not enforced, both because of the strength of misogynistic tradition and the universal fact that the wealthy and connected can do whatever the hell they want. The spirited Jinju is not okay with this and refuses, then runs off with Gao Ma and gets pregnant, throwing a huge wrench in the works. And then her family brutally beats her. This does not end well, alas. The greed and cruelty in the Fang family cause them to unravel when things start to go badly wrong.

It is interesting that there are signs of gender equality here and there in the story. Many of the police are female - and they are more likely to act compassionately and justly than the often vulgar and cruel men. The doctor who delivers the children in the village is female and highly educated. She pushes back against the rural parents who celebrate the birth of males, and mourn the birth of females. (As she correctly points out, the very same people then whine about how hard it is to find wives for their beloved sons. On a macro scale, this misogyny has led to a serious lack of females in China.)

Whatever else this book contains, it certainly does not fit an easy “socialism good, capitalism bad” narrative. Instead, it looks at the problems of corruption, of the ugly side of “tradition,” the challenges of forced change, and the human propensity toward violence and brutality. The problems seem rather more universally human than specific to one culture or government. The cure seems not “unrestrained capitalism” but a need for freedom, compassion, and decency. And really, all of those are bound up together. When we recognize others as human and treat them with compassion and empathy, we tend to give them freedom. It is when we dehumanize that enforcing rules and authority becomes more important than everything else. (Hey, didn’t the founder of a major religion talk about that a bit?)

I can’t say I really “enjoyed” this book. It was a tough read. But it also had some amazing writing - although I can’t say how much is in the original versus the translation. The descriptions are evocative, the emotional connection with the characters solid, and the language beautiful. I would be curious if all of Mo Yan’s books are this dark, because it would be interesting to see what he would do with characters in a world in which they could thrive, rather than be brutalized.

Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice by Phillip Hoose

Source of book: Audiobook from the library.

While our audiobook selections have primarily been fiction, there are exceptions. This book is one of them.

When most of us think of the Civil Rights Movement, two names are usually the first to come to mind: Martin Luther King Jr., and Rosa Parks. And to be sure, both of them are deserving of honor. They played crucial roles in the struggle, and acquitted themselves well.

But throughout history, there are names that are unjustly forgotten, or even unjustly maligned, who are also important and inspiring. Fortunately, for some of them at least, history eventually recognizes their contributions.

One of those unjustly neglected heroes is Claudette Colvin. This book tells her story.

The Montgomery Bus Boycott was one of the key events of the Civil Rights Movement, and one that had long term repercussions. It formed a rallying point for the movement, brought Martin Luther King Jr. to leadership, and resulted in one of the most important court cases of the 1950s. Without the boycott, it is unlikely we would have seen the Civil Rights Act a decade later.

But this event is usually told in a way that misses much of the history. We all learn (okay, those of you who actually studied the Civil Rights Movement in school - A Beka pretended it didn’t happen…) that the boycott was sparked when Rosa Parks refused to move to the back of the bus in deference to a white person.

That is a half-truth at best.

Again, no disrespect to Rosa Parks, who took her life in her hands by her actions and is justly remembered as a hero. But she was a carefully selected protester, and her act a carefully planned stunt. And it wasn’t even the first act of protest.

Rather, about nine months before Rosa Parks refused to move, a 15 year old girl named Claudette Colvin did the same thing - and was likewise arrested and prosecuted. It was her act - done spontaneously on her own initiative - that inspired the plan to have a boycott and a specific trigger - Rosa Parks.

Let that sink in a moment. A 15 year old girl - a mere child - decided on her own to take on the system. She refused to yield her seat (on a technicality which the court later recognized), and was dragged off the bus by policemen, jailed, and prosecuted. Think of the courage that took. She had no guarantee that anyone would support her. And, in fact, after some initial support, she was largely abandoned and forgotten. 

 Claudette Colvin, one year before she protested.

It isn’t that hard to understand why, given the times she lived in. She got pregnant about four months after the incident, by an older married (but separated) man, thus ruining her reputation. She was also young, and although intelligent and a good student, lacked the gravitas to be a good figurehead for a movement.

In contrast, Rosa Parks was thoroughly respectable, middle class, middle aged, and lighter skinned. I am sad to have to add the last, and, again, none of this was Rosa Parks’ fault. That she was an outstanding embodiment of the evil done by segregation is to her credit in every way, and her dignity and decency helped defuse the stereotypes that were wielded in an attempt to stop desegregation.

However, Colvin’s brave act gave the idea to the community leaders in Montgomery. Segregated buses would be the issue, and a suitable protester - a rallying point - would be chosen. Rosa Parks, already active in the NAACP and well known, was the obvious choice. And Colvin was pushed aside.

After Parks’ arrest, the boycott started. Simultaneously with this, the NAACP along with attorney Fred Gray - who defended both Colvin and Parks - filed a federal lawsuit challenging segregation. This case, Browder v. Gayle, is one of those cases that lawyers and law students know, but most laypersons do not. In fact, while the boycott drew national media attention, it was in fact the legal case which actually ended bus segregation throughout the United States. Claudette Colvin was a star witness in the case, and Gray would later say that she was crucial in convincing two of the three judge panel in favor of desegregation.

This book is interesting in part because the author spent considerable time talking with Colvin after her retirement from a career as a nurse’s aide. The book is full of direct quotes from Colvin about the events, about her feelings and experiences. Thus, it can be said to be truly her story, not just a story about her.

I will confess that much of the information in this book was new to me, even though I do care about history, and have read quite a bit about the era. I knew that Rosa Parks wasn’t the first, but I didn’t know much about the others. And yes, there was more than one - at least two teenage girls came first. I am glad my kids got to hear this one.

I had a few thoughts about this book and the history behind it.

First is this: I think it is vital to understand that the lie that the past was better is one of the most pernicious falsehoods in our political and religious discourse in this country. No, it was not better. It was, in fact, horrible for many people. That is why it is so obvious that “Make America Great Again” is nothing less than a call for a return to white supremacy. That is why it is appealing in the first place. We can go back to the past when “women and negroes knew their place.” That is the meaning of MAGA.

The second, related point is that this isn’t ancient history.

These events took place during my parents’ lifetime.

We as a nation are so not over the Civil Rights Movement. Rather, there are many - including an entire political party these days - who are actively fighting against the victories that non-whites have won over the last 65 years. It is certainly no excuse to say this, but it is key to remember that my parents’ generation - the Baby Boomers - grew up when it was normal to tell blacks that they had to be humiliated so that whites would maintain superiority. I hasten to add that my parents don’t think this way, and certainly didn’t raise me that way. But too many white Boomers seem to have this belief that things were so much better back before MLK. It is surreal to me - growing up in the 1980s in California - just how recently segregation was the literal law of the land.

Third observation is that the courts have always played a crucial role in human rights. I really understand these days why the Right in the US hates the court system for the most part. It has served as a bulwark against racist laws from the 1950s on. Some important names came into the story in a collateral way. Earl Warren was perhaps the most influential person to come out of Bakersfield, although conservative whites in our town aren’t all that proud, sad to say. Thurgood Marshall argued for the winning side in Brown v. Board of Education, and was later appointed to the Supreme Court as the first African American justice. These are big names, and justifiably so.

But I want to mention two others. I noted Fred Gray above. When he defended Colvin, he was fresh out of law school, and thrown into the fire. This story - and a bit of research on him - was enough to convince me that he belongs in the gallery of badass attorneys in history. The book quotes from the transcript of the oral arguments and witness examination, and Gray was fantastic.

I also need to mention Judge Frank Johnson. A young judge (younger than me!) at the time of the trial in Browder v. Gayle, he went on to preside over a number of major civil rights cases in the Alabama district of the Federal Court. As Bill Moyers put it much later, he “altered forever the face of the South.” One could argue that he was as important as Lincoln himself in establishing the human rights of African Americans.

Three things bear mentioning here. First, Johnson received numerous death threats, had a cross burned on his lawn, and had his mother’s house firebombed. Opposing the Ku Klux Klan had real consequences back then, and he did the right thing anyway. Second, in what has to be one of the most infuriating (to me), if entirely common, events, Johnson received a letter essentially telling him he had better repent for elevating blacks to the level of whites, or he would burn in hell. Which is, alas, pretty much the position of the Religious Right these days when you challenge their racism. Third, Johnson was a Republican. Seriously, back in the not-that-distant past, the GOP was actually the party of integration. By the time Jimmy Carter nominated him to the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, that had been completely changed by Nixon’s Southern Strategy and the rise of the Religious Right. Sad and frustrating that things have changed.

On that note, something else really struck me. Here is the admonition of MLK during the boycott:

“If you have weapons, take them home; if you do not have them, please do not seek to get them. We cannot solve this problem through retaliatory violence. We must meet violence with nonviolence. Remember the words of Jesus: "He who lives by the sword will perish by the sword". We must love our white brothers, no matter what they do to us. We must make them know that we love them. Jesus still cries out in words that echo across the centuries: "Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; pray for them that despitefully use you". This is what we must live by. We must meet hate with love. Remember, if I am stopped, this movement will not stop, because God is with the movement. Go home with this glowing faith and this radiant assurance.”

In contrast to this, the White Citizens’ Council and the KKK committed numerous acts of violence against those involved. Even the mayor of Montgomery openly called for violence in response.

I cannot help but notice that The Toupee Who Shall Not Be Named continues (as he has since the beginning of his campaign) to take plays out of the KKK playbook, and has essentially threatened violence if his party is voted out in the next election. This is pretty parallel to the “if we lose, the blacks will rule Montgomery,” so whites should take up arms. It is the same thing, in a new era...nearly 70 years later. In what is surely not a coincidence, he is also vilifying peaceful protest against injustice. Things haven’t really changed that much.

One final thought on this book. Today’s teens seem to understand that we live in an era in which they will need to take action, because their parents’ generation is too cowardly (or compromised) to do it. The students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas high school get it. And they have paid for their courage with death threats from the white nationalists who fear that gun control will deprive them of their defense against the black “animals” they fear. Like the white librarian who spoke up against desegregation and received death threats for her trouble (she later committed suicide, alas), the warriors for justice and human decency these days will face consequences from the forces of evil - as they always have. But that doesn’t change the fact that even children can make a difference in the fight against evil. Claudette Colvin, inspired by an active sense that what she suffered was injustice, took action against it. While she didn’t receive recognition until just a few years ago, she deserves the credit for inspiring a revolution.

This book is thoroughly outstanding. My kids loved it - they have a strong sense of justice, and have been raised - as I was - to understand the ugly truth of our nation’s history. And ghastly present White Nationalist moment. Stories are powerful. This one humanizes the humiliation that African Americans suffered under Jim Crow. And, let us not forget - this isn’t ancient history. Many today are alive who participated in this event. Claudette Colvin is still with us. Fred Gray is still alive. Many of those who spit in the faces of the African Americans seeking equality still live. Perhaps some have changed, but many probably cling to their hate. Many of those who were forced to give way to whites on the bus still can tell their stories. Let us listen with empathy and with a renewed commitment to justice.

***

One more note that I couldn’t figure out where to put in the post. I am white. I married a white woman. (Hey, I fell madly in love with her...what can I say?) I have white kids. So, I kind of have this dilemma. On the one hand, our history is pretty awful. People of my color have done horrid things. My personal ancestors came over after the Civil War, and haven’t been rich, so I don’t have personal stuff to be ashamed of, but we have definitely benefited from racist systems in the United States.

But I don’t want my kids to just feel bad - that isn’t productive. What I want is for them to see examples of whites who did the right thing. The Quakers who sheltered those escaping from slavery. The abolitionists. The men and women who stood up against Jim Crow - and often paid the price. (That many of these were lawyers, judges, and Christian ministers makes me proud.) The men and women today who join in protesting police brutality, discrimination, and hate. Those who don’t just stay silent when others make racist jokes, or air their hate. Those who speak up, come along side the oppressed, and who fight for justice.

I want my children to see these good examples and to emulate them.

Books like this also remind us that doing right has consequences. While we haven’t suffered the firebombing and death threats of the past, we have lost friends over our commitment to speak out against racial hatred and the political parties and candidates that fan those evil flames. This is to be expected. Those who threatened Civil Rights leaders, black and white, were convinced god was on their side. A god that somehow believed segregation and white supremacy was good, and human rights were evil. That god is still widely worshipped today, in white Evangelical churches across our nation. We lost our connection to that community over our refusal to bow to that idol. Thus is the price of refusing to sell one’s soul. My prayer is that we see a better world as a result.

***

Some related reading that I highly recommend:

Remembering Jim Crow (oral history)

The Price for their Pound of Flesh by Daina Ramey Berry

The Slaves’ War by Andrew Ward

The Other Slavery by Andres Resendez

Kindred by Octavia Butler

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

The Souls of Black Folk by W.E.B. DuBois

Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

The Fire This Time, edited by Jesmyn Ward

The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

There has been a trend over the last, say, 40 or so years, to turn tropes on their heads. One of these has been to repurpose - to redeem, so to speak - the Witch. No longer a byword for evil of the worst kind, a menace to children, in league with the devil, she is at minimum more complex and human. In many cases, she is the greatest force for good in a community.

There is a lot of truth to this transformation. An honest analysis of the history of witch burning - and let’s call it what it is: murder - reveals that “witches” generally fell into two categories. The one was the elderly woman with no relatives to defend or avenge her. She was viewed as a drain on the community resources. Rather than support her (say, through the poor laws), it was easier to imagine her malignant and murder her. Not a particularly savory human trait on display there.

The second sort of historical “witch” is even more intriguing. Throughout history, there have been women who refused to kowtow to the patriarchy, who served as the physicians of the community, healing with pharmaceutical herbs, providing contraceptives (and yes, abortifacients too - this was all women’s work for millennia), delivering babies, and so on. One can trace these sorts of women (very often called “wise women”) from the dawn of human history to modern times. The Florence Nightingale sorts who stood up to chauvinist doctors and provided far better care than they did. Although nursing is no longer a solely female profession, it is still the nurses - not the doctors - who do the hard work of medical care.

Sadly, the “wise women” always existed in uncomfortable tension with the patriarchal powers of society. So, from time to time, one would be murdered as a “witch.” That way, the balance of power could be maintained, and the healers would live in fear, and thus stay in their place. Several of these women are mentioned in Uppity Women of Medieval Times - success and popularity were dangerous to women. 

I start off with this, because The Girl Who Drank the Moon is one of those books in which a witch is a healer. (Although the best, for my money, is still Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany Aching series - they are a great crash course in ethics for kids.) This book is also quite political - in a good way - without being particularly didactic.

The setting is a rather dystopian society. The Protectorate is a city with a problem. There is a witch living in the forest, and she will destroy the city unless a baby is left for her in the woods each year - presumably for her to devour. This belief is fostered by superstitious stories passed from generation to generation. But it is also enforced by the powers that be: the all-male council of elders, and the all-female quasi-military force. (They are kind of a cross between nuns and ninjas…) So, every year, the youngest child in the city is brutally ripped from his or her parents, and left to die in the forest. Thus, the witch is appeased, and the city lives another year.

But this is not, of course, the reality. There actually IS a witch, but she is rather puzzled by the whole “abandoned baby in the forest” thing. She comes every year, takes the baby, and places it for adoption with a family on the other side of the mountains - communities for which she serves as healer and therapist. Sure, she probably should have inquired as to why they were abandoned, but the Protectorate was obscured in a fog, both literal, and magical (a fog of sorrow.)

This goes on for some time - 500 or so years - before things change. First, Xan (the witch), takes a shine to a particular baby, Luna, and accidentally feeds her moonlight instead of starlight, which “enmagicks” her. At the same time, Antain, a young man who is expected to eventually take his place as an elder, is traumatized by Luna’s abduction. Her mother refuses to peacefully surrender the child, instead going mad in the aftermath. She is locked in a tower, and Antain is haunted by the scene. He investigates, and is cut on his face by a flock of paper birds created by the mad woman. He eventually marries, and his child in turn is due to be sacrificed.

In the meantime, Luna has grown up raised by Xan, a primeval swamp monster named Glurg (who is a sensitive poet, and may be both one with creation and its creator - it’s a paradox to say the least), and a pocket sized dragon. Xan locks her magic inside her, lest she hurt someone or herself (which is a legitimate fear), until she turns 13. In that way, Luna’s discovery of her magic self is connected with puberty - and is just as awkward.

As the book proceeds, the mystery of the past unfolds. All of the characters - not just Luna - has some part of their memories locked away. Their sorrow, in particular, cannot be recalled. As the fog lifts - literally and figuratively - a past tragedy is remembered. And it becomes clear that the real power behind the Protectorate is a “sorrow eater,” the evil counterpart to the Witch, who lives on the pain of others.

There are some pretty heady political lessons here. How does oppression work? Why do people tolerate it? How is blind allegiance created? How are people prevented by fear and violence from thinking for themselves? And, of course, the necessity of the good people of the world to challenge not just the status quo, but the powers of hate.

There are some interesting things about this book that I think make it better than average. First, the author is pretty good about showing, rather than telling. The beliefs of the Protectorate are revealed through a series of “fairy tales” told to children. These open the book, and recur throughout at crucial junctures. Also in this vein, the author allows the full horror of the child sacrifice to be felt. Nothing graphic, but it is clear that the Elders believe that the child is eaten by wild animals - and that they perpetuate the sacrifices because they know it maintains them in power.

I also appreciated that the book is told from various points of view. And they are all sympathetic in some way. That includes the point of view of Sister Ignatia, the villain. Barnhill makes it clear that she too has her hidden pain, and came to be who she is because her own trauma.

That said, it is the trajectories of Sister Ignatia and the chief Elder that are by far the most chilling part of the story. Both of them are so wedded to their power that they cannot, even at the end when their powers have been stripped, repent. They end their days in confinement, cut off from nearly all human contact, their pride having sentenced them to their own private hells. They cannot even admit that they were wrong, which is one thing that the better inhabitants of the book are willing to do. I do not pretend to be an expert on the afterlife, but this kind of matches my own (tentatively held) belief: there are many who, given the choice of repenting and apologizing as a condition of eternal life in the presence of God, will instead choose annihilation rather than bend. (For many from my own time and country, they will choose to not exist over having to be equals with brown-skinned people - I’m looking at you, Phyllis Schlafly…) I say this, not because of theology, but because of psychology. (And yes, I think C. S. Lewis was highly perceptive about this.)

One final thing merits some praise for this book. The ending is set up perfectly for the good people of the story to exact justice. Or revenge, perhaps. But they don’t. It is enough to stop the bad people from hurting everyone else. Mercy and grace are extended to all. Even the chief Elder and Sister Ignatia. But they cannot accept that grace, and choose their own annihilation. At the end of the story, I was strongly reminded of the ending of Les Miserables. Javert too cannot accept grace, because he refuses to extend it. And, like so many of Victor Hugo’s heroes, the heroes of this book become so much more heroic because of the grace they extend.

I found this book fascinating. Those who know the Western fairy tale tradition will find all kinds of “Easter Eggs” within the story. Likewise for those who know their Bibles. Obviously, Fundies will clutch their pearls at the idea of the opening of the Gospel of John being repurposed as an explanation as to how the primordial Chaos (the “bog monster”) became the world and the creator and the poem and the poet and everything. But for those not so obsessed with doctrinal purity, this mythology will, like fairytales and myths and allegories and parables around the world and throughout history, be another way of thinking about truth - a poetic and figurative representation of some deeper truth about reality - and ourselves.

Overall, a better than average book, with memorable characters, a good story, and thoughtful explorations of deeper truths. 

***

Oh yeah, this is the Newbery Award winner for 2017.

***

I first read this poem in high school, and it has always stuck with me.

After the Battle by Victor Hugo

My father, that hero with the sweetest smile,
followed by a single hussar whom he loved above all others
for his great bravery and his great height,
was riding, the evening after a battle,
across the field covered with the dead on whom night was falling.
He thought he heard a weak noise  in the shadow.
It was a Spaniard from the routed army
who was bleeding, dragging himself by the road.
groaning, broken, ashen, and more than half dead,
and who said, "Drink! Drink, for pity's sake!"
My father, moved, handed to his faithful hussar
a canteen of rum that hung from his saddle,
and said, "Here, give the poor wounded man something to drink."
Suddenly, at the moment when the hussar bent
leaning over him, the man, a kind of Moor,
seized a pistol that he was still gripping,
and aimed at my father's forehead crying "Caramba!"
The bullet passed so near that his hat fell off
and his horse shied backwards.
"All the same give him something to drink," said my father.

 

Ragtime (the Musical)

A month or so ago, my wife and kids were downtown, and they drove by the marquee for Stars Theater, and my eldest saw that they were going to be doing Ragtime. My older son (who adores live theater of all kinds) also begged to go. It turned out we were going to have some of my girls’ best friends staying with us anyway while their parents were out of town, so it seemed a perfect time to put together an event. Because my wife had recently seen another production of the musical, it was my turn to go while my wife stayed with the little kids.

I wasn’t all that familiar with Ragtime, although I knew the name. I had kind of assumed it had been written in the 1970s (and it turns out the book on which it was based was). Rather, it was written in the 1990s - a fairly modern musical.

The musical is set in the era of Ragtime - the 1910s and the runup to World War One. Three separate threads come together. The first is the story of an upper class white family from New Rochelle, NY. The father (none of the family have actual names) leaves to explore the North Pole with Peary, leaving the mother in charge of the family. The second is the story of Coalhouse Walker, an African American musician from Harlem, and Sarah, the mother of his child. The third tells of Tateh, a Jewish-Latvian immigrant and his daughter. These three disparate experiences of America continue to be relevant today, 100 years after the setting. We still are struggling with the same issues: hostility toward immigrants and people of color, the fight for a living wage for working class laborers, police indifference and brutality, the use of sexual moralism to justify racism, and the adjustment to a more global and diverse world.

In addition to the main characters (which are fictional), there are a host of real-life people that make appearances. Harry Houdini, representing the immigrant who made good, Henry Ford and J. P. Morgan representing different kinds of capitalists, Peary as the spirit of modern exploration, Evelyn Nesbit the chorus girl with the too-lurid-to-be-true-except-it-was life, anarchist Emma Goldman, Booker T. Washington, and others. 

 Kelci Cerri as Evelyn Nesbit

Stars publicity photo.

The original production was a financial failure, not because it was unpopular (it did sell well) but because of the lavishly expensive production costs. The version we saw was more realistic in its budget, while retaining the key elements, including a live (if smaller) band, and a large cast.

The themes in this musical are best described as “adult,” not in the risque sense, but in the “problems that we adults are responsible for solving” sense. There is also some language - most painfully the realistic and necessary use of racial epithets. Racism and xenophobia have had a resurgence in the last few years, rising inequality and oppression plague us. Those of us who believe black lives matter are again called “nigger lovers” - although not in those exact words. Immigrants are still blamed for our problems, as a distraction from the fading power of labor and declining wages. But the dream of an America that is for all of us remains, and the arts community (among others) continue to fight to make it so.

Music is (naturally) the backbone of the story. It was with ragtime that African American music went mainstream, and pop music would never be the same. In the century to come, jazz, blues, rock and roll, soul, Motown, funk, and hip hop would each become, in a real way, America’s music. (Aaron Copland was one of the first to recognize that the truly American sound wasn’t the pseudo-European music of the upper classes, but the sound of the common man, from Appalachian bluegrass to Negro spirituals.)

And then, as now, there were plenty who were panic-stricken over the new music, and called it the devil’s work. People like Grandfather, who wanted Coalhouse to play some “coon music,” which Coalhouse points out was written by white people for white people, to conform to popular stereotypes. Ragtime was different. It was sophisticated and subversive, irresistible and danceable, and unashamedly black. Joplin was the first in a line of true originals, paving the way for Duke Ellington, Chuck Berry, James Brown, Lamont Dozier, and so many more. Our nation - and our world - is so much the richer because of them.

While Ragtime has some heavy themes, it also has some great humor. Evelyn Nesbit is played for laughs as well as pathos, the baseball game episode is hilarious (my kids were in stitches), and the very serious song “He Wanted to Say” ends with Younger Brother giving up on trying to express his feelings, and just saying “I know how to blow things up.”

Since this was a local production, there were plenty of familiar faces. I naturally knew many in the band (unsung heroes of any production…) My daughters’ friends are in drama, so they knew many in the cast and crew. There were some great newer faces too.

For the most part, the singing was solid, and the acting as well. There were, as always, some real standouts that I think should be recognized. Jennifer Prow, who is a veteran of local theater (I think she may have been in Hello Dolly back when I was in the orchestra 20ish years ago) turned in an excellent performance as Mother, hitting the right emotional notes as she found herself changing from obliviously privileged to compassionate and aware. 

 Little Boy (Mac Medeiros), Younger Brother (Jake Wattenbarger), Father (Tim Armijo), Grandfather (Norman Colwell), and Mother (Jennifer Prow)

Stars publicity photo.

Guy Martin is a prow, who owned his scenes as Tateh. I hope to see him around town in more productions. 

 Tateh (Guy Martin) and Little Girl (Giselle Alaniz) 

Stars publicity photo.

Tevin Joslen was fantastic as Coalhouse. He’s a young guy with a good voice, strong acting chops, fluid dance moves, and a bright future. In his bio, he talks about the experience of being biracial, which added a layer of depth to his performance.

The most electrifying performance of the night went to Caley Mayhall as Sarah. I don’t think I have seen Mayhall in a lead role before. She is a Bakersfield native who came back home - and we are glad to have her. After her first song, I just sat there stunned. An incredible, powerful, expressive voice. She could have carried it without amplification, and the passion and emotion were so real. She and Joslen had strong chemistry too - and their duet was tight. Keep an eye on these two.

Coalhouse Walker (Tevin Joslen) and Sarah (Caley Mayhall)

Stars publicity photo.

Ragtime runs through next weekend. Come and hear the Symphony on Saturday, but go see Ragtime too.

***

I think this phenomenal Langston Hughes poem fits so well with Ragtime.

Let America be America Again

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

***

And, because we all need some more Scott Joplin in our lives.