Keep on Singing

I can't imagine where I'd be without music. That may seem like an obvious thing to say, given that I used to be a deejay, but even during times when I wasn't on the air, it was often music that helped keep me going. Perhaps you can relate: I am thinking of some difficult times in my life, when it just seemed that everything was awful and nothing was getting better. And then, almost like magic, I'd hear a certain song, and the lyrics expressed exactly how I felt, and the mood I was in gradually lifted, as I sang along. I guess I derived some comfort in knowing that someone else (in this case, the songwriter) had been exactly where I was. And in that moment, I felt a little less alone. 

That's one reason why I wanted to be a deejay. This may sound silly, but I saw it as a mitzvah. When I was a kid, my favorite deejays felt like friends to me. And I wanted to pay it forward; I wanted to be a friend to some other lonely kid. I loved being on the air: if I could play a song that cheered you up or made you smile or made you feel a little less lonely, that was something worth doing. As a college radio deejay, I had more latitude than my colleagues on AM top-40 did. FM album rock radio (often called underground or progressive) was still new, and our playlists were much wider. I always sought out album tracks that I knew would resonate with my audience in those turbulent days of the late 1960s. 

There was so much excellent anti-war music from folk-rock singer-songwriters like Bob Dylan, Tom Paxton, and Phil Ochs; and there were rock bands like Country Joe & the Fish, Jefferson Airplane and Creedence Clearwater singing out against the war too. The now-classic Buffalo Springfield song "For What It's Worth" did not begin its life as an anti-war song, but the movement soon embraced it, and the lyrics fit perfectly. It was an inventive and creative and often-courageous time in music, when rock bands were taking chances. AM Top-40 ignored much of this (or tried to-- but some of the songs we played became crossover pop hits, like Creedence's "Fortunate Son"). Meanwhile, on FM, I was able to use my show to articulate the feelings of my listeners, whether about the war or about other issues so many of us were facing.

What brought all this to mind was what has been happening in Minneapolis, as thousands and thousands of people from all walks of life, tired of the cruelty and brutality that the Trump administration inflicted on their city, took to the streets to protest. The bitter cold did not deter them. Threats of violence (and the deaths of two protesters) did not deter them either. The common wisdom was that nothing would change, and yet, the people kept marching, kept chanting, kept protesting. And Bruce Springsteen wrote a new song about it, and he came to Minneapolis to perform it. In New England, the Dropkick Murphys had a protest song for us too. In fact, all over the country, people are marching and protesting (and singing) and refusing to be deterred. 

And no, having lived through the Vietnam era, I don't expect things to improve immediately. The fact that more people are standing up and speaking out is encouraging; and the fact that over the past few months, a growing number of musicians too have been making their voices heard is a plus. But this is an ongoing process. It will take time. Back in the 60s, I recall how powerful the music could be. When we heard certain songs, whether on the radio or at a concert, we would sing along. The music helped to rejuvenate us. And then, it helped to motivate us, reminding us of what we needed to do. And we got back out there to do it. 

I see signs of that now, wherever I look: in Minneapolis, they're standing up for our democracy every day, joined by folks from red states and blue states who are tired of the brutality and the cruelty, and who want to see sanity restored. And all I can say is, wherever you are, make your voices heard too. If the way things are going in Minneapolis seems wrong to you, now is a good time to speak out. There are people determined to silence you, determined to persuade you that there's nothing you can do. Don't believe them. Keep making your feelings known. And above all, keep on singing.   

The People We Remember, the People We Forget: Some Thoughts About Dr. King's Birthday

She was tired, and it had been a frustrating day, and she just wanted to go home. So, she took a seat on the bus. But before she could relax, the bus driver angrily told her to get up and give her seat to someone else. It was 1955, in Montgomery, Alabama, and the bus lines, like much of America, were segregated. She was Black, and sitting in a seat that a White person wanted. But she was tired and upset and something inside her told her not to comply. So, she didn't. She knew the consequences, but she refused anyway. And she was forcibly removed from the bus and arrested. And her name was... Claudette Austin, later Claudette Colvin. She was only fifteen, and a high school student. Her name is on the 1956 lawsuit that ultimately ended segregation on the bus lines. But it was the name of Rosa Parks that would be remembered. Claudette's name was not. When Claudette died the other day at age 86, few people had ever heard of her.

That's unfortunate, because the Civil Rights Movement did not begin with the amazing act of one person, nor was it some accident that came out of nowhere (contrary to the way Rosa Parks is often described as an "older woman" and a "seamstress," she had a long history with the NAACP and with the fight for civil rights in the south). And writing Claudette out of the story was a choice: the leaders of the movement worried that she'd be perceived as a "mouthy teenager" and not taken seriously; she was also pregnant, and in a time when being pregnant outside of marriage was frowned upon, the decision was made to select someone who would be less threatening and a more sympathetic figure. And yet, it was Claudette's courageous act of resistance that was an important part of ending segregation on Montgomery's busses.   

What brought this to mind is the upcoming celebration of Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. We are living in a time when some politicians, including our president, would prefer that Dr. King's life not be celebrated. Worse yet, there are schools in numerous red states where even a mention of race (or racism) is now forbidden. And for those who say I am exaggerating, there are colleges that are now eliminating entire courses, rather than violate new policies, which are often driven by politics, rather than by an interest in learning. As a professor, I find this problematic. I fail to see the harm in exposing students to a wide range of perspectives, and I fail to see why teaching kids about the fight for civil rights is controversial.    

In fact, I'd like to see not just Dr. King's life remembered but the lives of others who laid the groundwork, or helped to make the civil rights movement a success-- for example, the historian Carter G. Woodson, who proposed what we today know as Black History Month. Back in 1926, he set aside a week each February when the accomplishments of Black people could be studied and remembered. He said this was important because, "If a race has no history, if it has no worthwhile tradition, it becomes a negligible factor in the thought of the world, and it stands in danger of being exterminated." And by preventing students from learning about Dr. King, or about Dr. Woodson, or about numerous others who helped to end segregation in America, we not only do them a disservice-- but we contribute to their being erased.

And maybe that's the point? It certainly seems that some folks today prefer the way things used to be. They want us to return to a time when people who look like them had absolute power and nobody could challenge their authority without facing severe consequences. They want to banish anyone from the "wrong" color or the "wrong" religion or the "wrong" political beliefs. They want to silence anyone who dares to complain. They want a country where everyone knows their place. And they want us to forget the people who said "no, I don't want America to be like that." That's why it's a good idea to celebrate Dr. King's life: to remember him, and all the others who worked so hard to made the country a better place. And it's a good reminder, especially in times like these, that even small acts of courage can eventually lead to big results. Rest in peace, Claudette Colvin. And thank you.