When one thinks of the Civil Rights Movement various flashes of images of faded black and white photographs and of choppy “home video” quality snippets of aged newsreels spring to the mind. It fills you with images of police dogs, of lunch room sit ins, of lynches and white robed men, of “Bull” Conner scowling at the crowds of protesters, of burning churches, and of Martin Luther King, Jr. embellishing his speeches with fantastical rhythmic flourishes. Everything from this time, at least to me, was learned on a purely academic level with rather shallow and superficial understandings of the events until I stumbled across this article written by Bernice Johnson Reagon(www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eyesontheprize/reflect/r03_music.html). In it one phrase in particular captured my attention, “If you were in the Movement, many times you were in danger.” Such a simple but profound sentence that was. From that point, my perspectives of the Moment changed. No longer was it filled with outdated film reels, but filled with images of real people-people who look, think and feel the same way as you and me, as our neighbors, and our neighbors’ neighbors. While the Movement happened in the 60’s, there was nothing anymore mystical about the decade than the 21st century. These people weren’t god-like idols immune to human desires of anger, resentment, and pain. They weren’t incapable of hopes and dreams for their children. They were just humans. They were just humans like you and I...and they were in danger. They were in danger every single day when they walked down the street. “Is this the day I get lynched? Or my church bombed? Or my children thrown into the prison?” Yes, just living in the South was dangerous. Yes, hoses and dogs were turned on children. Yes, the police broke in for illegal raids. How easy must it have been to become frightened and want to return to the “normal” segregated South instead of pushing back against the authorities? How easy would it have been to just give up? But they did not. They could not. They fought for minds and hearts over body counts. They fought for simple equality with those who were oppressing them. They struggled so much for so little. What drove them forwards? What, then, against all human instinct of survival, pushed them into history and onto those faded black and white photos? I believe it was because of the music.
Freedom songs were the broadside ballads of the Civil Rights Movement. Using their cultural emphasis on music, activists were able to spread their message quickly, efficiently, and imprint it upon the participants. Many, like “This Little Light of Mine” (www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eyesontheprize/story/09_summer.html#music) were sung in churches and at mass congregations as it were spiritual in nature. However, others like “Freedom Medley” (www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyID=123599617) were sung regardless of were groups of people came together large numbers. Many times, the religious and the political blurred lines between each other for the activists. Freedom Riders, Freedom Singers, marchers, church goers, protesters of all shapes and form used these songs to give them courage in their inevitable moments of weakness and all too human frailties. These songs gave them unified purpose, courage, and solidarity. It was because of these songs that created a sort of super-natural strength that took their minds off of individual worries and woes to look at communal interests and “the big picture”.
The legacy of the Movement is written in black and white ink all over our legal laws and documents. It is calculated by statisticians in terms of integration of sports teams, of clubs, of schools, of boards of director meetings. Yet, what lasting musical contributions these Freedom Songs had? Well, to a little white girl in Missouri, they made the past come alive (www.pbs.org/newshour/bbentertainment/jan-jun10/music_02-11.html).
Stupid computer trash, grr... let's hope this works because I can't figure out how to edit the above.
ReplyDeleteWhen one thinks of the Civil Rights Movement various flashes of images of faded black and white photographs and of choppy “home video” quality snippets of aged newsreels spring to the mind. It fills you with images of police dogs, of lunch room sit ins, of lynches and white robed men, of “Bull” Conner scowling at the crowds of protesters, of burning churches, and of Martin Luther King, Jr. embellishing his speeches with fantastical rhythmic flourishes. Everything from this time, at least to me, was learned on a purely academic level with rather shallow and superficial understandings of the events until I stumbled across this article written by Bernice Johnson Reagon (http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eyesontheprize/reflect/r03_music.html). In it one phrase in particular captured my attention, “If you were in the Movement, many times you were in danger.” Such a simple but profound sentence that was. From that point, my perspectives of the Moment changed. No longer was it filled with outdated film reels, but filled with images of real people-people who look, think and feel the same way as you and me, as our neighbors, and our neighbors’ neighbors. While the Movement happened in the 60’s, there was nothing anymore mystical about the decade than the 21st century. These people weren’t god-like idols immune to human desires of anger, resentment, and pain. They weren’t incapable of hopes and dreams for their children. They were just humans. They were just humans like you and I...and they were in danger. They were in danger every single day when they walked down the street. “Is this the day I get lynched? Or my church bombed? Or my children thrown into the prison?” Yes, just living in the South was dangerous. Yes, hoses and dogs were turned on children. Yes, the police broke in for illegal raids. How easy must it have been to become frightened and want to return to the “normal” segregated South instead of pushing back against the authorities? How easy would it have been to just give up? But they did not. They could not. They fought for minds and hearts over body counts. They fought for simple equality with those who were oppressing them. They struggled so much for so little. What drove them forwards? What, then, against all human instinct of survival, pushed them into history and onto those faded black and white photos? I believe it was because of the music.
Freedom songs were the broadside ballads of the Civil Rights Movement. Using their cultural emphasis on music, activists were able to spread their message quickly, efficiently, and imprint it upon the participants. Many, like “This Little Light of Mine” (www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eyesontheprize/story/09_summer.html#music) were sung in churches and at mass congregations as it were spiritual in nature. However, others like “Freedom Medley” (www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyID=123599617) were sung regardless of were groups of people came together large numbers. Many times, the religious and the political blurred lines between each other for the activists. Freedom Riders, Freedom Singers, marchers, church goers, protesters of all shapes and form used these songs to give them courage in their inevitable moments of weakness and all too human frailties. These songs gave them unified purpose, courage, and solidarity. It was because of these songs that created a sort of super-natural strength that took their minds off of individual worries and woes to look at communal interests and “the big picture”.
The legacy of the Movement is written in black and white ink all over our legal laws and documents. It is calculated by statisticians in terms of integration of sports teams, of clubs, of schools, of boards of director meetings. Yet, what lasting musical contributions these Freedom Songs had? Well, to a little white girl in Missouri, they made the past come alive (www.pbs.org/newshour/bbentertainment/jan-jun10/music_02-11.html).