Looking Back Before Moving Ahead

The five-minute VIDEO below is part of an interview I did for NIC News Today with Anne Marie Gerhardt, Director of Communications for the Northern Illinois Conference (NIC) of the United Methodist Church.  This episode was shown a few times at the Annual Conference meeting in early July and attempted to give everyone a sense of what’s been happening with the Anti-Racism Task Force.  “A lot has changed since last year,” Gerhardt begins, “including you coming on as consultant to the ARTF.  Tell us a little bit more about what the highlights were for you.”

It’s summer, a time when things supposedly slow down a little, when we supposedly catch a breath and look back at what we’ve done so we can gear up for moving forward again in the rush of Fall and early Winter.

I was surprised, first of all, at how much was already going on, but two questions became key: 1) how sustainable were all these initiatives, and 2) do people working on all these know what others are doing, and do they all see themselves and their initiatives working together towards one goal, the goal of creating a less racist church, conference, and country?  Both questions are still way up in the air.  My goal before the year is out—and my consultancy is over—is to bring these questions closer to the ground. I’m especially anxious, and hopeful, about the second question. I’m most gratified because I can see people beginning to see themselves as part of one great struggle.

Here’s just one example of how we need to see initiatives working together.  The Clergy Peer Reflection and Engagement Series (CPRES) brings pastors together to study about how the church has been a major source, or at the very least highly complicit, in creating and sustaining racism. They talk about how they can begin to change that, and they form bonds that help them know they’re not alone, that other peers want to become anti-racism leaders.  Every pastor at CPRES, then, should seek to bring the workshop Becoming the Beloved Community to their church. Do they all see this?  Not yet.  But we hope they do soon.  Becoming the Beloved Community seeks to communicate not just essential knowledge about racism to its attendees but also to help create bonds within and between congregations of those who also want to seek a less racist, more just and more equitable world, and support their pastors, to urge them on and have their backs when they bring up the topic and start anti-racist initiatives.  The odds are against those pastors.

At a recent meeting of a committee I chair—the one that produced the Becoming the Beloved Community workshop—we had a consultant in to help us look back before we moved forward.  She shared a study showing that only 20% of church goers wanted to hear more about racism. 80% did not. On the other hand, of those actively seeking out a church, 80% wanted to hear more about racism, while only 20% did not.  The church, in other words, is profoundly out of balance with what much of the outside world is looking for. That’s only one reason I repeat, in closing, what I’ve said many times: IF we work hard, we might see a less racist U.S. in 40 to 100 years. I’m still hopeful, but many days it seems that the 100-year mark is also way too hopeful.  And note that I’m only saying less racist, not racism free.  Still, that’s something to fight for.

Go HERE to see my draft proposal for a main page on anti-racism work for the NIC website. Here you’ll see my vision in graphic form for gathering all components of anti-racism work together so everyone can begin to see the big picture and begin to feel that we’re in one great struggle together.  Eventually, people will be able to click on a link to find out more about each initiative, program, fellowship or committee listed.

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Randy Newman: Cruel and True

Randy Newman explains his concept behind “I Want You To Hurt Like I Do.” Berlin, 1994.

No one writes songs quite like Randy Newman, and certainly not about the subjects he writes about.  He celebrates L.A. in “I Love L.A.” by pointing out a bum on his knees. In “Shame” an old New Orleans rich guy begs his young, kept paramour for love while fighting off insistent background singers who keep repeating “Shame, shame, shame.”  In “Rednecks,” from what’s perhaps his masterwork album Good Old Boys, the chorus goes “We’re rednecks, we’re rednecks. We don’t know our ass from a hole in the ground. We’re rednecks. We’re rednecks. We are keeping the n- – – – rs down.”  In “Sail Away,” he imagines a slaver trying to convince an African to get on a slave ship: “In America you get food to eat. Don’t have to run through the jungle and scuff up your feet. You just sing about Jesus and drink wine all day. It’s great to be an American.”  And in “The World Isn’t Fair” he not only sums up Marxism beautifully and masterfully in just a few lines of pop doggerel but ends by talking to Marx himself: “They tried out your plan. It brought misery instead. You see how they worked it. Be glad you are dead. Just like I’m glad I’m living in the land of the free, where the rich just get richer, and the poor you don’t ever have to see.”  He also tosses off songs that become the stuff of weddings and goo goo eyes, like “Feels Like Home,” though there’s a strange darkness in the bridge, the darkness of a breaking window and a wailing siren.  Another song like it is “I Miss You,” which he wrote for his first wife after he’d married his second.  “I couldn’t think of a better way to piss off two women at once,” he once said of it.  He’s a master of songs which sound romantic, even hopeful, but are really the opposite, like “Marie.” There’s “Short People,” of course, and movie scores and songs—including Toy Story and “You’ve Got a Friend In Me”—some he’s won several Academy Awards for.  He’s one of my favorite performers as well.  I love his faux-New Orleans mush mouth singing style, and also the fact that he’s said his most important early influence was Ray Charles, one of the most important influences on my own life as well.

I could wander around quoting this and that for a long time, but all this wandering is just preparation for saying he’s also written “I Want You to Hurt Like I Do.”  As he explained in a 1994 concert in Berlin, he wanted to write an anthem like “We Are the World.” He’d get a bunch of “good celebrities” to sing along, too, but the sarcastic good fun in his explanation doesn’t quite prepare you for the song’s shock.

“I ran out on my children. I ran out on my wife. Gonna run out on you too, baby. I’ve done it all my life.”  It’s a great beginning. He tells us everyone cried the night he left—well, almost everybody.  His little boy just hangs his head.  So he puts and arm around his little shoulders, and this is what he says: “I just want you to hurt like I do.  I just want you to hurt like I do. I just want you to hurt like I do. Honest I do. Honest I do. Honest I do.”

I still feel the shock of it, even though I know it’s a put on.  It’s a perverse put on of “We Are the World” that strikes one as cruel perhaps because we suspect it might be true.  It’s an eye for an eye world. Even more sad, even more pervasive, even if it seems less threatening—it’s a hurt for hurt world.  It’s a therapy cliche that “hurt people hurt people.” But surely, we think, the hurt for hurt should be aimed at the wife he’s leaving, not the child.  Actually, though, I wouldn’t put it past us to also be aiming for those little ones who just hang their heads.

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Voices and Freedoms: The Intro Show

The Video/Audio below is an excerpt from the Intro Show to my radio series Voices and Freedoms: A History of Jazz, based on my 1976 book of the same name.  The 16-part series played across the nation for five years in the late 70’s/early 80’ and holds its relevance—or is even more so—today than it was back then.  The excerpts present about 6 to 10 minutes of the original 30-minute broadcasts. The link above takes you to information about the book and our plans to re-release it and provide access to the full-length original shows. Go HERE for a complete list of shows and links to all excerpts.

 

My first book, Voices and Freedoms: A History of Jazz, came out in 1976, and even before the ink was dry the idea of a radio show was proposed and we began work on it at the University of Virginia.  The show would promote not just the book but the university’s entire Department of Continuing Studies.  The radio engineers weren’t welcoming at first.  “See that line,” said the head engineer, Eric, pointing to a heavy painted stripe on the floor at the entrance of the control booth.  “You’re on that side.  I’m on this side.  You don’t cross over, ever.”  I had to earn my chops, had to prove to them I had some radio talent, radio know how.

I didn’t.  But I’d always wanted a radio show.

At Cal State, Hayward—Hay U, we used to call the place, which is now Cal State East Bay—a few fellow graduate students remarked that I seemed to be the least dedicated of them all because what I really wanted to be was a DJ.  I grew up listening to great Bay Area radio stations and, as I write, I have before me a parody book put out by Terry McGovern, one of the most popular DJ’s on KSFO, AM 560.  Called Listen to the Loud, it spoofs the poet Rod McKuen, whose ultra-mushy, ultra-sensitive poems were so popular during the day.

I’m much better on the radio, or narrating something now, but listening to these jazz shows now, I have to admit I wasn’t very good.  I’m clearly reading a textbook, not just speaking naturally.  I must have been good enough, however, because Eric and the other techs soon extended their good graces to me and heartily invited me to cross the control booth line any time I wanted.  Before long, UVA radio’s producer, another Rod, Rod Collins, was running down the stairs at the radio station shouting, “You’re playing in Poughkeepsie!  You’re playing in Poughkeepsie!”

“Where?” I asked. “Ever heard of Vassar?  Huh?” he replied, looking bug-eyed at me as if I were an idiot. With Vassar leading the way, many other stations on the Intercollegiate Broadcasting System would be picking up the series, too.

Freddie Hubbard and Julian Bond join me on the broadcast as I attempt to set up the whole series.  The Intro Show focuses mainly on the book’s unusual title.  People have often referred to it as “Voices of Freedom,” but it’s Voices AND Freedoms.  Perhaps the freedoms part is easiest to explain.  In the book and radio series it means first the growing freedom of forms that jazz would take as it progressed from its earliest brass band musical influences to the free jazz movement and beyond. It also meant the freedom struggle, primarily of American Black people.  Looking back, I’m somewhat startled to see how I was already writing and speaking deeply about a topic that has occupied so much of my academic and social change efforts over the decades.  That’s why I believe the book is perhaps as, or even more, relevant today as the struggle of Blacks for their freedom and the freedom of other people of color—and even white people—seems to have reached another crucial break point.

The voices part refers to jazz’s obsession with the human voice.  Early in the book, and in what you’ll hear in the excerpt of the Intro Show below, I say this: “The sound of the human voice is more precious than we know.  It breaks out in laughter, in words bitter or sweet, shy or commanding; it sighs, cries and groans; it lapses into silence, which can be one of its most expressive moments. And jazz has always been obsessed with it.  Though basically an instrumental music, jazz tone, concept, and feeling derive mainly from the vocal milieu of black folksong.  When jazz musicians play, they speak, growl, moan, mutter, croon, confess the blues, shout, whisper: they treat their instruments as extensions of the human voice…The human voice is one of the most human things about us.  It is evidence of the presence of a living creative human being, and in a deep sense that’s what jazz is about: it’s about the enduring, free presence of such human beings.”  Learning to hear the human voice indwelling in jazz is the easiest way to understand and relate to the widest variety of jazz music, from the most constricted songs of its early history to the wildest, freest songs it produces today.

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