On the Contribution of Artists to Movements for Social and Economic Justice
Gabriel Crist
An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times. I think that is true of painters, sculptors, poets, musicians. As far as I’m concerned, it’s their choice. But I choose to reflect the times and situations in which I find myself. That, to me, is my duty. And at this crucial time in our lives, when everything is so desperate, when every day is a matter of survival, I don’t think you can help but be involved. Young people, black and white, know this, that is why they are so involved in politics. We will shape and mold this country, or it will not be shaped and molded at all, anymore. So, I don’t think you have a choice. How can you be an artist and not reflect the times? That, to me, is the definition of an artist. —Nina Simone
It is easy to accept that art can theoretically inspire, galvanize and unite working class movements. More difficult is finding practical approaches for artists seeking to contribute to protest movements meaningfully, promote class consciousness and solidarity, and directly facilitate the organization of communities and workplaces. There is, thankfully, a long history of artists thoughtfully engaging with these issues and taking direct action. This article will examine aspects of the political work of three artists: Nina Simone, Woody Guthrie, and Paul Robeson.
Nina Simone—born Eunice Kathleen Waymon in 1933 in Tryon, North Carolina—was undoubtedly among the most influential musicians during the Civil Rights Movement. She trained as a classical pianist, studying at Juilliard briefly—before funding became unmanageable. Simone auditioned at the Curtis Institute of Music, where she was denied admission because of her race. And thus—after a musical education devoted to Bach, Mendelssohn, and Liszt—Simone’s career began in small clubs throughout Philadelphia, playing and recording popular music. According to her autobiography, Simone was friendly with many artists and intellectuals involved in the civil rights movement, including Langston Hughes and James Baldwin. Yet it was conversations with Lorraine Hansberry, author of Raisin in the Sun, that spurred Simone’s political awakening. Simone writes, “Although Lorraine was a girlfriend…we never talked about men or clothes or other such inconsequential things when we got together. It was always Marx, Lenin and revolution – real girls’ talk.” While Simone engaged with many intellectuals at the time and recognized the importance of theory, her revolutionary intuition, commitment to decisive action, and fearlessness are particularly inspiring.
On September 15th , 1963, four members of the Ku Klux Klan bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. Four young girls were murdered. Simone responded without hesitation: she went down to her garage and began constructing a zip gun. In her autobiography, she writes, “I had it in my mind to go out and kill someone, I didn’t know who, but someone I could identify as being in the way of my people getting some justice for the first time in three hundred years.” A distrust in the complete pacificism of organizations like King’s SCLC became an important aspect of Simone’s revolutionary philosophy: “I knew a time might come where we would have to fight for what was right, and I had no problem with that: the Ku Klux Klan weren’t non-violent, and neither were the police, nor the government if they felt threatened.” Yet, in the aftermath of the Birmingham bombing, Simone turned away from her hand-crafted pistol and toward her greatest weapon: music. That afternoon, Simone composed “Mississippi Goddam,” and commenced an artistic life committed to social and economic justice.
Simone’s political activity was rooted in a revolutionary vision, writing that she “…realized that what we were really fighting for was the creation of a new society.” She viewed her artistic work as synonymous with her political work: “With civil rights I played on stage for a reason, and when I walked off stage those reasons still existed – they didn’t fade away with the applause….” Simone played benefits and marched with groups such as the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, as well as engaging intellectually with the movement and advocating fiercely for civil rights in public statements.
Of course, no discussion of Simone’s life would be complete without an acknowledgment of her challenges and imperfections. Simone was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in the 1980s, and her revolutionary instinct along with her mental health challenges led her into abrupt and reactive behavior. She infamously attempted to kill an executive at a record company, after decades of having royalties stolen from her. And towards the latter part of her autobiography, Simone describes a process of political burnout; as the movement became increasingly fragmentary, Simone experienced a loss of will to participate. Yet Simone’s legacy as a revolutionary artist with a profound commitment to justice—both on the stage and off—remains deeply inspiring.
In 1988, George H. W. Bush ran a successful campaign for the presidency. His campaign song was the glorious and uplifting “This Land is Your Land,” and its use in his campaign stands as testament to the tragic and effective effort to conceal the radicalism of its songwriter, Woody Guthrie.
Woody Guthrie was born into a middle-class family in Okemah, Oklahoma, on Bastille Day, 1912. Guthrie’s upbringing was materially comfortable, though in the late 1920s, as the oil reserves dried up, his father’s fortunes went downhill. Guthrie’s father was a committed racist with a hatred for socialism. However, Guthrie’s early social context seems to have had a more significant impact on his political development than his father’s ideology; 16% of Oklahoma voted for Socialist Party candidate Eugene Debs in the 1912 presidential election, and Okemah had a vocal radical tradition in its “heaven on earth” Christianity, a significant element of prairie socialism. As a young adult, Guthrie moved to Pampa, Texas, where he experienced an event that would intimately connect him to the struggles of the working class in America: The Dust Bowl. He left his wife and children to look for work, migrating to California along with thousands of Okies, including Wobblies and veterans of the Farm-Labor Union and the Working Class Union. Upon his arrival in California, he began performing on the radio station KFVD, through which he found a position writing a column titled “Woody Sez” for People’s World, the West Coast Communist Party daily. Guthrie was introduced to Will Geer, who introduced Guthrie to John Steinbeck. A network of socialist-aligned artists began to form.
Although he was not an ideologue and never officially joined the Communist Party, Guthrie attempted—and struggled—to engage with theory. In his copy of Marx’s Capital, Guthrie wrote “Will memorize contents in a week or so…I’d like to try to write all of these things down in short words.” But what Guthrie lacked in theoretical knowledge he made up for in strong revolutionary intuition, preaching class consciousness and solidarity through his lyrics and poetry.
Guthrie deserves to be viewed as a revolutionary hero, not only for his advocacy through music but also for his direct actions providing strike support and fighting alongside workers. He consistently placed himself where his music was most needed: “I went around singing for cotton pickers, cannery workers, lettuce grabbers, and all kinds of picket lines, union meetings, and picnics where union people sung and danced.” Guthrie, along with Geer, became deeply involved in supporting unions such as the United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing, and Allied Workers of America. A story recounted in Will Kaufman’s Woody Guthrie, American Radical describes how a cotton worker on strike called upon Guthrie for aid. In response, Guthrie sent a car full of food, with a message imploring the striking workers to call again if they were in need of more.
Guthrie was, admittedly, somewhat naïve. He vocally supported Stalinism, even after Molotov- Ribbentrop Pact and the Soviet invasion of Poland. Yet his shortcomings should not diminish his deep commitment to the labor and anti-fascist movements, as well as his uniquely effective approach to navigating his various roles; as artist, as advocate, as organizer.
Paul Robeson’s fearlessness, resolve, genius, breadth of knowledge, and internationalist perspective are nothing short of breathtaking. Born in 1898 in Princeton, New Jersey, Robeson enrolled at Rutgers where he began a football career before moving on to Columbia Law School. He became a lawyer but left the profession after a stenographer refused to take dictation from him because of his race. Soon after, he began acting on stage and in film, to widespread acclaim. Robeson was signed by Victor Records to record spirituals. As roles in productions such as Show Boat and Othello garnered him recognition beyond the United States, Robeson and his wife, Eslanda Goode, purchased a house in London.
During Robeson’s time in England in the early 1930s, he became committed to understanding and celebrating African cultures and languages. In Robeson’s book Here I Stand, he writes, “I came to see that African culture was indeed a treasure-store for the world.” He studied Swahili, Yoruba, Efik, Twi, Ga and other languages at the London School for Oriental and African Studies. Robeson emerged as a determined anti-imperialist and writes that “through my interest in Africa I came to visit and to study what was going on in the Soviet Union.” Ideologically, Robeson embraced scientific socialism. But reading and listening to Robeson, it is clear that his political convictions emerged out of a profound humanism and a concern for all peoples’ right to self-determination. He insisted that his admiration and love for the people of the Soviet Union was formed the moment he stepped onto the nation’s soil and, for the first time, felt fully human.
In 1938, Robeson joined the Republicans on the battlefront against Franco’s fascism. He sang for the wounded in Spain and supported their cause during his performances in England. Robeson describes his experience in Here I Stand.
I went to Spain in 1938, and that was a major turning point in my life. There I saw that it was the working men and women of Spain who were heroically giving ‘their last full measure of devotion’ to the cause of democracy in that bloody conflict, and that it was the upper class—the landed gentry, the bankers and the industrialists—who had unleashed the fascist beast against their own people.
During the rise of fascism in Europe, the Robesons returned to the United States. Influenced by his observations of the Spanish struggle against fascism, Robeson became committed to the labor movement. He sang in miners’ union halls throughout England, Scotland and Wales, and became known as a strong supporter of unionism. Working people recognized Robeson as an ally, with union members encircling him as he was attacked during the Peekskill riots.
Tragically, as the Second World War ended, Robeson was quickly targeted by the United States government. He was investigated by the FBI and his movement outside of the United States was restricted; in 1955, his passport was revoked. The government’s fear campaign warned of Robeson becoming a “Black Stalin.” Remarkably, he continued to vocally support unionism and the international labor movement. In 1952, Robeson received an invitation from the metal miners of Canada to perform for them. Despite the State Department’s efforts to stop him, Robeson performed concerts at the border for three years. Even once he lost his passport, Robeson supported the labor movement, recording a song for a film produced by the World Federation of Trade Unions and singing over the telephone for the miners in Wales.
Robeson remains not only one of the most inspiring artists and intellectuals of the 20th century, but also a shining example of how artists can engage with movements for social and economic justice. Even as McCarthyism destroyed Robeson’s career, he fought for working people. Among the best examples of Robeson’s fearlessness and determination is his 1956 testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee. As the committee attacks Robeson on his friendship with Communists, he passionately advocates for his own rights and the rights of all people. At the conclusion of the testimony, Robeson emphatically declares, “You are the nonpatriots, and you are the un-Americans, and you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
Nina Simone, Woody Guthrie and Paul Robeson all had revolutionary visions. All three believed in building a new world order around social and economic justice. Yet each also had a distinct approach to fighting against capitalism and its oppressive systems. For young artists considering how to effectively navigate their unique placement as cultural workers, I believe that there is much to borrow from the strengths of each approach: Nina Simone’s revolutionary militancy and consistent advocacy for social justice in artistic spaces; Woody Guthrie’s strike support and labor advocacy through music; and Paul Robeson’s determination to stand with the international proletariat in its fight for liberation.