Lady Sings The Dixiecrat Double Entendre Blues
In honor (or perhaps I should say
dishonor) of Trent Lott's nostalgia for the good old days of segregation,
Devra recently posted lyrics (and a link, if you'd like to listen) to Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit," a song about lynching. Keeping in mind Pat Buchanan's breathtakingly stupid choice of
words in defense of Lott* it was a well-chosen musical accompaniment to the news.
Devra's post started me thinking about something I
read a long time ago about Billie Holiday, "Strange Fruit," racism, and the interpretation of words.
Try to imagine Lady Day in an evening gown, a white gardenia tucked in her hair, on stage in a nightclub, singing a graphic song about lynching, while her audience sipped champagne. It's impossible, grotesque. And in fact, Billie was generally reluctant to sing the song, partly because, as you can imagine, it took a lot out of her. In her
autobiography she 

says she threw up every time she had to sing it. But she also had mixed feelings about the song because her audiences so often missed the point. She'd sometimes get bizarre requests to sing the "sexy" song about "black bodies," which unnerved her to say the least. Proof, if you need any, that as often as not, even the most eloquent voice is not heard.
When she did perform the song, it was usually at the end of a show. Two different kinds of audiences heard "Strange Fruit." One was a group Billie trusted. If she sensed that an audience was with her -- not just that they liked her act, but that they understood and appreciated the artistry of a woman who was changing the shape and structure of popular song -- she would sometimes sing "Strange Fruit" as a gift, the way you might share a painful secret with a friend who could understand that sharing was an act of trust and honor.
But she also used the song as a weapon. In
Lady Sings The Blues she describes a scene that was all too common:
This white boy stayed around just to bug me. When I started singing...he'd start kicking up a storm of noise, rattling glasses, calling me nigger, and cursing nigger singers.
When she had that kind of audience, she would pull out "Strange Fruit," spitting out the words, as if to say, I know who you are, and I understand everything I need to know about why you're treating me this way.
One song, with many meanings -- most of them within the artist's control.
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
You don't have to start with a work of art to sing one song in different ways. You can start with words like "states' rights" and "traditional values." There's nothing wrong with the words themselves. Here in the central California suburbs, when Republicans I know hear politicians talk about things like "states' rights," what they hear is a message of smaller government and more local control. That's a perfectly reasonable thing to be in favor of. In some instances, I'd even agree with them.
But that arguable, respectable message is not what people in many parts of the country heard when Ronald

Reagan, for instance, proclaimed his belief in "states' rights" in Philadelphia, Mississippi, where three civil rights workers -- James Chaney, Mickey Schwerner and Andrew Goodman -- had been murdered in the early sixties, and where there were still many people who deeply resented their state's loss of its "right" to segregation and intimidation of black voters. It does not make the tiniest bit of difference whether Ronald Reagan was a racist. Signaling that hard-core racism was acceptable was despicable. For many people who regard themselves as liberals, it remains, more than twenty years later, unforgivable. Maybe it gnaws at moderate Republicans, and even many conservatives, as well, but I haven't heard any complain about it.
What Reagan did was a mirror image of what Billie Holiday did. When she wanted, as she put it, to "bounce something off that cracker," she used a song to send a message of defiance (real defiance -- as she well understood -- would have landed her in jail, or worse). Reagan, facing the descendents of Lady Day's nasty hecklers (and quite a few even more dangerous sorts) sang a cozy little lullaby of acceptance. Compare Billie's unspoken, but nonetheless clear
I can't hit you the way I'd like to, but here's what I think of you, cracker to Reagan's equally clear
I can't come straight out and agree with you, but you boys know I'm on your side. It's the same technique, with vastly different results.
It's amazing -- sometimes appalling -- what an artist can accomplish with a few words.
And Reagan is far from the only one to use the device.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
John Ashcroft, who made his name as a politician opposing school desegregation in St. Louis, gave
an interview to
Southern Partisan magazine in 1998, which the editors introduced by  

noting that he was a "champion of states' rights and traditional Southern values." Sounds fairly innocuous, but one of the
traditional Southern values Southern Partisan promotes is the notion that the Declaration of Independence contains "deliberate lies" like the idea that all men are created equal.
According to
Richard M. Quinn, the magazine's former editor, in the South the magazine "is considered mainstream conservative." If you read "conservative" as a longing to return to the "values" of the past, I suppose there's some truth in that. Here's the formula for a "mainstream conservative" magazine: recipes for sweet potato casserole, articles on country music and NASCAR, suspicion of central government and disdain for taxes -- I'm okay with this so far, but then there are:
* revisionist articles on why slavery wasn't as bad as it's detractors suggest (apparently slave owners were strong supporters of "family values"),
* paeans to former Klan leader David Dukes as "a Populist spokesperson for a recapturing of the American ideal,"
* praise for "the effectiveness of the original Ku Klux Klan,"
* political commentary on the fact that "Negroes, Asians, and Orientals... have no temperament for democracy" (the author goes on to pat himself on the back, of course, for being bravely "unpolitic" in asserting this),
* and a denigration of Martin Luther King as "a man whose role in history was to lead his people into a perpetual dependence on the welfare state."
Makes you wonder about a politician in the South who describes himself as a "mainstream conservative," doesn't it?
I don't know whether John Ashcroft subscribes to Richard Quinn's definitions of "state's rights" and "Southern values," but most of the readers of his magazine do, and you don't have to be an expert code-reader to recognize the I-am-one-of-you message Ashcroft was sending to those readers. There's just no other, more innocent explanation of Ashcroft's praise for the magazine as a source that "helps set the record straight." Or his to-the-barricades call for "traditionalists" to "stand up and speak in this respect, or else we'll be taught that these people were giving their lives, subscribing their sacred fortunes and their honor to some perverted agenda."
These people are Confederate leaders and Ashcroft didn't want anyone to be taught that there was anything
perverted about their
agenda. As in the case of Trent Lott's statement, I can't come up with a reading of that sentence that any decent person would subscribe to.
Here's a fruit for the crows to pluck.
Trent Lott, Thad Cochrane, Phil Gramm, Jesse Helms, and Dick Armey have all been interviewed by
Southern Partisan.
Mark Potok, editor of the
Southern Poverty Law Center's "Intelligence Report," describes an interview with the magazine as a way of pandering to an audience with racist leanings. It's a way of doing so without offending voters who would take less kindly to overt racist statements.
This wink and nod strategy isn't just a matter of nasty and unfair politics. The truly objectionable part of the whole thing is that when prominent politicians play this game, they leave hard-core, blatant racists with the impression that their beliefs are still respectable. They give people a license to be racist.
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
Why are liberals harping on this so much now, and disdaining Republican "apologies?" Because it's a ugly game that has driven most of us crazy for as long as we've been aware of politics. You'd have to have been old enough to vote before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to remember a time when Republicans weren't playing this loathsome game. (And by sheer coincidence, 1964 happens to be the year Strom Thurmond became a Republican, as well as the first presidential election year in which Trent Lott was eligible to vote.) The rest of us have wondered all our political lives why most people weren't as outraged by it as we are. Finally, they are. Trent Lott's statement helps expose the game even to people who normally don't pay much attention to politics.
In the end, this isn't about politics, it's about moral accountability. It's about standing up in front of your audience and singing the song straight. And it's about time.
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*Pat Buchanan: "What we are witnessing is the lynching of a good man who made a bad choice of words in a birthday tribute to an old man whose sins are no more scarlet than those of the rest of us."