“Robeson … in more senses than one, IS the play,” Samuel Putnam asserted in his review of Othello on Broadway. Similarly, Mike Gold believed that “Paul Robeson is the greatest personality in America today, the richest force for American democracy and art.” Nathaniel Buchwald also suggested, “Yes, the great, the original, the compelling, the revealing element in Paul Robeson’s Othello is Paul Robeson.” These writers all signaled an important theme emerging from that record-breaking production. It was Robeson: his charisma, his persona, his countenance and physical comportment that coalesced onstage brilliantly and powerfully as Othello. These elements, however, were present not only when Robeson was portraying Shakespeare’s Moor but whenever he stood before a crowd to denounce fascism or led a delegation to demand antilynching legislation. In the 1940s, Robeson was in the spotlight for his most celebrated acting role, but he was also increasingly in the public eye as an activist. Thumbing through the newspapers of the era, one found that media coverage of Robeson did not distinguish between Robeson’s artistic pursuits and his political activities. If Paul Robeson, the star, was engaged in any endeavor then it was worth covering. It was during this period that the symbiosis between Robeson the actor and Robeson the activist began taking shape. The politics of his performance as Othello was only half of the story of Robeson in the forties, for there was also beauty and power in the performances of his politics.
African American writer Zora Neale Hurston once noticed, “Every phase of Negro life is highly dramatized. … Everything is acted out.”1 This was certainly true of Robeson since much of his life was acted out in the public domain. As a youth, he stood out as a bright and talented African American in a largely white high school. He was known in the community because his father ministered to the people through the church. In college, Robeson was recognized as a scholar, gifted debater, and, especially, as an accomplished athlete. At this young age, Robeson made headlines for his impressive performances on the football field and was respected as a potential leader for his moving orations such as his Rutgers commencement address. In the 1920s, the sight of Robeson simply walking down the street in Harlem became a public event as passersby eagerly crowded around to shake hands with the blossoming artist. Robeson’s charisma took Europe by storm through the 1930s in the concert halls of Russia, the theaters of London’s West End, and the frontlines of war-torn Spain. By the 1940s, clearly identifying the demarcation between Robeson the artist and Robeson the political advocate was becoming more complicated. When was Robeson performing without making a political statement? When could his activism be separated from his artistry? Robeson’s recitals were exceptionally indistinct as either art or politics because audiences got a taste of his singing, political commentary, and frequently even a measure of Shakespeare’s Othello at these events. The political activist’s dignified carriage and deep love for his people radiated through his performances on the theater stage. Likewise, the studied movement and diction of the artist were present at political functions. Robeson’s resonant baritone in word and song under-girded all of his appearances.
A brief sidebar in New Africa, the organ of the Council on African Affairs, an organization Robeson cofounded, illustrated this seamlessness between Robeson’s political activism and artistic career. Next to a photo of the actor, the editor asserted, “Superlatives were exhausted by New York dramatic critics in their praise of Paul Robeson’s acting in ‘Othello’. Since its opening on October 19, this splendid production of Shakespeare’s play has been making history.”2 By itself, this short piece was by no means remarkable. Accolades for Robeson as Othello proliferated in the autumn of 1943. Yet, the next sentence made an important connection between Robeson’s success in Shakespeare’s play and his political advocacy during the 1940s: “On Tuesday, November 16th, Paul Robeson also contributed to history of another type when, as Chairman of the Council on African Affairs, he addressed the 12th New York Herald Tribune Forum on Current Problems.” Just as the Broadway Othello had emphasized the wartime context of all races being allied against fascism, Robeson’s performance at the Herald Tribune forum underscored the sacrifices of the war effort. He pointed out, “Thanks to the blood of our boys … the hitherto oppressed will have this liberty, opportunity and dignity.”3 The theme of dignity in Robeson’s speech also mirrored the prominence of dignity in his Othello portrayal. An audience member at either of these events, Othello or the Herald Tribune forum, came away with a comparable message: all people should be able to join the fight against fascism on an equal basis to insure full freedom for all races.
Because the distinction between Robeson’s onstage position as an artist and his offstage role as an activist was increasingly obscure in the 1940s, his political endeavors can be conceptualized as acts or performances within the public sphere. Was Robeson ever really “offstage”? In his writing on African American culture and his reflections upon Othello, Robeson emphasized an intuitive approach to art in general and acting specifically. Since being an actor came naturally to Robeson, this innate talent was part of his performing, whether he was “onstage” in a formal theater or not. For his performances in the political arena, Robeson utilized a range of vehicles: a radio microphone, a platform at Madison Square Garden, a press conference. For example, when he was walking in a picket line, the press covered the story and brought often international attention to the issue with which he was engaged. His break from the film industry was widely publicized and highlighted Robeson’s distaste with the corporate interests of Hollywood. Robeson’s celebrity and impassioned speeches against injustice helped raise money for causes such as famine relief in South Africa. The simple act of stating that African Americans preferred peace to war with Russia brought an avalanche of fury upon Robeson and made him, along with his supporters, a target for right-wing vigilantes. Langston Hughes wrote in 1926 that Paul Robeson singing “Water Boy” had the potential to inspire “the smug Negro middle class to turn from their white, respectable, ordinary books and papers to catch a glimpse of their own beauty.”4 By the 1940s, any Robeson appearance had the power to compel an observer, black or white, to stop and catch a glimpse of the beauty of an African American performer advocating for his people.
In his article “Criteria for Negro Art,” W. E. B. Du Bois steadfastly argued, “Thus all Art is propaganda and ever must be, despite the wailing of purists. … I do not care a damn for any art that is not used for propaganda. But I do care when propaganda is confined to one side while the other side is stripped silent.” He concluded, “[T]he point today is that until the art of black folk compels recognition they will not be rated as human.”5 Robeson undoubtedly concurred with Du Bois’s assertion. In his artistic career, Robeson strove to portray the humanity of his people by focusing on singing black folk music and trying to concentrate on acting roles that conveyed the dignity of African Americans. If, in Du Bois’s words, all art was propaganda for the race, then could propaganda, or political activities, be artistic when performed by an actor like Robeson? If the singular Robeson persona could infuse his art with a political message, then why not view his politics as also possessing his unique artistic sensibility? He was still an artist, was still performing when striding up to the lectern at a political rally. Examples of the performative nature of his political endeavors abound in the 1940s.
Though Robeson had been abroad for much of the decade of the thirties, he wasted no time getting involved with progressive campaigns in the United States upon his return in 1939. A legendary Robeson performance that year “came to stand for” what Michael Denning characterized as “the aesthetic forms and ideologies of the Popular Front.”6 “Ballad for Americans,” music by Earl Robinson and lyrics by John La Touche, offered Robeson a distinctive opportunity to meld art and politics in an unparalleled performance. Robeson presented the anthem live on CBS radio November 5, with a repeat performance on December 31, 1939, to much acclaim. This patriotic hymn celebrated the ideas of Life (“Yes sir!”) and Liberty (“That’s right!”) and American heroes like Crispus Attucks, Tom Jefferson, Abe Lincoln, and Tom Paine. The final stanzas underscored the importance of the general laborer and his contribution to the economy (“I’m the everybody who’s nobody and the nobody who’s everybody”). The chorus queried, “Am I an American?” and Robeson replied, in the call and response pattern, with an array of answers emphasizing tolerance for people from all religions and ethnic backgrounds.
It was, perhaps, ironic that Robeson, a black performer, was the messenger of a song which could surely be characterized as sentimental at a time when many African Americans lived under Jim Crow subjugation and were disenfranchised. Robeson recognized this underlying reality but must have believed that the image of him singing about inclusiveness and American ideals could be a powerful symbol. A black performer who publicly identified with the working class intoning a ballad about economic and ethnic differentiations within the scope of U.S. history implied a need for class and racial unity that would have been lost without Robeson’s presence. Importantly, Robeson’s interpretation of the song definitely appealed to the general laboring public. Following the initial broadcast, “the sustained roar of applause in the studio has had no counterpart in the history of radio. It was so tumultuous and genuine that the program couldn’t continue for nearly four minutes.”7 The song had piqued the imagination of a country that was just emerging from the depths of the depression and was on the brink of a war against fascism. “Ballad for Americans” was imbued with the spirit of the Popular Front, and the lyrics pointed to an optimism which Robeson shared that a new, more egalitarian society could be forged in the wake of the fight against fascism. Robeson also performed the ballad at stadium concerts to much commendation. Other vocalists attempted alternative versions. Yet, a New York Times article in August 1940 asserted, “Since it took the nation by storm last winter, the rise in popularity of ‘Ballad for Americans’ has been undiminished. Several recordings have appeared, of which the one with Paul Robeson … remains the best.”8
Robeson maintained his characteristically hectic schedule through the early 1940s as he embarked on concert tours across the United States while concurrently speaking at union rallies and, after the United States officially entered the war, appearing at mass meetings for Soviet-American friendship and war bond rallies. He also remained actively involved with the Council on African Affairs and spoke before other civil rights groups such as the National Negro Congress. Robeson’s popularity was not hampered by wartime bans as illustrated by a concert in New Jersey in early 1943. Pleasure driving was outlawed at this time, but undismayed concertgoers performed creative feats of transportation to attend the show. Some walked up to five miles, and one resourceful fan ice-skated a mile and a half across a frozen lake to hear Robeson sing!9 Robeson’s performances, encompassing music and politics, were, in the words of Denning, “an embodiment” of the “Popular Front vision.”10 His political commentary emanated at all public appearances. An editor at the People’s Voice declared that Robeson, who possessed “democracy’s greatest voice” was “the only man in the world who can turn a concert into a rally for the rights of minority groups. …”11
The performative nature of Robeson’s political appearances was illustrated well at a rally of twenty thousand people for the Congress of Soviet-American Friendship in November 1942. At this mass meeting, Vice President Henry A. Wallace announced the inauguration of a second front in North Africa and promised continued friendship with Russia following the war. Robeson, who also spoke to the crowd assembled, was introduced in a very theatrical fashion. According to an FBI informant, at a prescribed moment, the hall was suddenly engulfed in total darkness. The audience was then assured that the next voice they would hear would be that of an antifascist. They must have waited breathlessly until the spotlights dramatically illuminated Robeson on the stage to thunderous applause. Surely, this introduction and reception rivaled any that Robeson received in a theater setting. Robeson’s remarks that evening emphasized his political posture: “I have been called an anti-fascist. I am exactly that. Because I am an American and because I am a Negro.”12 This introduction of Robeson, not as an actor or singer but as an antifascist, exemplified his position as a commentator on American culture and politics. Indeed, he had shared the rostrum that day with the vice president, an army general and the Soviet ambassador. The staged effects which heightened his entrance, however, highlighted an element of drama in a Robeson performance even if it was at a political rally. For Robeson, whose warmth and charisma radiated in any setting, such an entrance was only fitting.
In 1942, the same year as his debut in the summer stock production of Othello at Cambridge, Robeson’s political consciousness forced him to break completely from the film industry. He had previously taken a hiatus from film work because of his frustration with the lack of control he had over the final product and the debasing images of African Americans that proliferated in the industry. His past film projects had sometimes been criticized in the black press, as with Sanders of the River in 1934. This movie had celebrated British imperialism rather than African cultural forms, as Robeson had initially hoped. In an interview from 1938, a disenchanted Robeson noted that films were just another investment for corporate interests: “[T]he film industry is the clearest example of the workings of capitalism. … ‘You’ve only got to ask who controls United States Steel, who controls Chase National Bank. And then you find the same guys control the film industry.’”13
Tales of Manhattan, with Robeson and Ethel Waters, was released in the autumn of 1942. The film presented a loose string of vignettes connected by an overcoat that impacted several disparate lives as it traveled from person to person. In the final sketch, Robeson and Waters, playing rural sharecroppers in the South, happen upon the coat, which fell from an airplane, and find its pockets mysteriously brimming with cash. This fortuitous discovery induced Waters and Robeson into a chorus of hallelujahs. The Wall Street Journal reviewer believed that the pair of African Americans “perform their offices to good effect” but was disappointed that Robeson did not sing until the very end.14 Additionally, the New York Times pointed out that Hollywood had Tales “stamped as a box office winner.”15 The black press told a different story, however. Nell Dodson, writing for the People’s Voice, admonished the “corny” direction and overwrought language portrayed by the tenant farmers. She offered, “When the [Robeson and Waters] characters ask the preacher for shoes … it is neither far-fetched nor ridiculous, but the dialect and the over-drawing of the types makes it so.” Dodson attentively suggested that had the film been “[h]andled with feeling and understanding on the part of the director, the results might have been different.”16 Robeson’s portrayal of a caricature in the film can be juxtaposed with his politically charged performance in response to the film.
Robeson was disappointed with the film and felt compelled to explain his reasons for signing on to the project at a press conference. He emphasized that he had hoped he could get the producer to change the script but was told that too much money had been invested in the project and to alter any of it might risk alienating the southern market. Thus, “they continued to show the Negro in time-honored Hollywood fashion.” Robeson stressed that he had since turned down several film offers due to his disillusionment with Tales and even “confirmed the report that he would picket the picture himself.”17 Subsequently, in September 1942, the New York Times reported that Robeson had unabashedly announced he was “through with Hollywood until movie magnates found some other way to portray the Negro.” He vented his frustration: “But in the end it [Tales] turned out to be the same old thing—the Negro solving his problem by singing his way to glory. This is very offensive to my people. It makes the Negro child-like and innocent and is in the old plantation tradition.”18 Except for his narration of the labor documentary Native Land later that year, Tales of Manhattan was Robeson’s final film appearance. Other movie projects were discussed later in his career, such as a Russian production of Othello, but never came to fruition due to his passport revocation in the 1950s. Robeson’s clear public act of turning away from the movie magnates following Tales signaled a new direction in his career. In this case, it was Robeson’s lack of performing in films that hammered away his point that credible roles for African Americans were far too rare. Refusing to act in movies, a medium in which he had little control, afforded Robeson the time to perform his art and politics in venues where he could be in charge of the final product.
It was significant that this crucial turning point in Robeson’s career came just after his summer debut as Othello in Cambridge. In the People’s Voice, Nell Dodson astutely questioned why Robeson had not left the Tales project sooner: “Any man who did what Robeson did in Kansas City not so long ago—demand recognition of equal rights—surely could step out of a role he knew would bring public censure. If he had walked out of the film when he found what the circumstances were, it would have been as effective an act of protest as could have been made.” She then effectively contrasted the Tales fiasco with the Cambridge premiere: “A man who plays Othello with the supreme talent he proved was his is big enough and influential enough to make his every action keenly felt in theatre circles.”19 It was remarkable that Dodson could premise this connection solely on the basis of the summer stock opening of Othello. Robeson had not yet even performed on Broadway, when his interpretation of Shakespeare’s Moor had indisputably reached its pinnacle. Even the brief Cambridge run had demonstrated Robeson’s eminence as Othello. Yet, Dodson also made explicit the relationship between Othello and Robeson’s politics: Othello acted as a vehicle from which Robeson could perform his politics and his “every action” could be “keenly felt.” Because of his ascendancy in that well-respected role, Robeson could now wield additional authority on political grounds. This was precisely what happened during the tour of the Broadway production, especially with regard to segregation. Robeson refused to perform in any segregated theaters and this public stand against injustice was successful because Othello had catapulted him to a higher, albeit short-lived, level of influence.
During the mid-1940s, Paul Robeson’s prominence reached its apex: glowing reviews indicated that his place in the history of Broadway and Shakespearean theater was secured, his popularity was reinforced through numerous awards and honorary degrees, and his left-wing political affiliations were not called into question as long as the United States and Russia were allied. Significantly, the Broadway Othello occurred during the war mobilization as well as a time of mounting civil rights protest. As political circumstances increasingly influenced the major theatrical production with which Robeson was employed, the relationship between Robeson the artist and Robeson the activist became ever more conflated.
The war effort engaged progressives and Communist Party members who pushed for a second European front after Germany invaded Russia in June of 1941. Following the attack on Pearl Harbor in December, most of the United States, except for small pockets of Socialists and conscientious objectors, rallied around the cause of antifascism. The World War II years also represented an important period of campaigning for civil rights by African Americans. Perhaps most famously, A. Philip Randolph, founder of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters and a leader in the National Negro Congress, planned a March on Washington Movement against employment discrimination. The notion of a mass protest during wartime roused President Roosevelt to pen Executive Order 8802. This law outlawed discrimination in the defense industries and formed the Fair Employment Practices Committee (FEPC). Although it did open jobs for African Americans in some wartime industries, the FEPC was largely impotent because it did not possess the power to enforce any of its recommendations. These jobs were often menial and many African Americans remained segregated in wartime boom towns. Moreover, the armed forces remained segregated through the war for the thousands of African Americans who served and were treated with segregated blood from the Red Cross when they were wounded. On the issue of separated blood supplies, Walter White of the NAACP wrote in the People’s Voice, “How ironic must be the laughter today in Berlin and Tokyo as they listen to American assertions that the war is being fought … to wipe out totalitarianism based on racial bigotry!”20 Meanwhile, the NAACP was continuing its long-term strategy in the courts that would climax with the 1954 Brown decision on school segregation.
In 1942, the Pittsburgh Courier, an African American newspaper, introduced the term “double v,” which referred to the need for a double victory against fascism abroad as well as race discrimination in the United States. African Americans fought valiantly against fascism and, thus, also came home fighting for full citizenship rights. This idea was adopted widely in the black community during the war years. The spirit of the Double V campaign was evident at a rally of seventy-five hundred when Adam Clayton Powell Jr. backed Benjamin Davis, of the Communist Party, for city council and proclaimed, “The will of the anti-Fascists … and the anti-Ku Klux Klan will send Benjamin Davis, Jr. to the City Council on November 2nd.”21 W. E. B. Du Bois, who had initially been optimistic about the prospects for African Americans following World War I, warned in 1942, “We may sadly admit today that the First World War did not bring us democracy. Nor will the second.” A few months later he was cautiously optimistic: “Is it for the freedom of Negroes in the Southern United States and Negroes in West Africa to vote? If this is the freedom we are fighting for, my gun is on my shoulder.”22
Robeson was increasingly engaged in the push for civil rights during the World War II era. His visibility was at its peak on the political front (at rallies, conferences, mass meetings, and political campaigns), and the record number of Broadway shows, coupled with the extended U.S. tour, meant that thousands also saw him in Othello. Amiri Baraka has estimated that perhaps as many as five hundred thousand people around the country viewed Robeson’s Othello.23 Robeson’s stand against segregated theaters should be considered against the backdrop of the broader momentum against discrimination including the March on Washington Movement, the NAACP’s judicial strategy, and the Double V campaign. His historic appearance as a black actor breaking the color barrier in Shakespeare on Broadway also helped fuel this larger movement. His milestone represented further evidence of black dignity and success in a venue previously viewed as being for whites only. Robeson’s politics were also evident in his performances in various civil rights campaigns.
In December 1943, shortly following his Broadway debut, Robeson spoke before a conference of club presidents, general managers, and the commissioner of baseball, Kennesaw Landis, to argue for the entry of African Americans into major league teams. Landis, who presided over the proceedings, underscored Robeson’s unmitigated fame in his introduction: “It is unnecessary to introduce Paul Robeson. Everybody knows him or what he’s done as an athlete or artist.”24 In his comments, Robeson argued for the admittance of African Americans into mainstream baseball on the basis of the current movement against segregation and his success as a black actor on Broadway. At a press conference following the meeting, Robeson stressed that “this was an excellent time to bring about an entry of Negro players into organized baseball.” He noted that when he played for Rutgers the presence of an African American athlete “on a collegiate gridiron had been unheard of” but now was “commonplace.” In a similar vein, “a Negro in a white cast long was considered incredible” but his appearance in Othello had become “the outstanding success of his career.”25 The spirit of his remarks was clear: the tenor of the country was changing with regard to segregation. Robeson could have chosen to utilize only sports metaphors from his days as a college sportsman, but he employed the Broadway Othello as an indicator of the approaching downfall of the color line. Four years later, Jackie Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers as the first openly acknowledged African American to play in major league baseball since the turn of the twentieth century. Thus, Robeson’s ground-breaking performance in Othello undergirded the case he made against segregation in other arenas. He had performed as the sole black player on the athletic field at Rutgers as well as on the Broadway stage, and could now submit these events as evidence in his appearance before Landis and the press. Whether performing as a ballplayer, actor, or activist, Robeson communicated the same antisegregation message.
Robeson’s performances as Othello not only furthered the fight against segregation but supported other political causes as the production was touring the United States from late 1944 to early 1945. Two Othello performances in California were sponsored by the Council on African Affairs (CAA) along with other organizations. These events served as tributes to Robeson and raised funds for the sponsors. The first, in January 1945, was held in Los Angeles and jointly sponsored by the CAA and the Musicians Congress, which was formed “to further the ideals of democracy through music and to build lasting friendship among all races and nations by the exchange of cultures.”26 Numerous individuals and groups, including entertainers, organizers, and educators, purchased space in the program to send greetings to Robeson and acknowledge his artistry and advocacy. For example, sixteen professors from UCLA recognized Robeson as “an ambassador of the arts” who “has taught by living example the way to a better understanding among all peoples.” The introductory notes to the program, written by Dalton Trumbo, honored Robeson’s commitment to political activism: “Tonight an artist’s organization … and an educational organization … have joined forces to pay tribute to an American who, within his own personality, uniquely combines the artist, the musician and the politically responsible citizen of America and the world.” He concluded pointedly, “And yet his work as a citizen has not interfered with his growth as an artist. Rather, the artist has complemented the citizen, and vice versa. They have matured together, and now they cannot be separated.” Thus, Trumbo shrewdly observed that by this point in his career, Robeson’s artistry was indistinguishable from his political activities.
Another benefit performance sponsored by the CAA occurred the following month in San Francisco and was cohosted by the American-Russian Institute. The souvenir program similarly carried warm wishes to Robeson from many sources such as the People’s Daily World and California Eagle newspapers as well as the International Longshoremen’s and Warehousemen’s Union, of which Robeson was an honorary member. The opening remarks of the program for this engagement reflected the note in the initial Broadway Othello program from 1943 that underscored the cooperation of all races in the fight against fascism. The 1945 benefit program emphasized the approaching close of the war and the need for an end to fascist tendencies in the United States. It read in part, “Just as it was necessary for the United Nations to become firmly welded in order to achieve victory, so is it necessary for Americans of all races, creeds and colors to unite for a free and democratic America with equal opportunity for all. Only such an America can guarantee a just and lasting peace.”27 This analysis echoed the spirit of the Double V campaign and again firmly grounded Robeson’s Othello within the contemporary political context.
This program also included an essay reprinted from New Masses titled “From Aldridge to Robeson” that paralleled Ira Aldridge’s social consciousness and fame as Othello with Robeson’s. It mentioned how Aldridge, though he practiced his art abroad, donated part of his salary to the abolitionist cause and asserted that by “remembering Ira Aldridge we may better understand how truly historic is the triumph of Paul Robeson.” Finally, the remarks by the American-Russian Institute summarized the ethos of both of these performances in California, which celebrated Robeson’s Othello performances as an occasion to highlight contemporary political issues. The institute, whose work accentuated intercultural relations, extended “its warmest thanks … for making possible this benefit performance of a magnificent production which, in its own way, emphasizes cultural unity.” Robeson’s Othello and his political pursuits complemented well the missions of the Musicians Congress, the American-Russian Institute, and the CAA, which he served as chairman. Overall, his performances as Othello functioned, on a broad scale, as a conduit through which Robeson could represent the dignity of his people and speak out against segregation. Additionally, these particular engagements fused Robeson’s art and politics by engaging a theatrical presentation in order to benefit specific political organizations that admired Robeson and shared his progressive goals.
Robeson’s artistry and activism were also conjoined through his continuous political appearances during the Othello tour. The engagement at Chicago’s Erlanger Theater happened to coincide with the death of President Roosevelt on April 12, 1945. Over the course of his unprecedented number of presidential terms, FDR’s New Deal reforms had persuaded many African Americans, who had formerly been loyal to Lincoln’s Republican Party, to vote Democratic. Additionally, Roosevelt had appointed Mary McLeod Bethune, a distinguished educator and founder of Bethune-Cookman College, to a cabinet position in the National Youth Administration, from which she advocated for black rights. Prominent African Americans, including Robeson, had supported Roosevelt’s 1944 campaign against Thomas Dewey. FDR’s death must have been an upsetting occasion for Robeson as it was for New Dealers and progressives around the country. The newspaper reviews of Robeson’s Othello in Chicago were fairly critical as the strain of national events along with his hectic schedule was most likely taking a toll on him. It was his heartfelt appearance at an oratorical competition for young people the day Roosevelt died which perhaps best portrayed Robeson’s response to the president’s untimely death. In his speech, Robeson “paid tribute to the late President Roosevelt and urged the young orators competing to use their talents in keeping with the principles the great leader died for before the world.”28 Robeson continued to uphold those principles during the next election by actively campaigning for, not the Democratic candidate Harry Truman, but the Progressive Party candidate who had worked with Roosevelt: Henry A. Wallace.
Robeson persisted in the battle against segregation in 1945 when he embarked on a tour across Europe with the first interracial group of entertainers for the USO. The initial plan had been for the whole Othello troupe to make the USO engagement but this did not occur due to scheduling confusion. Robeson headed out, instead, as a solo vocalist accompanied by his long-time collaborator on the piano, Lawrence Brown.29 These performances recalled his visit to the troops in Spain in the late 1930s and accentuated his commitment to supporting those who had fought against fascism. Robeson, unsurprisingly, was a big hit with the soldiers. One reviewer captured how the GIs in Germany were clearly moved by Robeson’s performance, “There were rapt spellbound expressions on the faces of most of those in the audiences, and there were tears plainly to be seen in some eyes.”30
Black troops, especially, were bolstered by Robeson’s visit. A reporter for the Associated Negro Press observed, “Without a doubt, in the men’s minds here, Mr. Robeson is one of the greatest champions for the integration of the colored millions in the United States into every phase of American life.” Characteristically, Robeson’s performances were punctuated by his analysis of the current political climate back in the States. In Paris he cautioned, “Negro troops returning to the U.S. will find an America not greatly altered in terms of their position although Negroes have made significant economic progress during the war.”31 Robeson’s performances with the interracial USO tour anticipated the desegregation of the military by three years. This tour was important because he, again, publicly broke a historic color barrier and because it documented his popularity among the troops. Some of these soldiers would not remain Robeson fans, however, as the groups of vigilantes who lashed out against him in the late 1940s were partially composed of veterans from such organizations as the American Legion.
Throughout the 1940s, Robeson was bestowed with many honors, large and small, from honorary degrees to medals of achievement. A few of these were solely for his performance in Othello, while others recognized his art as well as his dedication to the struggle against fascism and injustice. For example, he was recognized by the Newspaper Guild of New York for his outstanding contribution to the theatre. The American Academy of Arts and Letters also honored Robeson with a medal for good diction on stage, and he was given the Donaldson Award for outstanding male lead performance by Billboard magazine. These all occurred in the space of just one year: 1944! In a testimony to his widespread popularity, high school students in New York City also recognized Robeson. The Abraham Lincoln School in Brooklyn voted for Robeson as the recipient of the Lincoln Award for being the “most outstanding American” of 1943. At the ceremony, Robeson sang for the students, much to their delight, and presented the principal with his newest album.32
Honorary doctorates were showered on Robeson from a number of institutions including Hamilton College (1940), Morehouse College (1943), and Howard University (1945). These citations not only celebrated Robeson for his artistic pursuits but acknowledged the marriage between his art and activism. The president of Hamilton asserted, “In honoring you today, we do not, however, express our enthusiasm for your histrionic and musical achievements alone … [but] as an exemplar of the humanity and the greatness of our democratic heritage.”33 Benjamin Mays, president of Morehouse, directly invoked the significance of Robeson’s Othello as an important service to the African American race as testimony “against the typical cheap performances that Hollywood and Broadway too often insist on Negroes doing.” Mays continued, “We are happy, therefore, to be the first Negro college in the world to place its stamp of approval upon the leadership of a man who embodies all the hopes and aspirations of the Negro race. …”34
Probably the most prestigious award Robeson received during this period was the thirtieth Spingarn medal from the NAACP in October 1945. Chicago Sun publisher Marshall Field presented the award, which was given for the “highest or noblest achievement by an American Negro during the preceding year or years.” In his speech, Field contrasted the obstacles faced by African Americans and whites in any field of endeavor: “But when a Negro achieves a similar pre-eminence in what is still a white man’s social system, he requires all of these qualities and the additional courage and strength necessitated by our shameful caste system in this country.” The citation for Robeson directly correlated his art with his political advocacy. It read, “For his distinguished achievements in the theatre and on the concert stage, as well as for his active concern for the rights of the Common man of every race, color, religion and nationality.”
In his acceptance speech, Robeson’s performance highlighted his regard for the Soviet Union, which had sacrificed, by far, the most lives in the recent war against fascism. Peaceful relations with the former ally were being called into question by late 1945, and the Truman administration’s domestic initiatives ultimately heightened anticommunist reaction and isolated progressives. Robeson must have known that this was a pivotal moment if friendship with the Soviets was to continue. In his acceptance speech, he stressed the spirit of eliminating domestic fascism, as the Double V campaign had envisioned. Robeson lauded the progress toward eradicating discrimination and unemployment made in one generation by the Soviet people. He “urged the creation of a world where people, whether white, black, red or brown, can live in peace and harmony, and where resources can be used for the good of all. …” However, those present were not pleased by Robeson’s acclaim for the Soviet people. The Pittsburgh Courier reported that his invocation of Soviet accomplishments had “shocked” the audience.35 This award further underscored the alliance between Robeson’s dual role as an artist and champion of civil rights. Yet, the negative reaction to this speech foreshadowed the fallout following Robeson’s performance at the World Congress of Partisans of Peace in the spring of 1949.
What conclusions can be drawn from this array of awards, in particular the Spingarn medal? First, Robeson was publicly recognized in many quarters for his artistic merit and as a supporter of social justice and human rights. As pointed out by President Mays, Othello was a significant part of Robeson’s larger political legacy. Biographer Martin Duberman observed that the Spingarn ceremony signaled “the apex of Robeson’s public acclaim and the onset of his fall from official grace.”36 Indeed, the Spingarn medal represented a turning point in Robeson’s career, for he would soon be attacked by NAACP leaders Walter White and Roy Wilkins, as well as disparaged in the NAACP’s organ the Crisis, and the idea of Robeson as a “leader,” as Mays remarked in 1943, would be denied by a number of African Americans, including Jackie Robinson, who testified against him before HUAC.37
As the political climate of the nation changed during the Truman administration, anticommunist politics cast suspicion on progressive causes. Even as early as 1945, Robeson events were cancelled due to his political views. For example, in Chicago that year, students at Northwestern University encountered opposition from the administration when they attempted to book a hall on campus for a Robeson appearance. The administrators queried whether Robeson would “sing, or talk too” and when students indicated he might speak also, they were informed that no venue on campus would be available.38 The answer to the question posed by the Northwestern administration was a foregone conclusion, however, since Robeson was well known for presenting his political views while onstage. As one reviewer in Detroit described a Robeson concert: “As always, for all his gentility, Robeson made the crowd know that he has a gospel to deliver whenever he confronts an audience; the gospel which insists that the oppressed and down-trodden of this earth shall be suffered to rise.”39
Immediately after World War II, the cause for peace with the Soviet Union became imperative in the wake of hardening cold war ideologies such as Winston Churchill’s “Iron Curtain” speech in March of 1946. At this point, Robeson became even more involved with progressive causes through groups like the Council on African Affairs and the Civil Rights Congress, founded in 1946. That year, the Council launched the most visible campaign of its career for famine relief in Africa. Four million black South Africans were confined to plots of land that were wholly insufficient for their numbers. As a result, they were victims of chronic poverty and hunger. A drought had worsened conditions and relief from the British was entirely inadequate. While the United States was focused on rebuilding Europe, the CAA raised awareness about this acute situation in Africa through their monthly newsletter, New Africa, and hosted two rallies that raised money and collected food to ship to the continent. The mass meeting on January 7 at Adam Clayton Powell’s Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem packed the house with four thousand people who donated over seventeen hundred dollars in funds and twenty million pounds of canned goods. The crowd listened to Council officers Max Yergan and W. Alpaeus Hunton speak. Marian Anderson’s singing received a huge ovation. Yet, it was Robeson, the consummate performer, who “had the audience hanging on his every word.”40
A rally six months later focused on famine relief and also emphasized the colonial struggle for freedom. Robeson utilized a variety of methods to communicate the acute circumstances on the continent. A message from Robeson published in the Daily Worker pointed out that the desperate plight of hunger in Africa “is practically unknown to the outside world.” He continued, “We Americans … have the responsibility of providing something more than food for the people of Africa. … We must see that their demands for freedom are heard and answered by America and the United Nations.”41 Robeson was known for not mincing words. At a radio appearance covered by the New York Post Robeson sharply criticized the West’s position regarding colonized people. “He charged that Anglo-American diplomacy now is aiding the most reactionary elements all over the world.” He also deftly connected the African situation with that of African Americans: “Nobody knows, but the peoples of Africa may be free before those of Mississippi.”42
The mass meeting on June 6 filled Madison Square Garden with fifteen thousand supporters and represented the apex of the Council’s influence and notoriety. The rally enjoyed publicity from a range of mainstream publications such as PM and major New York papers including the Herald Tribune, the Times, and the Post.43 Luminaries including W. E. B. Du Bois, Mary McLeod Bethune, Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., and Councilman Benjamin Davis graced the rostrum. At the rally, resolutions were passed on international cooperation, self-determination for all people, and admittance for colonial people into the U. N. Prime Minister Jan Smuts was condemned for his flagrant policies of discrimination and the state of disease and hunger plaguing the Union of South Africa. Still, it was Robeson who delighted the audience. His speech immediately enveloped the crowd into his magnetic aura. Robeson’s unique charisma engendered a sense of intimacy between himself and this huge audience while the personal terms remained throughout his message. He began, “I think I can say that never before have I faced such an audience as this with the sense of responsibility, of urgency, of intimacy with you that I now feel.”44 He clarified that when he referred to “the Negro” he included all people of the Diaspora: “American Negroes, as well as West Indians and Africans.” He further characterized those living in the underdeveloped world as “our brothers in colonial bondage.” Thus, in the midst of troubled times, Robeson maintained an increasingly staunch activist posture, but the warmth and allure of the artist continued to infuse his political performances.
In 1946, as African Americans were questioning the strictures of segregation more and more, a spike in lynching occurrences indicated that the fight against discrimination was going to be a prolonged battle. Returning soldiers, especially, were targeted, as their behavior was perceived to be too liberated after returning from the more liberal continent of Europe. At a conference of the American Crusade Against Lynching, over which Robeson presided, Aubrey Williams testified to the catastrophic proportions of the lynching epidemic. He indicated that the current “reign of terror in the South … is the worst thing that has happened in the last forty years,” and furthermore, “[f]ederal action to date amounts to nothing.”45 In September, the Crusade launched a hundred-day campaign against terrorism in the South that culminated in a mass meeting in Washington, D.C., and sent a delegation to discuss the issue with President Truman. This group was led by Robeson and the meeting with Truman represented one of Robeson’s most powerful performances in the political arena.
The delegation’s interaction with Truman was chronicled by numerous newspapers which interrogated the group at a press conference following the meeting. During their conversation with the president, Robeson first read a message requesting that Truman make a formal statement against lynching and inaugurate “a definite legislative and educational program” to eliminate mob violence. However, Truman demurred, claiming such action would not be politically expedient. Robeson, taking full advantage of his audience with Truman, pointed out the paradox of the United States condemning Nazis in the Nuremburg trials for the oppression of minorities while allowing African Americans to be lynched at home. Truman, however, refused to see the relevance of this parallel and maintained that domestic problems should not be mixed with foreign policy. While the president characterized the United States and Britain as “the last refuge for freedom in the world,” Robeson sharply disagreed and pointed out that current British and American policy was “not supporting anti-fascism.” Finally, Robeson attempted to convey to the president that the temperament in the black community was changing: “He said returning veterans are showing signs of restiveness and indicated that they are determined to get the justice here they have fought for abroad.” Several papers reported that Robeson directly countered the commander-in-chief, citing that if the government failed to do something about lynching then “the Negroes will.” Robeson’s performance was clearly pushing Truman’s buttons. The Chicago Defender noted that Truman “shook his fists,” declaring that Robeson’s observation sounded like a threat. Robeson, seeming very much in control of the situation, assured the president it was not a threat but “a statement of fact about the temper of the Negro.” This performance illustrated that Robeson possessed the courage, the sharp intellect, the sheer presence, not to mention the dramatic flair, to stand toe-to-toe in a debate with one of the most powerful men in the world. (In stark contrast, around this time, another delegation met with Truman on the lynching issue. It was led by Walter White and was decidedly more conservative in tone; the president was, not surprisingly, more favorably disposed to their gradualist approach.)
Immediately following the meeting with the president, Robeson remained poised. A presidential assistant was spinning the meeting for a reporter, noting that the issue of lynching was important but insisting that the timing was wrong politically. Overhearing this, Robeson interjected, “This is an issue that cannot be ducked.” Faced with a press conference at which he relayed the interaction with Truman, Robeson maintained his unswerving posture and clarity on the issue at hand. Louis Lautier, of the Afro-American, felt that the reporters “ganged up on Robeson” in a “no holds barred” question-and-answer session. Still, Robeson’s composure was undeterred even when one reporter insisted on knowing whether Robeson was simply following the Communist Party line. After candidly underscoring that he remained “violently anti-fascist,” Robeson persuasively retorted, “It depends what you mean by Communist party line. Right now the Communist party is against lynching. I’m against lynching.” The give-and-take between Robeson and the reporters clearly took on a stagelike quality. The clamoring reporters scribbled in their notebooks and tried to catch Robeson off guard. This was juxtaposed with Robeson’s sturdy comportment and clear delivery. He remained unintimidated by the public setting and intelligently, even artfully, responded to their queries. This led Lautier to incisively conclude, “Robeson showed that he was just as able to take care of himself in a rough-and-tumble session with the press as he was in playing a scene with the scene-stealing Jose Ferrer as Iago.”46
The pinnacle of this eventful day was probably the mass meeting held that evening at the Lincoln Memorial. Four thousand people gathered despite the rainy conditions to hear Robeson sing and read a new version of the Emancipation Proclamation as he stood at the base of Lincoln’s statue. Robeson questioned the meaning of freedom on the anniversary of Lincoln’s famous pronouncement. “Citing the abolition of slavery nearly 100 years ago as the end of the slaveholding heritage only, Robeson stated that oppression of the Negro never ended in fact.”47 The staging of this occasion could have been as precise as that of any Broadway play. This was a poetic image: the darkened cloudy sky behind the larger-than-life sculpture of Lincoln, who represented for generations the idea of liberation from slavery. Yet, in front of Lincoln stood Robeson, in his own way towering and statuesque, probing the very idea of emancipation for a new, more militant generation and calling on all races to push, finally, for an end to mob violence.
Early in 1947, the issues of discrimination at home as well as poverty and self-determination in Africa moved Robeson to announce his retirement from the formal concert arena. After joining a picket line in St. Louis to protest theater segregation, Robeson remarked on his intention to “abandon the theatre and concert stage for the next two years to ‘talk up and down the nation against race prejudice.’” He emphasized the critical juncture he had reached: “It seems that I must raise my voice, but not by singing pretty songs.”48 At a concert in Utah a couple of months later, Robeson made a more official pronouncement. He indicated to the “startled” audience, “You’ve heard my final formal concert for at least two years, and perhaps for many more. I’m retiring here and now from concert work—I shall sing, from now on, for my trade union and college friends; in other words, only at gatherings where I can sing what I please.” Subsequently, during a radio interview, “he re-emphasized his firm intention to leave the concert stage, and his grim determination to work harder than ever for world peace and the betterment of the conditions of the Negro race.”49
During a speech that April at a CAA rally, Robeson continued to underscore his departure from the formal concert arena but assured the audience that we was not abandoning his supporters. The content of his message focused on anti-imperialism. His warm relationship with the crowd was signaled by the continued interjections of “stormy applause” and “loud applause” in the transcript.50 The closing of his performance climaxed in a prolonged ovation that highlighted his tremendous appeal to the people and the intimate relationship he established with the crowd. Robeson promised, “I will function as an artist, but no longer stand sort of, up there, doing just acting and concerting. I am going to sing, yes, as an artist. … But I give of my talents to the people. … I come from the people, and from the side of the people.” This was met with resounding approval from the spectators. Yet, Robeson was not finished. He was building up to a calculated zenith and the crowd was following his lead. Robeson continued to embrace the audience: “I want nothing back but the kind of affection that comes to me tonight, the kind of feeling that you’re there—that’s what allows me to do what I do—because you are there!” This expression of affection mirrored the closeness he felt with the crowd at the 1946 famine relief rally. He concluded, “I stand here fighting only in my own way, as an artist, against fascism … we fight it, you fight it, all of us fight it—to the death!!” The transcriber recorded that there was then “tremendous and enthusiastic applause, [a] stormy ovation.” Thus, as political circumstances became acute, Robeson responded to the crisis by using his talents as an artist to publicly maintain his antifascist principles. However, Robeson’s warmth and engaging charisma as a performer certainly were not going to be left behind even as he departed from the formal concert stage to concentrate on his political message, on being the people’s artist.
Following these announcements, Robeson, while facing mounting controversy on the road, appeared more frequently at union halls and other supportive venues. He also traveled for the first time to perform in Hawaii and Panama in 1948. In its review of Robeson’s performance, the Honolulu Advertiser asserted that “no one in the audience will forget the excerpt from Othello. …”51 This was a particularly theatrical occasion when, after Robeson’s recitation, “one could hear a pin drop. The wind howling outside gave atmosphere to the dramatic interlude.” In Panama, an excerpt from Othello was “masterfully rendered at the end of each concert to the delight of the audiences.”52 Even as he became more politically motivated and temporarily retired from the formal concert arena, Robeson’s artistic connection with Othello remained intact. A similar pattern unfolded in the 1950s. As the repression against Robeson mounted, impassioned recitations of Othello’s final monologue symbolized his fighting spirit.
It was in the late 1940s, most precipitously in 1949, that the mainstream perception of Robeson radically changed from champion of the working man, as in “Ballad for Americans,” and forerunner in the entertainment industry, as in Othello, to suspicious left-wing affiliate of Communist causes. Robeson had not dramatically altered his message of friendship with the Soviet Union, self-determination for colonized people, and civil rights for African Americans even as a bifurcated cold war ideology gripped the West. However, U.S. politics did change, particularly regarding the Soviet Union, which had been an ally during World War II. W. E. B. Du Bois characterized this period with acrimony: “The world staggered backward; guided by a southern slave-driver we ‘got tough with Russia.’”53 As Robeson often pointed out in speeches, no one had lost more soldiers to the cause of antifascism than the Soviets. Nevertheless, Robeson’s message of friendship and peace became increasingly suspect as anticommunism took hold of the American imagination. The major fallout for Robeson began in the spring of 1949.
From April 20 to 25, 1949, the Congress of the World Partisans of Peace convened in Paris. Two thousand delegates from sixty countries converged to discuss the growing alarm over heightening cold war tensions caused by recent events such as the Berlin airlift, the formation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the pending victory of Communists in China, and the possibility of a nuclear arms race. Du Bois attended as a representative of the National Council of Arts, Sciences and Professions, which had recently sponsored a peace conference in New York. He was quite impressed with the proceedings, which he described in a detailed statement that was disseminated by the Council on African Affairs. Du Bois set the scene: “The Paris outpouring for Peace was extraordinary … because of the single-hearted earnestness, the deep determination, the unflagging interest which kept 2500 persons fastened to their seats for eleven sessions … and a sixth day devoted to the most impressive mass demonstration I ever dreamed of.” Undoubtedly, for Du Bois, the march of one hundred thousand people was the most moving aspect of the conference. He wrote with characteristic poignancy, “I never before saw a hundred thousand human beings. … It was unforgettable. No lying distortion and twisting of our prostituted press can conceal or erase the heartbreaking significance of this spectacle. None who saw it will ever forget.”54
Notables such as artist Pablo Picasso attended the conference. In the inaugural address, Frederic Joliet-Curie, the chemist who won the 1935 Nobel Prize and was currently serving as high commissioner of atomic energy for France, condemned the NATO alliance as an “economic blockade of East Europe.”55 When Paul Robeson strode forward merely to take a seat on the stage, the crowd’s response was so enthusiastic that he made a short, extemporaneous speech. Few at the Salle Pleyel that day could have conceived the profound ramifications of Robeson’s remarks. His comments were not substantially different from any of the sentiments expressed by the other speakers. However, Robeson was excoriated in the U.S. press and quickly denounced by a number of black leaders just days later.
What exactly did Robeson say from that platform in Paris? An unpublished translation from the French read in part, “We in America do not forget that it is on the backs of the poor whites of Europe … and on the backs of millions of black people that the wealth of America has been acquired—And we are resolved that it shall be distributed in an equitable manner among all of our children and we don’t want any hysterical stupidity about our participating in a war against anybody no matter whom. We are determined to fight for Peace. [Applause.] We do not wish to fight the Soviet Union. [Applause.]”56 Yet, the quotation distributed in the U.S. by the Associated Press read, “‘It is unthinkable’ that American Negroes ‘would go to war on behalf of those who have oppressed us for generations’ against a country ‘which in one generation has raised our people to the full dignity of mankind.’”57 Biographer Martin Duberman convincingly argued that Robeson was misquoted by the AP.58 There also could have been trouble with translating the speech. However, the spirit of Robeson’s speech and the AP quote were similar, with the implication of both being that war with Russia or any other nation should be avoided. Still, the AP quote made Robeson sound as if he claimed to represent all African Americans. Black leaders, speaking from various platforms, swiftly disabused anyone lingering under such a misapprehension.
Interestingly, while there was no shortage of malice directed at Robeson for his Paris comments, few seemed to respond to Du Bois’s speech, which was actually a more severe indictment of the United States. He declared, “Leading this new colonial imperialism comes my own native land … Drunk with power, we are leading the world to hell in a new colonialism with the same old human slavery which once ruined us; and to a Third World War which will ruin the world.”59 Yet, African American leaders quickly denounced Robeson. Their haste in decrying Robeson, no doubt, stemmed from the charged political climate of the cold war. Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., who had allowed the Council on African Affairs to host a famine relief rally at his church in 1946, read a statement from his pulpit, which said in part, “‘[B]y no stretch of the imagination’ was Paul Robeson qualified to speak for all Negroes in the United States.”60 Roy Wilkins, of the NAACP, expressed a similar sentiment: “Paul Robeson does not represent any American Negroes. Not even ten of them have held a meeting and named him as their leader and spokesman.”61 Mary McLeod Bethune, who also participated in the Council’s famine relief rallies, corroborated that Robeson “does not speak for the Negroes of America.” She went on to emphasize African American loyalty to the United States as did Charles Houston (lawyer and architect of the NAACP’s judicial strategy), who added, “We would fight any enemy of this country.”62 NAACP leader Walter White also repudiated the idea that Robeson represented black America and stressed that only a “miniscule” number of African Americans “share Mr. Robeson’s opinions.” White did, at least, have the acumen to point out that “white America, meanwhile, would be wise to abstain from denunciation of the Paul Robesons for extremist statements until it removes the causes of the lack of faith in the American system of government.”63
It was ironic that these leaders in the black community who, just a few short years ago, had honored Robeson with awards including the NAACP’s illustrious Spingarn medal and collaborated with him on campaigns such as South African famine relief, were now so swift to deny that his views in any way reflected those of the African American population. Perhaps most famously, and most ironically, baseball legend Jackie Robinson testified before HUAC that Robeson “has a right to his personal views, and if he wants to sound silly when he expresses them in public, that’s his business and not mine.” This statement was trumpeted on page one of the New York Times as further evidence against Robeson.64 Robinson, who had been pressured to testify, was heralded in the mainstream press as an African American veteran and star athlete and, thus, capable of publicly countering Robeson’s supposed assertion about the loyalty of black Americans. However, the Daily Worker was quick to remind readers of Robeson’s advocacy for desegregation in sports, which contributed to the movement that enabled Robinson to enter major league baseball.65 The Afro-American also offered a thoughtful editorial on Robinson’s testimony that suggested, “When Jackie Robinson talks about the things he has gained, he is thinking only of himself. When Paul Robeson said he is not willing to fight against Russia, he is not thinking of himself. … He is thinking about millions of colored people in the South who can’t vote … and cannot get a decent job or education.”66 Years later in his memoir, Robinson noted that his respect for Robeson had grown and that he would “reject such an offer [to testify] if offered now.”67 Robeson quickly responded to the negative press upon his arrival back in the U.S. that summer.
Despite the prevailing attitude against Robeson in the media, a crowd of five thousand attended a welcome home rally sponsored by the Council on African Affairs at Rockland Palace in June 1949. There, Robeson did not back down from his Paris comments. His performance in Harlem that night revealed his unwavering commitment for civil rights and hinted at his personal intransigence. “At the Paris Peace Conference I said it was unthinkable that the Negro people … could be drawn into a war with the Soviet Union. I repeat it with hundred-fold emphasis. THEY WILL NOT.” He closed by highlighting domestic civil rights: “We do not want to die in vain any more on foreign battlefields for … the supporters of domestic fascism. If we must die, let it be in Mississippi or Georgia! Let it be wherever we are lynched and deprived of our rights as human beings.”68 Robeson was adamant and his message unswerving. Here was the resolve of Othello on the frontline leading his troops into battle. Even still, Robeson’s detractors were becoming more dangerous, as illustrated outside a small town in upstate New York that August.
The violence perpetrated against Robeson concertgoers outside Peek-skill, New York, in the summer of 1949 has been well documented. A brief outline of the events will be drawn partially from Louise Thompson Patterson’s firsthand account.69 Right-wing groups like the American Legion could only view Robeson through the lens of cold war reactionism, and these violent attacks revealed their vehemence toward him. It was this event, probably more than any other, which set the tone for the dark repressive years of the early 1950s. Louise Thompson Patterson, who was active in the International Workers Order in the 1940s and married to Communist Party leader William Patterson, had been traveling with Robeson in the summer of 1949 to help arrange benefits that raised money for the Council on African Affairs. At this time, it was Robeson’s custom to give an annual benefit concert for the Civil Rights Congress’s (CRC) Harlem chapter. The concert that was scheduled for Saturday, August 27, never occurred, as it was prevented by groups of vigilantes. Howard Fast, who was chairman of the concert, described how around 7:00 p.m., about an hour before the concert was scheduled to begin, the “fascist mob” had gathered and erected a blockade to prevent more cars from entering the outdoor concert grounds. Those, including Fast and other CRC members and their families, who had arrived early were left at the mercy of the rabble, which had “worked themselves into a screaming alcoholic frenzy.”70 As concertgoers arrived, they were caught in a traffic jam and became victims of taunts, physical violence, rock throwing, and injuries from broken glass until the police intervened around 10:00 p.m.71 The chaotic scene left scores injured and many cars overturned. Fast’s article emphasized the racist intent of the mob: “It should be noted that the majority of the threats—and violence too—was directed against the Negro men in our ranks.” The smell of charred wood that emanated from a giant twelve-foot cross illustrated clearly that the perpetrators, none of whom were prosecuted, were motivated not solely by zealous anticommunism.
Fortunately, the car carrying Robeson was delayed in the traffic jam and able to escape safely. On the evening of August 30, Robeson promised three thousand people gathered at Harlem’s Golden Gate Ballroom that another concert would be held the next Sunday in answer to the previous violence. The performer vowed, “I want my friends to know, in the South, in Mississippi, all over the United States, that I’ll be there with my concerts, and I’ll be in Peekskill too.”72 Thompson Patterson stressed in her account that supporters were also determined to hold another concert. Indeed, the Daily Worker estimated that twenty-five thousand people mobilized in response to the call for the second concert. Hollow Brooks Grounds was protected by a ring of trade unionists that also surrounded the stage to guard Robeson.73 This concert remained peaceful until the crowd dispersed. At that point, about a thousand vigilantes who had gathered to protest the concert began throwing rocks and assaulting concertgoers. Thompson Patterson and other eyewitnesses confirmed that state troopers failed to protect the peaceful concert attendees.74
These violent attacks and the media slanders, which portrayed Peek-skill concertgoers as having provoked the vigilantes, spurred Robeson’s characteristic fortitude. He underlined the connection between Peekskill and the fight for African American rights by asking, “Where will the next Peekskill be? … Where will they demonstrate further the ‘old Southern custom’ of beating in the heads of Negroes and all those identified with the struggle … ?” Just as Robeson recalled the injury of a past racist attack to conjure his onstage rage as Othello, he was incensed after Peekskill and declared, “This thing burns in me and it is not my nature or inclination to be scared off.”75 A civil suit and a grand jury investigation were drawn out for months. Yet, Robeson and the Council on African Affairs responded immediately with the most obvious tactic for a performer: a concert tour.
Louise Thompson Patterson helped arrange the shows in Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles, Cleveland, Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. She noted that the media contrived an atmosphere of fear by blaming the Peekskill violence on the organizers of that concert and, thus, city officials “made situations as difficult as possible” to try to discourage the follow-up concerts.76 Nevertheless, supporters packed houses to hear Robeson. For example, an overflow crowd of four thousand with two thousand standing outside attended the show in Chicago. During his performance, he again emphasized the importance of dignity. Robeson assured the audience that he would not be silenced until “every black man in America can walk with dignity in his own country.”77 Thompson Patterson remarked that African American police in each city “took care of Paul” and described the tour as a “great success” because it “showed that the people throughout the country were ready to accept a challenge to support Paul.”78 Peekskill was, however, a harsh turning point for Robeson. It demonstrated the depth of the animosity directed toward him by a portion of the U.S. public. After 1949, the coverage of Robeson in the mainstream and some of the black newspapers would be primarily disparaging. On the other hand, for progressives, Peekskill became a potent symbol of fascism in the United States. The image of Robeson’s venerable posture, surrounded by proud union men as he sang on the stage erected for the second concert at Peekskill, also fueled a fighting spirit on the Left in the face of racism and red-baiting.
A reporter covering Robeson’s concert in Chicago astutely observed in an article for the Associated Negro Press that “Paul Robeson received his greatest Chicago ovation since Shakespeare’s ‘Othello’ here Saturday night on Chicago’s southside.” This was an apt parallel. In Othello, Robeson rendered a moving artistic portrayal with dignity. After Peekskill, Robeson stood tall, not against the Turks for the Venetians, but against violence, racism, and red-baiting. Along with demonstrating dignity through his art, he spoke out for it explicitly in his singular baritone. His Othello had once been described as “sturdy as an oak.” As the political situation became more acute, Robeson’s activist posture also remained “sturdy as an oak,” and his performances in the 1950s illustrated the deep wells of his stamina. Fortunately, the triumph of Othello was not erased from the public consciousness as Robeson was increasingly besieged by cold war repression. By maintaining Othello’s final monologue in his repertoire, Robeson demonstrated his fortitude and made certain that his greatest success was not lost behind the specter of an iron curtain.