An understanding of racial justice in the shadow of statues

In the Shadow of Statues, which
was published March 20, is
on the New York Times
Bestseller List.

"These statues are not just stone and metal. They were erected purposefully to send a strong message to all who walked in their shadows about who was still in charge." 

– Mitch Landrieu, from In the Shadow of Statues

New Orleans is one of the great multicultural cities in the world. It is also a racially divided city that has dealt with its fair share of poverty and urban violence. In spite of all of its troubles, the Big Easy remains a beloved cultural treasure to everyone who visits thanks to its rich tradition of funky jazz music and the beauty and grace of its amazing food.

Enter Mitch Landrieu, the mayor of New Orleans since 2010, who has been an important catalyst in helping his city rebuild from the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. As the son of a former state legislator and mayor of New Orleans – who was a huge force in the integration of that city in the 1960s and 1970s – and the brother of a former U.S. senator from Louisiana, Landrieu grew up with a progressive education in the racially divided Crescent City among America's lingering Confederate monuments.

At a time when the issue of racism has become resurgent "with seemingly tacit approval from the highest levels of government and when too many Americans have a misplaced nostalgia for a time and place that never existed," Landrieu has written In the Shadow of Statues – a book that's a must read.

In the Shadow of Statues is equal parts memoir, history, and a "prescription for finally confronting America's most painful legacy." As a white southerner confronting his city's past history, Landrieu contributes a very strong voice to our national conversation about race in America today by taking on many difficult issues related to it, including slavery and inequality.

In praising In the Shadow of Statues, Walter Isaacson, author of Leonardo da Vinci and Steve Jobs, writes: "With a balance of humility and conviction, he recounts his path to a more profound understanding of racial justice and explains how this journey led him to remove the Confederate monuments in New Orleans. It's an important book for everyone in America to read, because it shows how intellectual honesty can lead to moral clarity."

Mitch Landrieu at Politics & Prose Bookstore
in Washington, D.C. last week.

Last week, my wife and I attended a standing room-only book event at Politics & Prose Bookstore in northwest Washington, D.C., featuring a conversation between Landrieu and Jeffrey Goldberg, editor in chief of The Atlantic, before a thoughtful and engaging audience, that was followed by a 30-minute Q & A period and a book signing.

"There's a difference between remembering and revering history," said Landrieu, who addressed the people of New Orleans in May 2017 about his decision to take down and remove four Confederate monuments, including the statue of the famous southern Confederate general Robert E. Lee. The affected statues represent a mere four-year period of U.S. history, from 1861-65, but a searing one, too. While Landrieu said that the decision to remove the monuments was a difficult one, it was a right one, too. It was about eradicating history.

"We were on the wrong side of history," Landrieu told the Politics & Prose audience very matter-of-factly. "These statues were erected to send a strong message to all who walked in their shadows about who was still in charge. For decades, these statues have cast a long shadow on society, particularly African-Americans."

Lee Circle before the Confederate monument
of Robert E. Lee was removed in 2017.

Landrieu says In the Shadow of Statues is an invitation to stand and sit in other people's shoes. He recalled for his Politics & Prose audience a conversation he once shared with his dear friend, the famous jazz musician and educator – and New Orleans native son – Wynton Marsalis, who helped him see the truth about the city's exclusionary attitudes. "'Hey, man,'" Landrieu recalled the trumpeter saying to him. "'You should take the statue of Robert E. Lee down. Do you know how it got there and who put it up?'"

In the book, Landrieu expands on his conversation with Marsalis.

"I don't like the fact that Lee Circle is named Lee Circle."

"Why is that?"

"Let me help you see it through my eyes. Who is he? What does he represent? And in that most prominent space in the city of New Orleans, does that space reflect who we are, who we want to be, or who we are?"

Suddenly, Landrieu was listening.

Later in their conversation, according to the mayor, Marsalis added, "'Did you know Louis Armstrong left the city and never came back because of that statue? He did not even want to be buried in his hometown. You ever think about what Robert E. Lee means to someone black?'"

Landrieu emphasized that there's a difference between remembrance of history and reverence of it. "I think there are a lot of people who are struggling with the notion that the South fought for a cause that was reviled," he said. When you make sense of it, monuments are usually reserved for winners not losers. The Confederate monuments celebrated the losing side of the Civil War.

New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu

As Landrieu remarked back during his May 2017 speech, "For America and New Orleans, it has been a long, winding road, marked by great tragedy and great triumph. But we cannot be afraid of our truth."

And, as Landrieu writes, "Here is the essential truth: We are better together than we are apart.

"Indivisibility is our essence."

Near the end of his conversation at Politics & Prose, Landrieu said, "If we are going to move forward as a country, we must confront the issue of race head on. Our diversity is what makes this country great.

"We need to understand our history. We need to tell the whole story."

Photo credits: Book cover courtesy of Amazon.com. Politics & Prose audience courtesy of @PoliticsProse Twitter. Robert E. Lee statue courtesy of New Orleans Advocate. Mitch Landrieu courtesy of Cheryl Gerber.

Sharing knowledge and instilling good feelings

Across the U.S., May is traditionally a month for college graduation ceremonies. It's the season where commencement speakers share their knowledge of the world and instill good feelings in graduating seniors -- and there are some seven million students graduating from colleges and universities this year alone.

Each year, the President of the United States gives a commencement address at one of the nation's military academies like West Point or Annapolis. On Wednesday, Barack Obama will use his commencement address at West Point Military Academy to lay out a broad vision of American foreign policy for the foreseeable future. Earlier this month, the well-known tennis commentator Mary Carillo spoke to graduates -- including her daughter -- at Elon College in North Carolina, and the esteemed jazz musician and educator Wynton Marsalis addressed graduates at Tulane University in New Orleans. Both are excellent communicators. Meanwhile, closer to my home, the House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi addressed the graduating class at the University of California, Berkeley.

Politicians and entertainers are often asked to give commence speeches because not only are they well known public figures, they're at ease being in front of large crowds of people. They're naturals.

Last week, the world famous, nine-time Grammy Award-winning soul artist John Legend, who is also a philanthropist and Penn alumnus, returned to his alma mater to receive an honorary Doctor of Music degree. Legend also delivered the commencement address at the University of Pennsylvania, described by USA Today as being "funny, moving and musical," and he even worked some song lyrics into his speech.

"The reason I'm here, the reason I've had such a wonderful journey so far, is that I've found love. Yes, love," said Legend, who first visited the Ivy League campus as a high school senior named John Stephens in 1995. "We were all made to love. And I've found that we live our best lives, we are at our most successful, not simply because we're smarter than everyone else, or because we hustle harder. Not because we become millionaires more quickly. The key to success, the key to happiness, is opening your mind and your heart to love. Spending your time doing things you love and with people you love."

Legend's musical pedigree is rich in diversity -- he's worked with Herbie Hancock, The Roots and Kanye West, among many -- and, lately, one of his songs, "All of Me," has gained in popularity, too.

I came across Legend's wonderful commencement address the other day -- a link to it appeared on my Facebook news feed. I spent some time reading it -- absorbing its message -- and it really resonated with me. Legend had a lot of important things to say to the University of Pennsylvania graduates, and he connected a lot of dots, too.

I urge all of you to take a few minutes to read over John Legend's commencement address with focus and passion and courage. And, if you are so moved, click on the above link to watch Legend and listen to his words of wisdom.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. Good morning. And congratulations!

Now I'll try to be brief this morning. As a musician, this is about 10 hours before I normally go to work, so I'm gonna need a nap soon. And you've got degrees to receive.

And I also have a feeling some of you are already tired of me. The thing about pop radio in America, somehow they've scientifically determined that the public is only capable of liking the same 10 songs at any given time, so they simply play those songs over and over and over until you're finally completely exasperated. Then they move on ...

I've had a 10-year career as a solo artist and none of my songs has ever been one of those 10 songs. Until this moment. And now "all of you, are so over me, you're tired of hearing that I went to Penn. Why'd they bring him back again?" (sung to the tune of "All of Me" chorus)

That was my humblebrag way of saying I have the biggest song in the country. Very artful, wouldn't you say?

But, honestly, I am truly humbled and honored and grateful to be here at the commencement of one of the finest universities on the planet. I first visited this campus as a high school senior named John Stephens in 1995 -- 19 years ago -- and I would have never thought at that moment that I would be standing here as John Legend, speaking to you today.

The reason I'm here, the reason I've had such a wonderful journey so far, is that I've found love. Yes, love. We were all made to love. And I've found that we live our best lives, we are at our most successful, not simply because we're smarter than everyone else, or because we hustle harder. Not because we become millionaires more quickly. The key to success, the key to happiness, is opening your mind and your heart to love. Spending your time doing things you love and with people you love.

My life could have gone differently though. At first, I had a pretty good childhood. I grew up in a small blue-collar city called Springfield, Ohio. I was surrounded by family, including two loving parents who cared so much about our education that they home-schooled us for several years during grade school. And they took the time to teach us more than academics. They taught us about character, about what it meant to live a good life.

My father often talked to us about his definition of success. He told us that it wasn't measured in money and material things, but it was measured in love and joy and the lives you're able to touch -- the lives you're able to help. And my parents walked the walk. They gave of themselves to our church. They took in foster kids and helped the homeless, even though we didn't have much money ourselves.

Growing up in the Stephens house also meant you were immersed in art and music and encouraged to be creative. We had a piano and a drum kit in the house. I begged to take piano lessons when I was 4. I started singing in the church choir and in school plays by the time I was 7. So I fell in love with music at a very young age.

My family was like a model family in our church and local community. My parents were leaders, raising intelligent, talented kids in a loving environment. We even had a little singing group called the "Stephens 5."

But things started to fall apart when I was 10. My maternal grandmother passed away that year when she was only 58 years old, and her death devastated my family. She was our church organist, and on Sundays after church, I would go to her house just to hang out with her. She would make chicken and collard greens and corn bread. And she would teach me how to play gospel piano. She was one of my favorite people on the planet.

She and my mother were also very close, and her death sent my mother into a deep depression that eventually tore our family apart. My world was shattered. My parents got divorced. My mother disappeared into over a decade of drugs and despair. And I was confused and disoriented.

After the initial shock of my family breaking apart, my outward response wasn't very emotional. I coped by being stoic and seemingly unaffected. I thought if I didn't expose myself to any more pain and vulnerability, I could never get hurt. If I didn't fall in love, no one could ever betray me like that again.

I busied myself with school work and lots of activities, and tried not to think too much about my family situation, tried to avoid pain whenever possible. A big reason I only applied to colleges on the east coast was to make sure I had no reminders of home in my daily life.

The only thing I allowed myself to really love without reservation was music. I put all of my passion into it. I spent so much of my spare time working on it, that I barely got any sleep. At night, I was doing community choir, show choir and musicals in high school; a cappella and a church choir in college. I wrote my own songs. Played in talent shows. I put a lot of energy into becoming a better artist, a better writer and a better performer. And in some ways, it made me a better student and a better leader. Because when you actually care about something, you want to lead. Apathy's not so cool any more.

When I graduated from Penn, I had many of the traditional opportunities in front of you now, and I took a job at the Boston Consulting Group. But I couldn't shake my passion for music. I had followed the path that the Penn graduate was supposed to take, but I didn't fall in love. I immediately started thinking about how I could leave BCG and become a full-time musician. I spent hours during the day preparing powerpoint presentations and financial models. And I spent almost as many hours at night writing songs and performing at small gigs around New York and Philadelphia.

I always believed that my big break would come sooner rather than later. In fact, from 1998, while I was still at Penn, to early 2004, I spent each of those years always thinking that I would get that big record deal within the next few months. I always thought my moment was just around the corner. But I was rejected by all the major labels; some of them rejected me multiple times. I played for all the giants of the business -- Clive Davis, L.A. Reid, Jimmy Iovine, you name it. And all of them turned me down.

But I did find a young producer from Chicago named Kanye West who believed in me. Kanye happened to be the cousin of my good friend DeVon Harris, a classmate and roommate of mine here at Penn. DeVon introduced me to Kanye in 2001, and we've been working together ever since. Our collaboration has been a huge part of my career, and it had a lot to do with me finally getting a major recording contract in 2004.

Now, Kanye and I have very different personalities, as you might have guessed. But what unites us is our true love for music and art. We love to create, and at no point in our creative process do we stress about what will sell or what's already popular. We think about making something beautiful, something special, something we can be proud of. We truly do this because we love it. We put all of ourselves into it.

And it turns out that love requires that level of commitment from you. Half-doing it is not doing it right. You have to go all in. And yes, your personal relationships require that too.

I know what it's like to be all ego in your 20s. I know what it's like to be selfish and just focus on your immediate wants and desires. I know what it's like to protect your heart from pain and disappointment. I know what it means to be all about the rat race and winning.

But years from now, when you look back on your time here on earth, your life and your happiness will be way more defined by the quality of your relationships, not the quantity. You'll get much more joy out of depth, not breadth. It's about finding and keeping the best relationships possible with the people around you. It's about immersing yourself in your friendships and your family. It's about being there for the people you care about, and knowing that they'll be there for you.

I know. It's not easy to go all in on love. I'm 35 and I'm married and I'm still learning how to do this completely. But I've found someone who makes me want to try, someone who makes me want to take that risk. And it's made all the difference.

Now, I've already talked about the power of love in your work and your personal lives. But I also want to talk about how love changes the world. There are 7 billion other people out there. Seven billion strangers. I want you to consider what it means to love them, too. What does it mean to love people we don't know, to see the value in every single person's life?

Think about that. It's a pretty radical notion. It means your daughter or son, your neighbor's daughter or son and the daughters and sons of people who live thousands of miles away, all deserve the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It means we let go of fear and see each other's humanity. It means we don't see Trayvon Martin as a walking stereotype, a weaponized human. We see him as a boy who deserves the chance to grow into a man, even if he makes boyish mistakes along the way. It means American lives don't count more than Iraqi lives. It means we see a young Palestinian kid not as a future security threat or demographic challenge, but as a future father, mother and lover. It means that the nearly 300 kidnapped girls in Nigeria aren't just their problem. They're "our" girls too. It's actually quite a challenge to love humankind in this way.

Professor Cornel West gives us a word for what this kind of love looks like in public. That word is justice.

If you're committed to loving in public, it requires you opening your eyes to injustice, to see the world through the eyes of another. This is not a passive activity. You have to read. You have to travel to other neighborhoods, other parts of the world. You may have to get your hands dirty. You have to allow people to love you, and you have to love them back

My team and I met a young girl named Rose from a small, impoverished village in Ghana. When you're working with development organizations and visiting the communities they work in, you're not really supposed to single out one child to fall in love with. You're supposed to stick to the program and focus on the interventions that lift the community as a whole. But we couldn't help it. We fell in love with Rose. Something about the spark in her eyes and her indomitable spirit made us want to go the extra mile to help her. So we decided to use our own funds to sponsor her tuition to secondary school.

We've stayed in touch with her over the past seven years, and we're so proud of what she's done individually. But we're also happy that she inspired us to formalize and expand our scholarship program to many girls in communities like hers throughout Africa, communities where the parents often invest in the boys' secondary education, but don't do the same for the girls.

In my travels around the world, I've looked in the eyes of many young girls and boys from Africa to Southeast Asia to Harlem, kids who had big dreams and needed someone to believe in them and invest in their future, in their education.

What would our schools look like if we were committed to love in public? If we cared about every kid in our school system, we would make sure they didn't go to school hungry. We would make sure they had proper health care and counseling. We would make sure they had excellent teachers in every classroom. We would make sure we weren't unfairly suspending them and criminalizing them for minor behavioral problems. We'd make sure all of them had the resources they need.

Every religion has this idea of philanthropy, love for mankind, at its core. But you shouldn't do this just to make sure you get into the "pearly gates." Look at the work of Marty Seligman here at Penn, who has literally written the book on happiness. Look at the work of Adam Grant, whom I hear is the most highly rated professor here: He has the data to show that giving works. There's an increasing body of research and knowledge that tells us that living a life of love and compassion is the true path to success and contentment.

So what's going to stop you? What's going to stand in your way? What's going to keep you from achieving your success? What will prevent you from going all in on love?

We're taught when we're young that the opposite of love is hate. But it's not. Hate is a byproduct. Hate is a result. Being a hater isn't cool. Nobody wants that. But hate comes from one thing: fear. And fear is the opposite of love. It's not a coincidence that when we talk about bigotry, we often talk in terms of fear: homophobia, xenophobia. Fear is what blinds us. Fear is corrosive. Fear makes us hold back. It whispers to us, tells us that we'll fail. It tells us that our differences are too much to overcome. Fear locks us in place. It starts fights. It causes wars.

And fear keeps us from loving. Even though we're made to love, we're often afraid to love. We're afraid of being hurt deeply. Afraid of feeling the pain I went through when my parents divorced. But you're never going to really love something or someone unless you put those fears aside. Don't hold back. Being in love means being ready to give freely and openly, and being ready to risk something. Risking pain and disappointment, conquering your fears, and becoming anew.

Alice Walker once said, "The more I wonder, the more I love." Love calls you to open your eyes, to seek, to search, to wonder.

Love is all-consuming -- it infiltrates your body, it's what allows you to experience bliss, joy and true friendship. You'll be more disappointed when something goes wrong. You might fall harder. But the only way you'll reach any height in life and in love is by taking the chance that you might fall.

You have to give your all.

Yes, I've been not-so-subtly working in my song lyrics. And some might think it's all a bit too much. Here I am, this R&B singer with an album called Love in the Future, who's recently married and wrote the biggest love song of the year, and what did I choose to talk about? Love. It's so corny, isn't it. It's much cooler to be detached and apathetic, right? We all like a little snark and cynicism and irony, especially from our favorite artists and comedians and writers. I get it.

But that cool detachment only gets you so far. Passion gets you a lot further. It makes you a better entrepreneur, a better leader, a better philanthropist, a better friend, a better lover.

I want you to live the best life you can. You can be world-changers. When you leave here today, you're going to be looking for a lot of things: security, money, friendships, sex, all kinds of things. But the most important thing you'll find is love.

So love your self, love your work, love the people around you. Dare to love those who are different from you, no matter where they're from, what they look like, and who they love. Pursue this life of love with focus and passion and ambition and courage. Give it your all. And that will be your path to true success.

Congratulations to the Class of 2014 and thank you so much!"

A spiritual journey: Opening hearts and minds

All great music is a gift and thus an instrument of God.

~ Wynton Marsalis

Wynton Marsalis, the 52-year-old Grammy- and Pulitzer-winning trumpeter, who is the artistic director of Jazz at Lincoln Center, has created the beautiful and inspiring Abyssinian: A Gospel Celebration, a landmark collaboration of jazz, gospel, instrumentation and vocals, which unites secular and sacred music. While it is structured and progresses like a Roman Catholic or Anglican Mass, it's also rich in the African-American Baptist tradition, too.

"The theme of the Mass is that everyone has a place in the house of God," Marsalis said during a recent interview with the Boston Globe. "We're the most integrated nation ever, at least in the modern world that we know about. For our music to be, we have an identity but that identity is already universal. I try to find the core values that are so fundamental that they transcend ethnic identity. That doesn't mean I run from it. I embrace African-American culture and I love it and embrace it, but it is a part of a human identity. So, I'm always trying to make a larger human statement."

Damien Sneed, conductor
 of the Abyssinian Mass.

Recently, Marsalis took the Abyssinian Mass on a 16-city tour that included performances in Dallas, New Orleans, Kansas City, St. Louis, Augusta, Ga., and Washington, D.C, playing in both concert halls and churches. Last weekend, the 15-piece Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra along with the 70-voice Chorale Le Chateau, guided by the stylish and exuberant 34-year-old choral director Damien Sneed, who conducted the mass, returned to the "House of Swing" in New York City and presented Abyssinian: A Gospel Celebration before three sold-out audiences at the Rose Theater. It was broadcast online via a world-wide webcast.

In watching Saturday evening's demanding performance online in the comfort of my living room, I became riveted by Abyssinian's libretto, its celebratory joy and its profound message. The choir was full of spirit. The orchestra clearly was enjoying itself. And, the spirited sermonizing from the Reverend Dr. Calvin O. Butts, III, brought much charisma to the presentation. There was a whole lot of feeling in that show.

"The choir brings the fire and the choir brings the truth to the Abyssinian Mass," Sneed told NPR. "The choir brings the spirit, it's like the haaaaaa, the breadth of God."

Amen, amen, amen. O Father we go forth in Thy Holy Name.

Wynton Marsalis solos
during the Abyssinian Mass.

Indeed, the music in Abyssinian: A Gospel Celebration is not just gospel and it's more than just jazz, too. There's also an element of classic music that resembles Handel's Messiah. 

The work originally had its premiere in 2008 as a commission in honor of the 200th anniversary of Harlem's Abyssinian Baptist Church. It made its European debut in 2012 at London's Barbican Theatre.

In a recent interview with NPR's John Burnett that aired on Weekend Edition Saturday as part of its year-long series "Ecstatic Voices: Sacred Music in America," celebrating the diversity and richness of sacred music in the U.S., Marsalis explained how different kinds of music are related -- the universality of rhythm -- showing how a rolling 6/8 rhythm is found in both African and Anglican religious music. Tapping his fingers on a notebook and humming "a complicated pattern," Marsalis remarked how "in a slower tempo, it would be 'Greensleeves.'" He demonstrates by scat-singing the melody. "All the musics are related."

Some additional observations Burnett shared in his NPR story about Marsalis and the 17 movements that comprise the Abyssinian Mass:

"(It) digs deeply into what Marsalis would call 'the soil' of the black church: its shouts, its dirges, its spirituals, it hymns of praise. With this work, he celebrates the seminal influence the church has had on the music of black Americans, and the continuing pull it exerts on his own artistic and spiritual life.

"Marsalis used the joyful stylings of the African-American gospel tradition to deliver a musical message of universal humanity. He says he tried to put it all in there: God and Allah exultation and the blues, Saturday night and Sunday morning."

Glory to God in the Highest! Glory to God in the Highest!

After the tour's final show Sunday night in Boston's Symphony Hall, Marsalis took a moment to reflect on many positive things that stood out, which he chronicled on his Facebook page.

"When Chris Crenshaw started to sing the Benediction tonight, the choir began co-signing him, 'Come On Deacon, Preach brother! Make it plain.' He sang these words with a powerful clarity:

"Lord, from you all things. Though we are many in life and death, we are truly one. Just the calling of your Holy name releases us to perceive the oneness in all, of all. You have given us, through your word, the divine thought. And the divine thought IS the divine manifestation IS holy action."

For Marsalis, "that is the power of prayer in whatever religion, or none at all."

After the two-and-one-half hour online performance concluded Saturday evening, I realized I didn't want it to end. Listening to Abyssinian: A Gospel Celebration attentively, it brought out a lot of emotions and moods. It was very joyful and uplifting. It gave me pause to reflect upon what a blessing it was to be part of such a glorious experience and full-circle journey.

Amen.

You can watch the entire Abyssinian: A Gospel Celebration via: http://wyntonmarsalis.org/live/.
Photographs courtesy of artsneworleans.org, NPR.org, kplu.org