As I reflect upon the life of Paul Robeson, a man whose towering presence and unwavering spirit left an indelible mark on history, I am struck by both his triumphs and tragedies. A man who conquered hearts across the globe yet was shackled by the iron chains of intolerance within his own country.
During the Cold War era, certain harsh labels such as “Communist,” “fellow traveler,” “red,” “pinko,” and “useful idiot” were commonly used to denounce someone with left-leaning views. These terms had significant impact and could potentially halt, divert, or even destroy a person’s career based on their political stance. However, over time, these labels have lost much of their power and are less frequently used today.
Paul Robeson, a renowned artist-activist from mid-20th century America, faced more than just the usual insults directed at a Black man who dared to stand out in a Jim Crow society. He was also known by all these terms. Throughout his life, he navigated or defied the dominant trends of his times – the Jazz Era, the Great Depression, World War II, and the Cold War – using a prodigious talent that spanned across various forms of popular art, such as stage performances, recordings, concerts, radio broadcasts, and films. Regardless of the platform or the era, Robeson’s presence and impact were significantly influenced by his powerful identity as a Black man who challenged racial stereotypes.
Robeson’s talent and virtuosity were so extraordinary that accounts of his life often veer towards worshipful portrayals, or hagiography. This is not unexpected given his stature. He appeared as if carved from Greek marble; his imposing six-foot-three frame housed “227 pounds of bone and muscle,” according to a reporter for the Afro-American. His voice matched his appearance, a powerful, resonant baritone that echoed deeply from within his soul. Many listeners described it as if he was expressing the sorrows and dreams of his people, almost like a conduit.
Paul Robeson, born on April 9, 1898, in Princeton, New Jersey, was the son of a former slave turned minister and a teacher for a mother. Raised in an environment that emphasized education and religious values, he excelled to such a degree that he fit the description of “the talented tenth,” a term coined by W. E. B. Du Bois for Black elite achievers. However, using any reasonable measure, Robeson belonged to an extremely small percentage, or was truly unique in his kind.
In 1915, Paul Robeson began studying at Rutgers College, and four years later, he had become a renowned athlete and scholar. He excelled not only on one sports field but played baseball, basketball, and football, and in the realm of arts, he acted, delivered speeches, and sang beautifully. Often, he was the first person of his race to receive such accolades, and he amassed many: upon graduation, he was an All-American tight end with eleven varsity letters, and a member of Phi Beta Kappa.
After completing his studies at Rutgers University, Robeson then attended Columbia University Law School, receiving his degree in 1923. However, he never pursued a legal career. Two years prior to this, Robeson met and married Eslanda (“Essie”) Good, who shared his intellect and formal qualifications. She would become his lifelong partner, manager of his career, and political confidante.
Robeson had always sung and acted, but it was Essie who encouraged him to turn pro. In 1923, he joined the Provincetown Players, the edgy theater group founded in 1915. In 1924, he was tapped for the lead in Eugene O’Neill’s All God’s Chillun Got Wings, a controversial play about miscegenation. The next season Robeson performed his first trademark role as the lead in the 1925 revival of O’Neill’s The Emperor Jones.
Although the character Paul Robeson was destined to portray wasn’t created by Eugene O’Neill, breaking racial barriers in the Jazz Age made it impossible for an American adaptation of Othello, where the lead actor didn’t have to apply burnt cork for makeup. Instead, it was in London, where the original premiere took place, that Robeson, in 1930, first played Othello, opposite Peggy Ashcroft as Desdemona. It wasn’t until a Theatre Guild production in 1943, at least north of the Mason-Dixon line, that Robeson successfully crossed the color line in America, with Jose Ferrar as Iago who stole the show and Uta Hagen, taking a career risk, as Desdemona.
Paul Robeson’s true platform for showcasing his talent was through motion pictures, yet opportunities in this field were scarce for a Black man who wasn’t interested in stereotypical performances. Oscar Micheaux, another prominent Black filmmaker, offered Robeson his first screen role in the movie “Body and Soul” (1925), casting him in dual roles as a charlatan Black minister and his diligent twin brother. The Black press praised “Body and Soul” as the greatest picture ever produced with a Black cast (as there were very few competitors), but white reactions were non-existent: movies featuring Black actors were assigned to a minor league of segregated “race theaters.
Instead of being called to Hollywood, Robeson didn’t secure a major studio contract. Nevertheless, he was given star billing (a pioneering move for a Black actor) in an independent production distributed by United Artists. This film adaptation of “The Emperor Jones” was shot in New York and produced by John Krimsky and Gifford Cochran; it was directed by Dudley Murphy, a director skilled in both experimental and studio-based cinema; and the script was penned by Du-Bose Heyward, author of the 1925 novel “Porgy“.
Despite appearing somewhat outdated in terms of racial politics and overly dramatic, The Emperor Jones was revolutionary in its time, showcasing robust portrayals of Black masculinity on screen. In one particularly impactful scene, Robeson is filmed from a low angle, filling the entire frame, bare-chested, wearing striped pants and leg irons, as he hammers rocks with a sledgehammer. This powerful image was seldom matched in terms of screen presence for him in American cinema afterwards. However, Robeson found more opportunities to shine in British productions during the 1930s. Films like Borderline (1930), Sanders of the River (1935), The Song of Freedom (1936), King Solomon’s Mines (1937), Dark Sands (1937), Big Fella (1937), and The Proud Valley (1940) were predominantly British productions. Unfortunately, these films received limited attention or even no commercial release in the United States.
Back in 1936, I graced the silver screen in a significant role that’s still iconic today – Joe, the Black stevedore, in the musical masterpiece “Show Boat,” directed by James Whale. This timeless classic was adapted from Edna Ferber’s novel and had its roots on stage in 1927, under the visionary production of Florenz Ziegfeld. Interestingly enough, I had previously brought this character to life on Broadway during the legendary 1932 revival. Every night, I received thunderous applause for my powerful rendition of “Ol’ Man River,” a number that ultimately became synonymous with me. The movie audience echoed their admiration as well.
Later on, Robeson redirected his remarkable abilities towards a different sphere. The economic turmoil of the Great Depression and racial prejudice in his homeland propelled him towards radical political views – extreme leftist views that led him to the Soviet Union. He remained steadfast in these convictions for the remainder of his life. Robeson became an unyielding advocate for various causes that resonated with American leftists during the 1930s: labor unity, support for the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War, anti-fascism, and, needless to say, equality for African Americans. When he sang “Ol’ Man River,” he reworded the lyrics to fit the context. “I’m tired of livin’ and feared of dyin'” turned into “I must keep on fighting until I’m dying,” and “you get a little drunk and you land in jail” was changed to “you get a little courage and you end up in jail.
As a devoted fan, I can’t help but share an intriguing chapter in the life of Paul Robeson. Consistently, his political activism caught the eye of J. Edgar Hoover, the head honcho at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. For over four decades, Hoover’s FBI agents poured countless man hours into what they perceived as a threat: none other than Paul Robeson. They grilled informants, tapped phone lines, and kept a keen eye on his rallies, concerts, and stage performances.
Following the bombing of Pearl Harbor by Japan, for the first and last time, Robeson’s art and beliefs aligned perfectly with the government’s requirements during WWII: exuberant patriotism and inclusive tolerance. On the home front, he served as a war hero, promoting bond sales, leading motivational rallies, and participating in radio programs approved by the Office of War Information. The war period also saw his last significant role in a Hollywood movie, a racially segregated scene alongside Ethel Waters in the 1942 film, “Tales of Manhattan.
The brief period of shared warmth ended with the conclusion of World War II, marking the demise of Allied camaraderie. However, on March 5, 1946, Winston Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech in Fulton, MO, signaled a dramatic change in the demeanor of Joseph Stalin, our former friendly Russian ally, who quickly transformed into the ominous embodiment of the Soviet threat.
Unphased by the change in public sentiment, Robeson remained steadfast. In 1946, he appeared before the California equivalent of the U.S. House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC), known as the Joint Fact-Finding Committee of Un-American Activities. Despite being asked if he was a communist, Robeson chose not to answer but did acknowledge his commitment to the cause. He expressed a clear preference for belonging to the Communist Party over being a Republican.
1949 marked my groundbreaking year of departure from post-war American culture. In Paris, I attended a communist-supported Peace Conference and boldly declared that Black Americans would not participate in any future American wars. Later, during my inaugural post-war visit to Moscow, I was captivated by the sight of an earthly paradise where their system, within just one generation, had elevated their people to the highest level of human dignity.
At home, there was strong criticism following Paris and Moscow. Newspaper headlines were sarcastic (“Old Man Volga” being a popular choice) and columnists often suggested that one should either embrace it or depart. Hollywood’s conservative political action group, the Motion Picture Alliance for the Protection of American Values, ran ads in industry publications: “Let the Communists have enough Robeson, and they’ll hang themselves.
Disregarding the criticism, Robeson continued his advance. On August 27, 1949, he arranged a concert to aid the Harlem chapter of the Civil Rights Congress. The venue was the Lakeland Acres picnic grounds, situated off the main highway near Peekskill, New York.
The show drew a huge crowd, not all of whom were fans. Thousands of anticommunist agitators, professional patriots, and unreconstructed confederates gathered to protest and disrupt. The cultural historical echoes — an unruly mob out for blood, incited by a transgressive Black man — were impossible to miss. A cluster of blazing crosses on the horizon illuminated the link. Robeson came to the site, but seeing the violent mobs and the lack of police protection, he retreated to avoid bloodshed.
The concert got moved to September 4, 1949, on the grounds adjacent to Old Hollow Brook Golf Course. After a week’s preparation, both sides gathered in full strength and were eager for action. The audience of Paul Robeson was roughly 20,000 people; the protesters numbered about 8,000. Instead of the actual figure, effigies of Robeson were hung with banners that read: “Wake Up America. Peekskill Did.
Despite the looming threat – armed men were in the area and I was an appealing target, I chose to press on with the performance. With a team of bodyguards by my side, I sang “Ol’ Man River,” modifying the lyrics to reflect “I must keep fighting until I breathe my last.
Following the performance, a chaotic scene broke out. According to the New York Daily News, an unspecified number of Robesonites were pelted with stones and struck by broken glass when their car windows were shattered. Some attempted to resist, at which point they were beaten with batons and compelled to sit on the lawn as the police continued their investigation. The newspaper suggested that this was a fitting retribution.
The “Peekskill riots,” famously known as such, gained extensive attention from newspapers, radio broadcasts, and newsreels, as well as the emerging television screens. That very evening at 7:15 p.m., WPIX – a New York-based network claiming to be The News Television Station – aired footage of the Peekskill Riots on their Telepix news program. The headline flashed: “Robeson concert starts riot.
The television broadcast about the Peekskill disturbances seldom showed Paul Robeson, a figure who dominated stage, radio, vinyl records, and cinematic screens, during the era of the Cold War in America.
Exiled From the Airwaves
In the aftermath of World War II, the majority view among those leading the newly established consensus platform in America was firm: Communists were not to appear on it. One of the earliest artists to face this ban from television was Paul Robeson, and his exclusion lasted an unprecedented duration compared to other performers during that blacklist period – a remarkable 25 years, coming to an end only with his passing.
Back in 1950, it was under the well-meaning initiative of my dear friend Eleanor Roosevelt that an unchangeable policy came into being. She hosted a casual chat show called Today with Mrs. Roosevelt, airing on Sunday afternoons from 4:00-4:30 p.m., which was broadcast on a “sustaining basis” – meaning the network covered the costs, hoping it would gain popularity and attract advertisers.
Today’s gathering with Mrs. Roosevelt took place in the Colonial Room at the Hotel Park Sheraton in New York, where guests gathered around a table, led by the hostess. The prestige of Mrs. Roosevelt was underscored by the attendees for the first telecast, a conversation about the hydrogen bomb: Albert Einstein (on film), J. Robert Oppenheimer, known as the father of the atomic bomb, David Lilienthal, head of the Atomic Energy Commission, and Sen. Brian McMahon, chairman of the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy. Everyone was eager to accept an invitation from Eleanor Roosevelt.
On the final day of the broadcast on March 12, 1950, announcer Ben Grauer hinted about the upcoming episode: Mrs. Roosevelt would engage in a discussion with Paul Robeson; Harlem Congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr., and Perry Howard, representing the Mississippi Republican National Committee. The planned discussion centered around “The Role of African Americans in the American Political Landscape.
As soon as Robeson’s name was broadcast, the NBC switchboard began receiving angry calls from Cold War media advocates. Just like a modern network of anti-communist activists, a group of crusaders were always on standby, ready to make a phone call or send a telegram whenever someone suspected of being communist might attempt to influence the airwaves.
By 3:00 PM on Monday, NBC gave in to the pressure. Charles R. Denny, NBC’s executive vice president, announced that Paul Robeson would not appear on Mrs. Roosevelt’s program the following Sunday. The decision was made because it was believed that Robeson’s appearance would cause confusion and misunderstanding, and no positive outcome would be achieved by discussing the topic of African Americans in politics with him.
In response, Robeson declared boldly, “I will not be suppressed,” speaking to a gathering on Chicago’s southside a week following the cancellation. “I will persist in advocating for a dignified life for Black people and those who are oppressed, as well as for a tranquil world where everyone can walk with their inherent human worth intact.
In June 1950, the television industry implemented a blacklist due to a guidebook called “Red Channels: The Report on Communist Influence in Radio and Television“. This book, published by American Business Consultants, a group claiming to monitor communism, provided broadcasters with a list of 151 artists suspected of being subversive. Paul Robeson, although not directly listed, was so influential that merely associating with him could land others on this list. For instance, musician Dean Dixon was included for supporting Robeson, poet and writer Shirley Graham was due to writing a biography about him, and concert pianist Ray Lev attended the Peekskill concert featuring Robeson.
Man Without a Passport
Paul Robeson, who remained steadfast in his allegiance to the Soviet Union, faced severe consequences financially. His yearly earnings plummeted from $100,000 in 1947 to just $6,000 by 1952. Interestingly, when MGM re-made “Show Boat” in 1951, Robeson was not even considered for the role of Joe, and this wasn’t due to his age.
On Josef Stalin’s 73rd birthday in December 1952, Robeson was presented with the Stalin Peace Prize by Moscow. This recognition came for being a strong advocate for oppressed African-Americans and honest Americans resisting imperialist warmongers. Delighted by this honor, Robeson stated at a press conference that the award would fuel his efforts to create the peaceful world he believed in, which is a shared dream among all humanity.
In 1950, following incidents in Paris and Peekskill, the U.S. State Department seized Paul Robeson’s passport, citing national interest as the reason. This was a typical government strategy during the McCarthy era: by restricting the travel of individuals who could potentially spread anti-American ideologies beyond territorial waters, the State Department aimed to keep close tabs on potential adversaries while keeping them at arm’s length.
During the 1950s, Robeson continually tried to secure a new passport for international concerts and speeches, but the State Department consistently rejected his application. The government insisted that Robeson had to respond to inquiries about his association with the Communist Party before they could issue him a passport. Robeson was equally firm in his refusal to do so.
On June 12, 1956, Paul Robeson appeared before a subcommittee of the House Un-American Activities Committee, as summoned. Unlike the inquiry into suspected communist influence in Hollywood in October 1947, this committee was investigating whether individuals like Robeson had used their passports to propagate anti-American sentiments abroad. Similar to John Howard Lawson and Dalton Trumbo in 1947, Robeson’s demeanor was bold and confrontational. He exclaimed at his interrogators, “You are the unpatriotic ones, and you should be ashamed of yourselves!” Unlike Lawson and Trumbo, however, he was not physically removed from the witness stand, a task that would have been difficult even for a sergeant at arms.
On June 16, 1958, there was a form of validation as the U.S. Supreme Court reversed the U.S. State Department’s unauthorized confiscation of American citizens’ passports. Eventually, on June 26, 1958, the resistant State Department granted Paul Robeson a passport.
Paul Robeson ventured into more hospitable grounds: the United Kingdom, where he was hailed like a victorious general. On July 28, 1958, he made his television debut in a 30-minute ATV special titled “Paul Robeson Sings.” The London-based critic from Variety remarked that Paul Robeson’s captivating personality, as impressive as his physique, was evident during his half-hour performance.
Unfortunately, American television audiences missed out on Paul Robeson’s talent. Despite his efforts, the blacklist kept him off American TV screens, making it the one medium where he never gained prominence, not due to any lack of ability but rather because of circumstances beyond his control.
Over the following years, Robeson performed extensively abroad, excluding the U.S. In 1963, his body and spirit weakened, he came back to the United States. For the remainder of his life, he lived in near isolation, stepping out only occasionally to accept an accolade or acknowledge an old acquaintance, a somber ending to a once bustling public career. On January 23, 1976, he passed away due to complications from a stroke.
Being dead did nothing to make Paul Robeson less controversial. In 1978, Robeson was refused a star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame. Politics, claimed the man in charge of the sidewalk, had nothing to do with it: Robeson simply wasn’t well enough known. A firestorm of protests erupted and the Walk of Fame commission hastily backtracked. Robeson got a star, which was dedicated on April 9, 1979, his birthday. Also in 1978, Paul Robeson, a one-man show starring the late James Earl Jones, perhaps the only actor with the stature and charisma to embody the original, was mounted on Broadway. Activists denounced the play as “a pernicious perversion of the essence of Paul Robeson.” It closed after 77 performances.
Today, Robeson stands out as a prominent figure in American cultural history during the 20th century, the subject of extensive biographical works, a catalyst for scholarly conferences, and the focus of admiring documentary films.
In a different scenario, it’s the missed opportunities that are most poignant when considering the banning of Paul Robeson, the work he was denied creating. If fate had taken a different course, we might have witnessed a high-profile Hollywood adaptation of Othello, with Robeson in the title role, Jose Ferrer as his manipulative confidant Iago, and a brave young actress like Julie Harris or Susan Strassberg portraying Desdemona. This production could have outshone even those by Orson Welles and Laurence Olivier. Alternatively, we might have enjoyed a series of live performances on 1950s variety shows, captured on kinescope film.
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2024-10-12 17:57