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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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031389
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03138900.007
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1990-09-22
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BOOKS, Page 78Withered RootsBy Stefan Kanfer
PAUL ROBESON
by Martin Bauml Duberman
Knopf; 804 pages; $24.95
The Rutgers class of 1919 had big plans for its valedictorian:
by 1940 he would be Governor of New Jersey and "leader of the
colored race in America." As Martin Bauml Duberman observes in his
compassionate biography, extravagant predictions were still being
made for Paul Robeson 21 years later. The son of an escaped slave
had already risen to international celebrity as a singer, actor and
public speaker, and no limits were set on his future. Hardly anyone
foresaw that he was standing on the edge of an irreversible
decline.
The roots of this catastrophe can be traced to the moment that
Robeson fell in love. The affection was not for his forbearing wife
Essie, or for Peggy Ashcroft or Uta Hagen, or for any of the other
strong-willed women with whom he had affairs. Robeson was smitten
with the Soviet Union. During a 1934 visit, the singer proclaimed
that in the U.S.S.R. he felt "like a human being for the first time
since I grew up."
By then Robeson had collected enough grievances to fuel a
revolution. In high school one of his teachers thought Paul "the
most remarkable boy I have ever taught, a perfect prince. Still,
I can't forget that he is a Negro." Neither could the college
football players who reviled him, or the secretary who warned the
young law student, "I never take dictation from a nigger."
Robeson doubled his fists, abandoned his studies and entered
the concert hall by the stage door. His rich interpretations of
spirituals rapidly brought him to London in 1930 as Othello and to
Hollywood five years later in Show Boat. But the rewards could
never assuage the early injuries.
Duberman, a professor of history at Lehman College in New York
City, is a scrupulous biographer. But he seems an ingenuous
historian. In his view, Robeson became the target of "Cold War
hysteria," and the sad outcome of a brilliant career was, in
essence, "America's tragedy." But in fact, the wound was
self-inflicted. The champion of minorities and laborers turned out
to be oddly forgiving about crimes against humanity -- provided
that they were committed in the Workers' Paradise. To him, Stalin's
infamous purges were a proper way to deal with "counter-
revolutionary assassins." The pact between the U.S.S.R. and Nazi
Germany was excused as a "defensive" act.
Robeson's rhetoric intensified after World War II ("It's up to
the rest of America when I shall love it . . . in the way that I
deeply and intensely love the Soviet Union"), and in 1950 the State
Department revoked his passport. He made new enemies when he
accepted the Stalin Peace Prize in 1952. White enthusiasts dropped
away, joining a series of black spokesmen who had given him their
backs. The head of the N.A.A.C.P. pronounced him "more to be pitied
than damned."
In the '60s, leaders and laws changed, but the restored
passport and the nostalgic concerts came too late. By the time of
Essie's death in 1965, Robeson's resonant bass had become a memory,
and his health had broken down. He died in 1976 at the age of 77,
after suffering from a long-term mental illness. One of his last
visitors was told "not to talk politics of any remote stripe." That
advice is still valid. Stalinism remains the performer's central
flaw, and no posthumous reasoning can excuse his special pleading
for one of the century's monsters. Paul Robeson's greatest role is
his earliest one: the triumphant symbol of talent and will over
racism. Duberman's massive work shows how durable that part
remains. Those who want a briefer version may find it in a tribute
of 25 monosyllables by a black prisoner in the Marion, Ill.,
penitentiary:
They knocked the leaves
From his limbs,
The bark
From his
Tree
But his roots
were
so deep
That they are
a part of me.