Feline Warrior

Strange Fruit

Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh
and the sudden smell of burning flesh!
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

- Lewis Allan, © 1940

The lyrics above were made famous by Billie Holiday, who first sang the song in 1939. Holiday had to record it on a record label other than her usual one, which refused to record such a controversial song. “Strange Fruit” is a haunting song about lynching in America, and is, to me, a perfect prelude to a writing inspired by the film about Emmett Till.

The story of Emmett Till, which is partly the story of Mamie Till, but really the story of the breaking of the camel’s back, the last straw - the shocking horror of the events that took place, the images we saw, but then the goodness that came from the whole thing - wow.

As I’ve reflected on those images of young Emmett, all smashed up, I can’t help but think of the Holocaust — the systematic murder of millions of Jews, Gypsies, Poles and others who didn’t fit the “Aryan mold.” The killing of Blacks in America is not so different. Rather than rounding people up in one fell swoop, however, the Black Holocaust in America took place slowly over a long period of time - really, since Africans were brought here as slaves. There are those, no doubt, who would argue that the Black Holocaust is still in progress, and it would be a tough argument to counter. Have things gotten better? Absolutely. Are people of color occupying more jail cells than any other group, or more often under-educated, under-funded, and under-represented? I offer a resounding Yes!

But back to Holocausts… I wonder - the waiting, the careful stepping, of course the hiding. How can people live like that? Yet they did. There had to be, I think, a sense of immediacy in both situations (Germany and America); we know from saved journals, diaries, and the accounts of survivors of the Holocaust that people did maintain a sense of hope. From similar documents, we know that American Blacks had a sense of hope, or I think there would have been no revolution.

If there’s nothing to fight for, there would be no fight. The publicizing of Emmett Till’s murder was gasoline on an already raging fire. There was definitely something to fight for, and there was most certainly fight.

Just as I wept over Baldwin’s Going to Meeting the Man, I felt hot tears as we watched the film. Neither the story nor the images were new to me, but I do not believe that I will ever become comfortable with them - and for that, I am grateful. I have forced myself to look at old, grainy, black and white images of Blacks hanging from trees and bridges just as I took myself on a tour of the Holocaust Museum. It’s not a perversion, but a sense of obligation. These people -all of these people- must not have died only to be forgotten. Surely, none of them would have been thrilled at the idea of someone studying images of their dead bodies, hanging from trees or piled like trash, and yet I have felt for a long time that it is my responsibility not to let these horrid events go unfelt. As a child, my parents told me I was too sensitive, even too dramatic, but I’ve always known -a deep-down knowing- that looking away is not the right thing to do. The right thing to do can be painful, but without pain, there seems to be little growth.

And so it was in America, in the summer of 1955, when Emmett Till was so brutally murdered. The pain had to have gotten to the point of boiling over, a countrywide blistering wound, and ready to burst. As we were reminded in class, the timing of events played a big part in the reaction to Emmett Till’s murder - Brown vs. Board of Education, another broken promise, and perhaps just one too many people dead at the hands of whites. The publicity of the brutality of Till’s murder, followed by Rosa Parks’ actions, and then those who were ready to get people moving - it all fed into what became the Civil Rights Movement. The people were ready to move!

I hope that this movement will never end. I hope that the images of Till’s murder, and of all the murders, will not ever be tucked away and out of sight. It is the painful reminder that keeps history alive - important not only to honor those who died, but those who put themselves on the line to fight for justice. The memory of those times is necessary for people of all backgrounds, so that we do not ever repeat those horrors. Sadly, I fear that they will be repeated again and again; as long as there are humans, there will likely be power play that uses violence as its primary tool.