Joan Baez: Obama Inspires Me

The following is a translation of an article by Joan Baez published in the French newspaper Le Monde 26th July, 2008 under the rubric "I Have A Dream."

Much as I love and respect Joan, I can't help having two misgivings about this piece:


1) I thought the whole point of racial equality is that it shouldn't matter what colour your skin is. Obama's major appeal to Joan seems to be that he's black.

2) Is she serious about Obama preaching non-violence and pacifism?! This is a guy who has already threatened to invade a U.S. ally—Pakistan—and has made hawkish noises on Iran etc.

Joan Baez: “I dream that Obama as president will reunite and unify a country that has been divided for too long"

Something unheard of is happening in America. Something bright that I never could have imagined happening in the darkness and torpor that has seized the country for the past seven years. Something moving, motivating, and inspiring. Something that, in the ruins of the current political reality, embodies hope. I have always refused until now to engage in so-called party politics. I have never wanted, despite numerous requests, to lend my support to election candidates at any level. But what is happening today is too extraordinary for me not to change my attitude. 1) Barack Obama is a candidate for the White House. 2) Masses of Americans are ready to accept a black President. That is the healthiest thing that has happened in this country for a long time.

I wrote a letter to Obama. And his reply made me very happy. It was in the style of Martin Luther King. With an expression of sincere faith in non-violence. After all, he has a picture of Gandhi in his office. Something is right, therefore, from that point of view… Indeed, Obama brings me closer to feeling a pride for this country that I've never felt before. When his wife Michelle evoked this unprecedented pride on the evening of a primary, she caused a storm.

But not being a candidate, I can assure you that yes, there would be pride in being – finally! — well represented in the world and knowing ourselves to be reliable and generous, capable of solidarity, and pacifistic… A new feeling for me, as someone who hates any idea of allegiance to a country—birth is such an accidental thing! —and who has never been able to salute the American flag, hand on heart, while reciting idiocies! Or any flag, for that matter!

I’ve always felt myself to be a citizen of the world, even if it means being misunderstood. I remember, for example, a protest march alongside Cesar Chavez and thousands of Mexican workers. “So do you feel a Latino,” the general asked me in the enthusiasm. “No more than I feel Scottish,” I replied.

Hard to describe my evolutionary journey. So many elements unite to make a person. My parents evidently played a big part. My father arrived from Mexico at the age of two; he was the son of a Methodist preacher who had chosen to live in the United States with the most disadvantaged in society. The idea of sharing is essential in our family. My father also decided to become a preacher, before becoming disappointed in the Church and turning toward mathematics and science. He became a physicist, a researcher, and opted for a teaching career rather than accept higher paid posts in the defence sector.

He was profoundly honest and grateful to the United States, which had given him his chance, and it was only at this death that I discovered the importance of his work, notably the invention of the X-ray microscope. My mother, who is now 95, was born in Scotland, but grew up in the United States with her father, who was also a preacher. She never had a particular devotion to America, and it’s from her, I believe, that I inherited a rebel temperament.

When I was eight years old, my parents became quakers. My sisters and I hated at the time the austere and silent Sunday morning assemblies. But their way of according so much value to human life and placing good above nations and territories influenced me greatly. It was in these circles that I discovered that alternatives to violence existed, both at the personal and the political level. And it’s basically around this idea that I built my life.

We travelled a lot as a family. When I was 10-11, we even saw Baghdad; it was like being on another planet. Iraq, it was said, was 50 years behind the other countries of the region and people lived in shocking poverty. The streets were full of beggars, cripples, and children rummaging in dustbins. And I felt a spontaneous solidarity, feeling infinitely closer to them than to the Westerners who frequented the trendy British club. That’s where my passion for social justice was born. It was also there that Mom made me read The Journal of Anne Frank, which had a big impact on my life. I even think it was the trigger for my concern for other people.

My dark Mexican skin perhaps heightened my awareness, in adolescence, of racial discrimination. But there were discussion workshops organized for the benefit of young quakers that kindled my interest in the problems of the world. It was during one of these seminars near Carmel that I was literally bowled over by a 27-year-old black preacher from Alabama, who spoke to us about justice and suffering, about battles to be fought with the weapons of love and non-violent revolution. His name was Martin Luther King, and his words had so much effect on me that I trembled with excitement and fear at the same time. He gave form and words to my passionate but imprecise beliefs. And I felt that there was a path there in which I would do something. Sing, of course, since I have this gift. But sing while expressing something.

I saw King several times again. He had an amazing coolness and sense of humour given the weight on his shoulders. I sang "We Shall Overcome" on that famous 28th August, 1963 in Washington on the stage where he gave his “I have a dream” speech before 350,000 people.

I think Bob Dylan was there too.

I marched at his [King's] side in Grenada and in Mississippi at the head of a procession of black children who were being refused access to a white college. And in 1967 he came to visit me when I had been jailed, for the first time, for protesting against the mobilization for the war in Vietnam.

It was an era of struggle, of faith, of engagement. There were debates, boycotts, and demonstrations. For civil rights, against inequality and conscription. And against the war in Vietnam, of course, for which I refused to pay my share of military tax. I set up an institution for the study of non-violence in California. I also went to the war zones. My whole life has been determined by this permanent mobilization—concerts, protests, travelling—for a multitude of causes: the mothers of the Disappeared in Argentina, Andrey Sakharov, Amnesty International, Chilean and Greek political prisoners, the banning of torture, the abolition of the death penalty...

It seems to me, moreover, that not enough credit is given to all these militants for non-violence for the results achieved. There are those who put an end to the war in Vietnam. The president didn’t want it! The marches, chants, petitions, and all the protest action paid off! And they still do! What’s more, it was this spirit, this cohesion, this enthusiasm that was missing in the eighties and nineties, which were marked by people turning in on themselves and by a total rejection of the idea of self-sacrifice. The shock of 11 September, 2001 and the lamentable, criminal response of the American government might have provoked a somersault. But Bush exploited and maintained the fear. Everyone felt obliged to vie with one another in patriotism so as not to arouse distrust and to keep their jobs. Even the media! What a disaster!

And now Obama has appeared. And millions of Americans who have till now been disillusioned and excluded once again want to act. We are seeing crowds of young blacks travel for the first time in their lives to listen to a candidate and to vote. I’ve been told that crime has fallen in some areas and the ghettos are calmer. And Gabriel, my 38-year-old son, who has never been interested in politics, is organizing a concert in his town with his musician friends to collect funds for Obama's campaign. And here am I, who was not so long ago so skeptical about the usefulness of voting, starting to dream.

I dream that Obama as president will reunite and unify a country that has been divided for too long. I dream that he will bring decency and integrity to the troubled waters of Washington. I dream that he will raise the bar on what is morally and legally acceptable in a democracy (neither torture nor the death penalty) and that he will call on the rich to share their wealth. I dream that he will resist the call for war and seek dialog with opposing parties. I am not naïve, I know that the presidency is a dangerous, exposed post, not favourable to the blossoming of a pacifist. But I find this man inspiring.