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Mary Anne A. Trasciatti: Soapbox Oratory and the Early Twentieth-Century American City

December 2, 2011 Rayshauna Gray
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The Ideologue: "It's been said that the phrase 'up from' has been used in virtually every facet of Black American history and subculture - 'up from' slavery, 'up from' a lowly Blackness into 'New Negrohood', 'up from' the south during the Great Migration - it's an arc that's been used to signify what many might call our 'narrative of ascent'. Sometimes this gets muddled when we compel young Black Americans to translate their knowledge into the language the dominant society recognizes - and so while we run the risk of mother wit becoming a watered down version of a valuable worldview, we also stand to establish and reaffirm our presence in the larger national and global discussion - we become W.E.B. Du Bois' coworkers in the kingdom of culture.

Moving from this instruction (to translate 'Black' knowledge into 'legitimate' knowledge) to participating in a society that seems to value folksiness over reason enrages me. Could you speak to the roles that Blackness and ascent play in soapbox oratory in the 20th century, and how they relate to our current mode of social discourse?"

 

Professor Mary Anne Trasciatti: "Not only is there a tradition of speech that's nurtured in the African-American community, there's also recognition (among many groups of oppressed people) of the importance of eloquence. In order to enforce change, you've got to be eloquent. It's central to the tradition, but [it's also important to note that] it drew on other ones - namely the 19th century study of elocution.

African-Americans recognized that elocution gives working class people, people of color, and [white] women an opportunity to deliver crafted ideas to the larger society, and then you have the tradition of 'borrowing' elocution and debate manuals - so when you combine an inclination to formulate ideas and deliver them well with disenfranchisement - you get an appreciation of voice.

And so you've got this tradition of borrowing elocution manuals working in conjunction with a group of historically oppressed people who've been denied literacy, the ability to [originally, at least] write and read. Orality is central to my own culture as well - Italian immigrant culture was so steeped in this tradition that even the newspapers read like oratory. This is why my partner and I are doing this soapboxing project.

Now, why do [modern] Americans fall for folksy language? That is a question that has dogged people who  study, practice, and teach oratory since the time of Plato - that people can be duped by someone who sounds good and is not wise. Unfortunately, I don't have an answer for this - if i did, i'd probably be somewhere else, being the supreme ruler of the universe [audience laughs].

There's a certain power inherent in sounding good, but at the same time, I don't think I would trash people who manage to do so. For example, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr sounded good and much of the 'I Have a Dream' speech is metaphor - that's all. There's not a great deal of argument there; it's not stating things we don't already know - it just sounds so beautiful and people were enraptured by it. Most of the time, we don't watch the speech in its entirety; we begin at the most famous point. And we've got to remember that this was a speech he gave more than once; he did it in Brooklyn.

And so I don't know if i'd be so quick to say that falling for someone who sounds good is inherently bad. I would assert that there is an entire tradition of disenfranchised people claiming that 'yes, we need to sound good, but we also need to engage and debate well'.

I admit that it often stems from an inclination to model the ways of being that people 'above' you implement."

 

The Ideologue: "Thank you, professor. Could you say a bit about the space that women's bodies occupied on the soapbox circuit?"

 

MAT: "They would display either their sartorial side [thereby signalling class status] or would be ignored - certainly by the press. So they pretty much worked it so that the women who participated were most likely the women to get attention - beautiful women and middle class women. And they were very strategic about which they selected sites to set up - and part of the advantage was that you got an immediate audience [because of shock value].

People in Boston would hang out of the windows gawking at these 'female interlopers', women who 'clearly didn't belong there' - women who were 'attractive', not worn or tired from doing any sort of labor.

So sites were strategically chosen and [I'm sure that] precautions were taken against violence. Yes, they were sometimes taunted by the public, but that's not to say that women who spoke always experienced violence. I found out that in Missouri [in 1909], the crowd did rush the soapbox when a woman began to speak - and immediately the negative press coverage began - she was a damsel in distress.

And yes, they often worked that 'in need of protection' thing. If you were threatened at all, guys would come to your aid - and this was in labor movements, not suffrage movements - but yes, guys in the crowd would rise up to defend you. Granted, the women who benefitted form this protection were considered the embodient of 'model femininity'. and therefore worthy of protection.

Mary Anne Trasciatti is a professor of Speech Communication, Rhetoric and Performance Studies at Hofstra University. This interview took place during her presentation entitled 'Athens or Anarchy? Soapbox Oratory and the Early 20th Century American City' at the Massachusetts Historical Society

In Interview

A Conversation of Mythological Proportions with Harvard's Gregory Nagy

November 28, 2011 Rayshauna Gray
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Gregory Nagy is the Francis Jones professor of Classical Greek Literature (and professor of Comparative Literature) at Harvard University, and the Director for the Center for Hellenic Studies in Washington DC.

Rayshauna: Professor, what would you say to someone who claims that classics are irrelevant?

Professor Gregory Nagy: Well, they are relevant to life! And it's only people who have a very restrictive view of life that may question its relevance.

R: Have you encountered many people who claim that's the case?

GN: All my life. All my academic life, sure - but it doesn't bother me.

R: Hmph. well, alright [chuckles]. I recently interviewed Thomas Forrest Kelly in the music department here at Harvard -

GN: He's a very bright person.

R: Oh, you know him! So, I attended one of his Gregorian chant sessions and he said something so poignant. He said that there's something essentially human about singing one's story. So, as someone in the field [of story by song], how would you build on that? Do you feel there's something essentially human about carrying narratives?

GN: well, I try to favor anthropological approaches. and anthropological approaches to song - I think makes song a very organic part of society, especially in traditional societies. And the easiest way to answer that is this: I have a book called 'Pindar's Homer', which was published in 1990 - and which is available for free online by way of Johns Hopkins university press. In the first chapter, I just build a whole model on the organic relationship of song [that includes dance] with society. I've thought a lot about that and i'd like for you to engage with it.

And you have have to pay to engage with it - open source!

R: As a Black Chicagoan who grew up with southern grandparents, I'm very close to my oral and vernacular traditions. I often meet folks who say that you can't do our vernacular traditions justice by making it distinct from the larger american story - but I feel that for as long as we've been singing, dancing, and writing, we've had a dual narrative, both the face that we show the larger society and the full identity we keep for ourselves.

GN: Yes, I like the way you said that...

R: Is that considered a 'comparative literature'?

GN: To me, yeah. I can't speak for all of academia, but that sounds like something you can study in a very systematic and empirical way - and it's important.

R: I feel like I speak two cultural languages - only one's not considered legitimate.

GN: Exactly, but there are some people like Toni Morrison who've made it part of their craft, who've sort of traveled from one register to the next.

R: [gestures] So this is the Norton anthology of African American lit.

GN: Who edits that?

R: Henry Louis Gates, Jr. He's so charming. Sometimes I sit across from him during lectures at the Du Bois center - he seems pretty hilarious.

GN: Oh, Skip Gates! Isn't he charming? I like him a lot.

R: He seems like a character, and encountering this book for the first time was something else! For the first time in my life, I thumbed through a text and was able to say 'okay, no George Washington, no Thomas Jefferson...' - it was as if I'd seen my own face for the first time. When the package arrived, I immediately knew what it was. This tome, thousands of pages [and two CDs, as our tradition's beginnings were incredibly oral] in the making was just - it was like coming home to myself.

GN: That's beautiful.

R: I'm always concerned that mythologies that are respected and truly considered have creation stories, but Black America's young in the scope of things - we're only a couple hundred years old. And so even though we have ways of taking and unpacking these 'peculiar institutions' in an event to explain away the world that was laid out for us, it just feels young. 

I'm trying to get a handle on what I'm dealing with here: is this a mythology or a folklore?

GN: I think we're talking a bout a folklore - 'cause folklore doesn't make any presuppositions. A folklore isn't gonna say 'you've got to have a creation myth'. Folklore studies what's there and frankly, the Black American experience is a modern experience - a very sad one in many ways. There are so many historical contingencies that it's hard to universalize.

R: ...just like the people and places that crafted it. I appreciate you and your time, professor. This was great.

In Interview