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May 12, 2020
Todd Hasak-Lowy's Playlist for His Book "We Are Power: How Nonviolent Activism Changes the World"
In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist (or, in this case, a musical moment) that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Previous contributors include Jesmyn Ward, Lauren Groff, Bret Easton Ellis, Celeste Ng, T.C. Boyle, Dana Spiotta, Amy Bloom, Aimee Bender, Roxane Gay, and many others.
Todd Hasak-Lowy's We Are Power: How Nonviolent Activism Changes the World is an important book that will inspire and educate both young and old about the history (and power) of nonviolent activism.
Booklist wrote of the book:
"Hasak-Lowy's writing gives life to both the people and issues involved, taking time to explain historical backgrounds and the ways the lessons from one movement affected future ones."
In his own words, here is Todd Hasak-Lowy's Book Notes musical moment for his book We Are Power: How Nonviolent Activism Changes the World:
Marta Kubišová’s Musical Moment:
The Transcendent Beauty of the Velvet Revolution
I listened to music throughout the writing my most recent book—We Are Power: How Nonviolent Activism Changes the World—but no artist or recording emerged to fuel the project, perhaps because the material itself was plenty inspirational all on its own.
There was, however, a musical experience I had while researching We Are Power I want to share, because it captures this inspiration. And describing it here online is perfect, because it involves watching the clip of a short, breathtaking musical performance.
The final chapter of We Are Power narrates the 1989 Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia, one of the more unlikely revolutions in modern history. An entire nation overthrew an authoritarian government in less than a month, and without resorting to violence. More than this, shortly after toppling the communist leadership, the people of Czechoslovakia elected Václav Havel, a dissident playwright, to be their president.
On November 21st, just a few days into the uprising, some 200,000 people (the equivalent of over four millions Americans) gathered in Wenceslas Square, the epicenter of the country’s public and political life. A balcony facing the square was selected as the place from which leaders of the burgeoning revolution would address the crowd.
One of the speakers that day was not a speaker at all, but a singer, Marta Kubišová. Kubišová had been immensely popular in Czechoslovakia twenty years earlier, but was banned from performing by the authorities in 1970, not long after invoking both Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. in her music. She had been out of the public eye ever since.
In this video, Kubišová, now middle aged, steps out onto the balcony and sings her most famous song: “Modlitba pro Martu” (Prayer for Martha - she would sing the national anthem as well, but it is not included in this clip). “Prayer for Martha” was an anthem of national resistance against the Soviet-backed invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. The lyric includes these lines: “Now, you have lost your government, when it is given back, the people will return.”
As Kubišová sings unaccompanied in 1989, the crowd falls silent. All eyes are upon her. This is in the days before smartphones, so everyone, more than ten percent of the entire country, simply watches and listens, utterly present. Kubišová’s delivery is astonishingly patient, and her regular silences seemed to be filled by the attention of her countrymen, who are spellbound by the historic significance of what they are witnessing. In a sense, Kubišová and her vast, rapt audience are together performing the revolution. Many raise their hands to make either a peace or a victory sign, I don’t know which. But the distinction in this context is perfectly meaningless, since the people are in the process of triumphing nonviolently.
Kubišová’s magnificent, beautiful performance tells her massive audience that the long night of authoritarianism, which lasted more than forty years, has finally passed. She sings for them, and for herself, a song of freedom.
In the least surprising moment of the video, just before the two-minute mark, a gray-haired man wipes the tears from his face.
I cried regularly throughout the writing of this book, but not because I was sad. To be sure, I read and wrote about considerable suffering, as the nonviolent activists in these pages endured imprisonment, beatings, and much, much worse in their efforts to overturn stubborn, monumental injustices. But something else moved me, something located just below the surface of these activists’ courage and determination: their unyielding dignity.
It is easy to lose one’s dignity while living under oppression. Yet these nonviolent activists, thanks to a steadfast belief in the righteousness of their cause—and thus the necessity of their struggle—reclaimed their self-worth. They clung to what was true and just, even as they suffered for turning these beliefs into action.
When Kubišová sings, her perfect, untarnished dignity is on full display. Though she must have experienced great vindication in this moment, there is no anger in her voice, no bitterness, not even a tinge of smugness. What was true and just during her imposed silence remained true and just on this balcony. This explains her otherwise unimaginable poise, and this explains, for me at least, why her flawless performance isn’t merely an artistic achievement but a moral, and perhaps even spiritual one, as well. This is, simply put, as great as a human being can be.
Is it any wonder she moves grown men to tears?
It’s so easy to be cynical and pessimistic these days. Indeed, it has been far too easy for far too long now. But when I watch Kubišová and that crowd I feel momentarily purified. I find myself able to hope and believe that this massive, unnamable thing, which seems to rule the day, will one day be defeated by the best in all of us, and that those who suffered rather than betray their beliefs will lead the way. I listen to Kubišová’s majestic delivery and watch all those people paying her respect and think: it’s not naïve to be idealistic, it’s wise.
Václav Havel, the playwright-president, once wrote, “Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good.”
When I watch Marta Kubišová perform on November 21, 1989, I see someone singing her song of hope on the day when a small, besieged goodness, quite suddenly, spreads all across the land.
Todd Hasak-Lowy is the author of several books for young readers. He is a professor of creative writing and literature at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Hasak-Lowry lives in Evanston, Illinois, with his wife and two daughters. Visit toddhasaklowy.com.
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Book Notes (2018 - ) (authors create music playlists for their book)
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