What Louis Farrakhan Didn’t Say

Last week, I was beleaguered with the anticipation of the jury’s decision in the trial of the LAPD officers accused of violating the Civil Right of Rodney King. Better put, I was apprehensive about the media-projected reactions if a guilty verdict were not handed down. Beneath it all, I sensed that the Justice Lady was peeking underneath the blindfolded, too. It was a no-win situation, coming on the heels of the continuing saga in Waco, Texas, Miami-Herzovenia, and the hostage-holding in Ohio, and Srebrenica and Palestinian refugees marching in Lebanon, and Chris Hani’s murder in South Africa, and Rev. Jesse Jackson at UNC, and it was 25 years after the shot at the Lorraine Hotel, and the observation of the Holocaust coming up. And on and on and on! It had been a long winter with real-life signs that the world’s harmonic possibilities were hopelessly diverging.

I wanted it all to get over. I wanted to go fishing with my boy of 13 who’s having problems at school. Our little world – in spite of all of its sham and drudgery – on Saturday, April 17 – was clear and warm. Our expectation was to spend the day together and cap it off at the Delta Fine Arts’ presentation of “Gateways: Classical Music and the Black Musician,” to be held at the Reynolds Auditorium. Perhaps I could be favored by Copeland’s Appalachia Spring and be transported to my boyhood days in Harlan, KY. It was a glorious day to be alive. It was one of those days that demanded harmony, peace, inner reflection, family time, and a conscious detachment from the (variously sordid) things over which I have little or no control.

Truth be told, my anxiety level on this unique event was tweaked when the Chronicle scooped the appearance of Minister Louis Farrakhan as violin soloist on the program in its April 15 issue. Being nobody’s fool, I wondered aloud to my wife – whose company helped to underwrite the program – if attendance would be diminished by Farrakhan’s presence. Would he politicize it – as in politically incorrect? Mind racing, I thought first of Joseph Lamm, (A Jew), my college roommate twenty five years ago. He had introduced me to classical music and I had turned him on to Nina Simone and Malcolm X. Would Jewish people in this community stay away? Would the political and cultural elites with whom we attended the NAACP Freedom Fund Banquet on Friday the 16th come? Did they, like me, think that Farrakhan would use the stage to deliver some fiery invective? Would he do an Olympics ’68 number and hold up a gloved black fist and overshadow the magic of the moment. Well, the minister fooled the hell out of me. He made my day!

Felix Mendelssohn, who happened to be a Jew, and the composer of the “Concerto in E minor” – played so deftly by Farrakhan – would have been proud of the minister. Conductor Michael Morgan – who, by accident of birth, is an African American – and conductor of the Chicago and Oakland Orchestras set the tone. The rainbow-like montage of musicians was set to tune by First Violin Sister Karen Lowery of the Kennedy Center Orchestra. Master violinist, Sanford Allen, a black man, rendered “Concerto for Violin in A minor” by Glazounov. Another black man, Anthony Elliott, breezed through Saint-Saens’ “Concerto for Cello and Orchestra” to set a serene, playful, though sternly serious scenario for the minister. Thereafter, one-sided stereotypes about the rhythm of people of African descent went out the window.
Conductor Morgan remarked in an interview that Farrakhan “…fascinated me to be able at this level with such a tremendous grasp of technique on the violin.” Peter Perret, conductor of the Winston-Salem Symphony echoed Morgan’s impressions, noting that Farrakhan possessed “very good technique, tone and emotion . . . and was a ‘turn-on’ with the audience.” Lowery wondered aloud about Farrakhan’s ability “to do so well”, absent the frills and routines of professional musicians. “I practice everyday,” she noted, “and I make mistakes with that piece!”

Yes, anticipation was in the air. The authoritative tap of the baton, then the overwhelming silence . . . then Farrakhan, graceful, commanding, nimble, stood he, with athletic-like movements and those head-bobs only violinists make. Between movements, he would take deep breaths while gazing skyward with the confidence of a truly gifted musician. The shadowy figure of his bodyguard beneath the orchestra pit, the police all about, and even the phalanx of somber Muslim guards through which he passed to his car were forgotten. He never said a mumbling word. He humbly kissed the hand of Conductor Morgan and returned triumphantly for an encore to the standing ovation. There we were as Dr. King dreamed: Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics. And a conspicuous array of Muslims. Bravos from all of us. Seemed we were also applauding ourselves. The universal communicative power of music.

Now, if we could get Yitzhak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, and Minister Farrakhan – Hillary Rodham Clinton as Concertmistress – with President Clinton, on sax, together! Let them play some music, with Rush Limbaugh conducting. Ah, then we might just figure a way out of this mess we’ve created with our words.

Perhaps then we could sit down and give real meaning to such words as A Salaam Alakium! And Shalom! And find the source of Harmonic convergence. On April 17, 1993, for the first time, I agreed with everything Minister Louis Farrakhan didn’t say. Amen!