Music, community, and resistance
A couple of weeks ago my piano-loving friend J invited me to visit his parents’ home (read: mansion) that housed—in addition to gorgeous antiques—three grand pianos (two concert grands and one semi-concert grand). The invitation was for tea, but I spent the visit at the piano, playing duets with J, performing a few solos, and reading through stacks of old songs, most of which dropped out of popularity decades ago. J’s octogenarian parents enjoyed the piano music, but it was the old songs that they loved. Singing along to favorites, humming where they didn’t know the words, the visit became a spontaneous sing-along. Through those old songs, we connected on a level deeper than age, socioeconomic status, politics, religion, and life experience. Music gave us common ground.
This story is just one of many I’ve experienced during my life in music. Whether it be an unexpected burst of music from a public piano, a private sing-along, or a live concert, communal music has a part in every society on Earth. Music pulls religious groups together, it bolsters sporting events and political rallies. It bypasses differences of race, culture, gender, creed, politics, and socioeconomic status. When it’s created from the heart, it cuts through all that separates Us from Them and reminds us that no matter how many surface details may be different, we have more in common than we realize.
Years ago, when I saw quite a bit of the world while teaching piano on luxury cruise ships (yes, really), I had the chance to interact with many different cultures—both on the ship and on land. I learned that most of the barriers of language, culture, etc. are just surface differences. Underneath, humans seek the same things. We all celebrate life and mourn our dead. We all need food, shelter, and clothing. And we all want better for our children. The problems start when we forget this grounding in shared reality and allow all those who wish to control us to divide us into angry, ever-smaller groups of Us and Them.
There has been much written about music and resistance (including on this blog). It seems to me that while worthy causes are important, the biggest act of resistance we can make in a society that gaslights us with lies and cynically tries to turn us against one another is to live and act from our shared humanity, not from our differences. This doesn’t mean that we don’t advocate for change. It means that as we seek to advance the things we believe in we never fall prey to thinking that those who disagree with us are subhuman. It means that we refuse to hate. It means we learn (painfully, for me) to move beyond judgment and seek understanding. It means that we use the common ground we find to see the humanity in Them, not just Us.
How can a musician be an agent for change? Through working on ourselves until we see all others as Us. Through resisting the lure of hateful, divisive rhetoric. Through allowing the common language we’ve been given—music—to invite others to stop seeing us as Them, and to find common ground in notes both grand and humble. We can do this every time we play. We can remind others that no matter what surface things divide us, we’re all human. We all belong. If we do this in our music and our communities, we will change the world, one note and one person at a time.