nation, this would be a great achievement and it would change a great many things.
This raises a very interesting point. This is all conjecture, of course, assuming that sanity is maintained, assuming that humanity itself, the humanity in all of us, will triumph. Just as you say there will be no white nation and no black nation, but nations of people, now we come to a question of this long, varied heritage.
At the beginning, a Bessie Smith record was played. You, once upon a time, not knowing who you were, were ashamed of it, and now realize there’s a great pride here in artistry. I’m thinking now of the young African. Again, if a certain identity, and this is an imposed identity from the outside, is lost, will he reject that which was uniquely his for a grayness, perhaps? Even though it be more materially advanced?
I have a tendency to doubt it, but then of course there’s no way of knowing. I have a tendency, judging only from my very limited experience in Paris with a few Africans after all—my tendency is to doubt it.
I think that the real impulse is to excavate that heritage, at
no matter what cost, and bring it into the present. And I think that this is a very sound idea, because I think it’s needed. I think that all the things that were destroyed by Europe, which will never really be put in place again, still in that rubble I think there’s something of very great value, not only for Africans, but for all of us.
I really think that we’re living in a moment which is as important as that moment when Constantine became a Christian. I think that all the standards by which the Western world has lived for so long are in the process of breakdown and of revision, and a kind of passion and a kind of beauty and a kind of joy which was in the world before, and has been buried so long, has got to come back.
The passion and beauty and joy once in the world have been buried. Now we come to the matter of dehumanization, don’t we?
Yes, exactly.
The impersonality of our times.
Yes, yes, yes. And obviously this cannot—Well, I would hate to see it continue. I don’t ever intend to make my peace with such a world.
There’s something much more important than Cadillacs, Frigidaires, and IBM machines. And precisely one of the things wrong with this country is this notion that IBM machines and Cadillacs prove something. People are always telling me how many Negroes bought Cadillacs last year, and it terrifies me. I always wonder: Is this what you think the country is for? And do you think this is really what I came here and suffered and died for? A lousy Cadillac?
Whether it’s for white or black, is this what our country’s for?
For white or black, yes, exactly. I think the country’s got to find out what it means by “freedom.” Freedom is a very dangerous thing, you know. Anything else is disastrous. But freedom is dangerous. You know, you’ve got to make choices; you’ve got to make very dangerous choices; you’ve got to be taught that your life is in your hands.
A matter of freedom. This leads to another chapter in your book dealing with your meeting with Ingmar Bergman, whom you described as a relatively free artist. Would you mind telling us a bit about that, what you meant by that?
Well, part of his freedom, of course, is just purely economical. It’s based on the social structure, the economic structure of Sweden. So he hasn’t got to worry about the money for his films, which is a very healthy thing for him.
But on another level, he impressed me as being free because he had—and this is a great paradox, it seems to me, about freedom—because he had accepted his limitations, the limitations within himself and the limitations within his society. I don’t mean that he necessarily accepted these limitations; I don’t mean that he was passive in the face of them. But he’d recognized that he was Ingmar Bergman who could do some things, and therefore
This raises a very interesting point. This is all conjecture, of course, assuming that sanity is maintained, assuming that humanity itself, the humanity in all of us, will triumph. Just as you say there will be no white nation and no black nation, but nations of people, now we come to a question of this long, varied heritage.
At the beginning, a Bessie Smith record was played. You, once upon a time, not knowing who you were, were ashamed of it, and now realize there’s a great pride here in artistry. I’m thinking now of the young African. Again, if a certain identity, and this is an imposed identity from the outside, is lost, will he reject that which was uniquely his for a grayness, perhaps? Even though it be more materially advanced?
I have a tendency to doubt it, but then of course there’s no way of knowing. I have a tendency, judging only from my very limited experience in Paris with a few Africans after all—my tendency is to doubt it.
I think that the real impulse is to excavate that heritage, at
no matter what cost, and bring it into the present. And I think that this is a very sound idea, because I think it’s needed. I think that all the things that were destroyed by Europe, which will never really be put in place again, still in that rubble I think there’s something of very great value, not only for Africans, but for all of us.
I really think that we’re living in a moment which is as important as that moment when Constantine became a Christian. I think that all the standards by which the Western world has lived for so long are in the process of breakdown and of revision, and a kind of passion and a kind of beauty and a kind of joy which was in the world before, and has been buried so long, has got to come back.
The passion and beauty and joy once in the world have been buried. Now we come to the matter of dehumanization, don’t we?
Yes, exactly.
The impersonality of our times.
Yes, yes, yes. And obviously this cannot—Well, I would hate to see it continue. I don’t ever intend to make my peace with such a world.
There’s something much more important than Cadillacs, Frigidaires, and IBM machines. And precisely one of the things wrong with this country is this notion that IBM machines and Cadillacs prove something. People are always telling me how many Negroes bought Cadillacs last year, and it terrifies me. I always wonder: Is this what you think the country is for? And do you think this is really what I came here and suffered and died for? A lousy Cadillac?
Whether it’s for white or black, is this what our country’s for?
For white or black, yes, exactly. I think the country’s got to find out what it means by “freedom.” Freedom is a very dangerous thing, you know. Anything else is disastrous. But freedom is dangerous. You know, you’ve got to make choices; you’ve got to make very dangerous choices; you’ve got to be taught that your life is in your hands.
A matter of freedom. This leads to another chapter in your book dealing with your meeting with Ingmar Bergman, whom you described as a relatively free artist. Would you mind telling us a bit about that, what you meant by that?
Well, part of his freedom, of course, is just purely economical. It’s based on the social structure, the economic structure of Sweden. So he hasn’t got to worry about the money for his films, which is a very healthy thing for him.
But on another level, he impressed me as being free because he had—and this is a great paradox, it seems to me, about freedom—because he had accepted his limitations, the limitations within himself and the limitations within his society. I don’t mean that he necessarily accepted these limitations; I don’t mean that he was passive in the face of them. But he’d recognized that he was Ingmar Bergman who could do some things, and therefore
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