[suspenseful music]
The failure to pass
a civil rights bill
isn't because of Black Power,
isn't because
of the Student Nonviolent
Coordinating Committee,
is not because of the rebellions
that are occurring
in the major cities.
It is incapability of whites
to deal with their own problems
inside their own communities.
That is the problem
of the failure
of the civil rights bill.
Blow up resistance
No, no
Go up in flames
I'm loaded up in armor
Rise up mighty dread
Fighting for my honor,
not on an empty threat ♪
You're gonna feel this,
my love ♪
Feel this danger
I am the realest, my love,
so follow me ♪
♪
I do pray that God
will give us strength
to do that which is right
and that which is pleasing
in thy fight.
[soft dramatic music]
We are assembled here today
to reaffirm our determination
to gain the right to vote
in Selma and Dallas County
and all over the state
of Alabama.
This courthouse does not
belong to Sheriff Clark;
this courthouse belongs to
the people of Dallas County,
and these are the people
of Dallas County
and they have come to register.
You can turn your back on me,
but you cannot turn your back
upon the idea of justice.
[indistinct shouting]
The Student Nonviolent
Coordinating Committee
has a statement.
We're marching today to
dramatize to the nation,
dramatize to the world,
that hundreds and thousands
of n*gro citizens of Alabama,
but particularly here
in the Blytheville area,
denied the right to vote.
We will have no marches
in Selma.
This thing keeps growing
and growing out of proportion,
and it has got to stop.
This march will not
continue.
See that they turn around
and disperse.
[indistinct shouting]
[police whistle blows]
At that time,
it was very difficult
not to hate white people.
Blacks being beaten
by state troopers.
The feeling of having no control
was just the way that we lived.
[somber music]
♪
King's answer:
another march.
Same town: Selma.
Same destination: Montgomery.
We have the right
to walk the highway.
We have the right to walk
to Montgomery
if our feet can get us there.
[applause]
And, says King,
he'll lead it himself.
[indistinct singing]
[solemn music]
It was all over TV.
When I saw the beatings that
happened on that bridge,
I was appalled, right?
But it also made me think about
the times that I was attacked.
It made me angry, and I wanted
to do something about it.
[fanfare]
The events in Selma have
been brought to a cl*max.
In New York's Harlem,
more than 15,000,
half of them white,
file somberly
through the streets
in quiet but agonized protest.
We had marches and rallies
and demonstrations
up here in Harlem on that.
No doubt about it.
This is not an isolated
experience.
This was something
that is common.
It's happening to all of us
no matter what community
we're coming from.
So we have to kind of unify
on this.
[bus engine turns over]
Young people went down
out of the New York area,
came out of Harlem.
♪
My goodness.
[chuckles]
Here we are again, huh?
Again is the right word, Herb.
Yeah.
You are a distinguished,
well-decorated veteran
of the Korean w*r.
How does that hit you
in terms of some of the other
activities at that time?
Yes.
In the whole march
in Selma to Montgomery.
When I saw Bloody Sunday,
I said,
"I've never seen this type
of bravery in Korea."
Mm.
It was a image
that I would never forget.
And Percy Sutton said that
Andrew Young and John Lewis,
they wanted me to march
from Selma to Montgomery.
And I said, "Percy,
I love you like a brother.
"It really doesn't make
any sense for me
"at this stage of my life
"to get k*lled down there
by a bunch of crackers.
This don't make any sense."
And I asked this
to John Lewis once.
"If we got k*lled in Selma,
what could I say I died for?"
And he would say that
"You say you died for trying
to make life better."
I was trying to make
a difference.
It's a good feeling, Herb.
Yes.
And the truth of the story
was for 54 miles,
I cussed every damn step
of the way.
[chuckles]
We shall overcome
someday ♪
All right, come on.
Put it there.
It's a rebel flag.
Does that ruin it for you,
n*gg*r*s?
Are you gonna take part
in this march tomorrow?
Yes.
We would've taken part in it
sooner--or I would've.
But uh, that's why
I'm down here.
International media spun it
all over the world
and gave a world view
of what was going on
in Selma and Montgomery.
Dr. King had requested
that I organize
as many artists
as were available
to come down to perform tonight:
Sammy Davis Jr.,
Odetta, Ossie Davis,
Mr. Tony Perkins,
Miss Shelley Winters,
Mr. Leonard Bernstein
Yes?
Many, many people.
[cheers and applause]
I just want to say to you
how much we are indebted
to my friend, Harry Belafonte,
and to all of the other
distinguished
and famous artists
and entertainers
as we march on the state capitol
tomorrow morning.
Belafonte was in
the struggle a long time
supporting Dr. King
financially and in other ways,
but he was able to pull
one of the most
magnificent concerts together--
[snaps finger]
in that kind of notice.
And what media tend
to not want to show
is this natural alliance
between Black and whites
just on the basis
of ethical moral principles
of life.
They had been doing it
all along.
That was just the moment
we saw them all come together.
'Cause it was an emergency.
People had been beaten,
people were in the hospital,
people had been k*lled.
But that concert raised money
to get people out of jail,
it raised money for lawyers,
it raised money
for hospital bills,
it raised money to keep
going forward
with voter registration.
[lively jazz music]
It was a time that you had
both jazz
as an important statement
plus you had Black
folk performers,
Harry Belafonte
as part of that,
who were taking
political positions.
Nina kind of crosses over both.
Everybody knows
about Mississippi, goddam ♪
When Nina Simone wrote
"Mississippi Goddam,"
oh, she just couldn't take it
no more.
She couldn't take it.
'Cause nobody was writing songs
like that.
She knew it wasn't gonna get
a radio play.
She knew it might not be
a big hit.
She didn't care.
She had to express
the way she felt.
Alabama got me so upset ♪
Selma made me lose my rest
Everybody knows about
Mississippi goddam ♪
The first time I heard it,
I couldn't believe
she said it.
It was thrilling and everybody
in the audience
was like, [gasps].
In the '60s,
you just didn't say
those things out loud.
Well, that's just
the trouble ♪
"Do it slow"
Washing the windows
"Do it slow"
Picking the cotton
"Do it slow"
We're nothing but rotten
"Do it slow"
And she did that
in the South, you know?
And we were kind of, like,
nervous about it.
When you get close like that
and you can't escape,
then that's when
the trouble starts.
Just try to do
your very best ♪
Stand up, be counted
with all the rest ♪
Nina was always out in front
in racial protest and whatnot.
How can you be an artist
and not reflect the times?
That, to me, is the definition
of an artist.
[Nina Simone singing
"Mississippi Goddam"]
And at this crucial time
in our lives,
when everything is
so desperate,
when every day is a matter
of survival,
I don't think you can help
but be involved.
I will never forget
"Mississippi Goddam."
Oh, yeah.
And I got a chance
to see Nina Simone do it live.
Earth-shaking.
I saw Nina Simone perform
every time she came
to New York.
Every time.
Every time going
to her concerts,
hair would stand up on my arms.
Just the anticipation of what
I was getting ready to see.
She was phenomenal.
You don't have
to live next to me ♪
Just give me my equality
Everybody knows
about Mississippi ♪
Everybody knows
about Alabama ♪
Everybody knows about
Mississippi goddam! ♪
That's it!
[applause]
It's a surge of brightness
that we can see
throughout all the gloom
and despair
that our people have
encountered.
We look to the music
to do that for us.
And if it's connected with
a very vibrant community
that's open and accessible,
culture and the politics
come together.
[laid-back music]
That's what was happening
in Harlem in the 1960s,
is you move from one genre,
one location, one culture,
to the next.
[percussive Latin music]
[all singing in Spanish]
Of the almost 900,000 Puerto
Ricans in the United States,
more than 600,000 live in
New York City in El Barrio--
Spanish Harlem.
[soft dramatic music]
♪
The Barrio, or Spanish
Harlem, had tenement buildings
that had seen successive waves
of immigrants
and were falling apart.
Gates on the windows,
the garbage was never picked up
so there was piles of just
disgusting garbage
in the alleyways
with putrid pools of water,
mosquitos, rats.
But you also had kids
playing scully and hopscotch
and double dutch.
I don't remember
everything negative.
It was an exciting place
to grow up.
We had the absence of TV.
We had no cell phones.
Our pleasures came
from the streets of New York.
We played kickball, checkers.
We opened up the pump in
the summer just to get cool.
We didn't have
air conditioning.
[car horn honks]
We went to the roof and sit
out there and bask in the sun.
Most roofs in East Harlem
at that time
were covered with tar,
so in the summer,
it would bake.
And you would actually get stuck
in it like peanut butter.
So it was "Tar Beach" to us.
[chuckles]
I know this is gonna
sound ridiculous
because sometimes we wax
nostalgic about the old days,
but I can honestly say
I loved East Harlem.
I loved growing up there.
First of all,
music was everywhere.
[indistinct distorted chatter]
[upbeat music]
At that age,
we were glued to the radio.
On Saturday morning when they
played the hit parade--
what were the top ten songs
of the week?
The only hitch to that--
that most of those artists
were Anglo, right?
So you had Doris Day,
you had Patti Page,
you had Perry Como.
Sammy Davis would come on
occasionally,
and that was a big thing
for us.
And then one day,
as you turned the dial
all the way down
to the end of the radio band,
there came on a Black station
and they were playing this music
that we had never heard before.
It's rhythm and blues.
And we said, "Wow."
We could identify with that.
And of course, then we started
getting groups together,
doing harmony, and that led
to one thing after another.
[improvised percussive music]
The guys used to get garbage
cans and pull them over
and, like, bang on the garbage
cans making a racket.
One of the guys that was
into music,
his name was Bataan.
I remember throwing sh*t out
the window at Bataan.
[chuckles]
Oh, yes. Everybody knew me
in the neighborhood--
my reputation stretched
from 125th to 86th Street.
Somebody said that Joe Bataan
is the Sugar Ray Leonard
of East Harlem
because I had a reputation
that you and I would fight
one-on-one, mano a mano.
And I did a lot of that.
[singing indistinctly]
In the streets,
almost anything can happen.
It's supposed to be
the toughest neighborhood
in New York.
There were always gangs
and each part of
the neighborhood
considered to be their turf.
The Chanters, the Demons,
the Viceroys.
[jazz music]
And then one day,
25 youngsters surrounded me.
♪
One-on-one,
I could take care of myself.
But when there's 25 guys
with bats and chains,
you have to have
second thoughts,
and the first thought
you would have
is to get out of there.
That was time for me
to join a g*ng of my own,
and that's when I joined
the Dragons.
[speaking Spanish]
You know,
the g*ng with the Dragons
was predominantly
Puerto Rican,
so it was taken for granted
that I was Puerto Rican.
[chuckles]
At that time,
there weren't many Filipinos
living in the neighborhood,
you know?
We were in the minority.
In order to survive
you had to communicate,
and to communicate,
I had to learn the language.
I had to learn the customs.
You know? I mean,
I was Asian, I was Black,
but my heart was always Latin.
Though the neighborhood
might've been
predominantly Puerto Rican,
there was still a very large
African American presence
and then there was a sub-part
of that neighborhood
which was exclusively
Italian American.
And Mob-connected.
You know, it's like out of
"West Side Story" or some stuff.
You didn't mess with the folks
in that little Italian enclave.
As the Sicilians moved to
East Harlem for cheaper rents,
we moved with them because
we made money with them.
They were doing bathtub gin,
and we were the runners.
Puerto Ricans.
[police sirens wailing]
Me being in a g*ng,
I thought after a while
I could do anything
that I wanted to do
until I was caught
breaking the law,
and then I was sent away.
When you have a number and they
started calling you 12173,
then the reality starts
to click in.
[peaceful jazz music]
♪
[scatting]
I was so excited about being
in New York.
I mean, New York was
the mecca for jazz.
I was the roommate
of Donald Byrd,
the leader of the band that
I was primarily playing with.
Donald was the person
that encouraged me
to make my own first album.
He said,
"People don't know you yet.
"Half the record can be,
of course, your tunes.
" But the other half have
to be the songs
that help sell the record."
That's either a cover tune
or a blues.
I'm from Chicago.
If I can't write a blues,
then I should hand in
my Chicago card.
[chuckling]
So.
[peaceful jazz music]
It's the Blackness,
it's the ethnicity
that somehow touches
people's hearts.
I've heard songs
about chain g*ng
and about, you know,
cotton fields
and things like that.
I'm from Chicago.
There's no cotton fields there.
Let me find something that's
truly ethnic in my background.
And the biggest figure
that I could think of
was the watermelon man.
He would go through the
cobblestone alleys of Chicago
in his horse-drawn wagon.
And they had a little song.
Water-mellow
Red, ripe watermelon
But then I started to think.
The women off of their
back porch go,
"Hey, watermelon man!"
So I decided to write,
Hey, watermelon man
[jazz music]
♪
Some Black friends,
they said,
"You're not gonna call it that,
are you?"
There were these images of,
like, a black face
with eyes that were big
and white,
ruby-red lips, picaninny hair.
And eating a watermelon.
[jazz music]
Black people were
trying to, like,
not associate with that image.
Black people didn't go
to white neighborhoods
to buy watermelons
even though they were
sold there.
'Cause you'd have to go
to the counter
with your Black face
and a watermelon
in your basket and it--
[stutters]
it was embarrassing.
Which it should not have been.
I was thinking about how we as
Black people look at ourselves
and look at our heritage,
look at our culture.
I'm very proud of standing
by my g*ns
and calling it
"Watermelon Man."
[jazz music]
I had gotten a call
from someone
in Mongo Santamaría's band.
Mongo was a extremely gifted,
powerful,
and legendary conguero.
Like, with conga drums.
And he was from Cuba.
He had been looking
for a bridge
between Latin
and African American music.
[jazz music]
Donald said, "Hey, Herbie.
Play 'Watermelon Man.'"
So I started playing it,
and Mongo got up
and he got on his conga drums
and it just fit perfectly.
And so Mongo asked,
he said, "Can I record this?"
I said, "Absolutely."
[applause]
[Herbie Hancock's
"Watermelon Man"]
Watermelon Man
You know, a few weeks ago,
Bob Mersey of Columbia Records
played me an advanced album
recorded by a new,
exciting jazz group.
[applause]
The Mongo Santamaría band.
[applause]
♪
[applause]
Mongo recorded
"Watermelon Man,"
and it sold I don't know
how many thousands of--
you know, it was a hit.
It took off.
I was just coming out
of the joint, of course.
And that was another key spot
for me
because while I was attempting
to play Latin music,
I was seeing this national
exposure on American stations.
And that was like hope.
It was, I guess,
'63 going towards '64.
I walked into William Ettinger
Junior High School
on 106th Street.
I asked them,
"Could I use the piano?"
I wanted to practice
on the piano after work.
And I guess his thinking was,
"Well, if I keep this guy
in the auditorium,
"things will be safer
on the outside.
He wouldn't be running around
in the streets," you know?
So he let me use the place
every day.
And like clockwork, 7:00 I was
there till 10:00 at night.
And one day, I went there
and the place was occupied
by these young kids.
Couldn't have been no more
than 12, 13, 14 years, tops.
And they were playing, and
they had holes in their horns,
a beat-up drum.
And I got to brainstorming.
I said, "Wait a minute.
These guys don't have
a piano player."
So I took out my knife and I
stuck it into the grand piano
and I said,
"I'm the leader of this band."
Because my reputation,
nobody said no to me.
And I had to go and explain
to the parents.
"Look, I'm not that guy
anymore, you know?
"I'm playing music.
This is what I wanna do.
"And if you trust me,
"I will bring your boys
to a height
that they've never seen
before."
[energetic Latin music]
♪
I heard a song one day,
and the guy was doing
Latin music
but he was singing in English.
And I said, "You know what?
I'm gonna learn this new sound."
The old people,
they were listening
to people like Tito Rodriguez
and they were listening
to love songs.
Tito Puente, Eddie Palmieri.
You would go to clubs
in Harlem
or downtown to places
like the Palladium
so that you could dance.
[energetic Latin music]
But people didn't want
to listen
to what their parents
were playing.
They wanted to spread
their wings;
they wanted to know
something different.
They wanted to have music
that was identifiable with them
and their time and their life,
and of course, the boogaloo was
made to order
for that generation,
and the rest was history.
[energetic Latin music]
♪
The boogaloo is this
incredible blending
of Latin music and soul music.
Blending cultures,
blending rhythms,
out on the dance floor.
You cannot separate the music
from the dances that people
were doing to that music.
[energetic Latin music]
So when you talk about
Latin boogaloo,
we were doing the boogaloo.
That came out of Blacks
and Puerto Ricans
dancing together
to the same music.
The boogaloo was, like, the
hottest thing since the twist.
Everywhere you went,
the dance floors
were filled with kids doing
the boogaloo.
And you had groups that were
definitely crossover groups.
Joe Cuba, of course,
with "Bang! Bang!"
all: Bang! Bang!
Everybody now!
Sing it, everybody!
all: Bang! Bang!
Jimmy Sabater was
at a dance,
and there was
a Black audience.
They said, "Well,
let's start doing something.
"They're not dancing to this
Latin stuff that we playing.
I got an idea. Try this.
Bang! Bang!"
And then everybody
started repeating
what they were saying.
all:
Bang! Bang!
Beep, beep! Ahh, beep, beep!
Ahh--
Beep, beep.
Ahh, she freaks ♪
Ah, bang, bang.
You know.
We were used to this
call-and-response stuff.
Everybody now!
Sing it, everybody!
all:
Bang! Bang!
[vocalizing]
all:
Bang! Bang!
[vocalizing]
That was the secret
with a lot of songs back then.
If you had a hook that you could
get the public to pulsate with,
then you arrive
and had something.
Next thing,
it was a national hit
played all over the country.
Corn bread, hog maw
and chitling ♪
Corn bread
Oh, cuchí, cuchí,
cuchí, cuchí! ♪
Corn bread,
hog maws and chitlings ♪
Corn bread
Lechón!
Lechón! ♪
[chuckling]
Lechón, lechón. Yeah.
But you gotta understand,
those guys--
and I'm still in that vein--
were Harlemites that were
Latinos but with Black blood.
So he's mashing up all
of that soul food,
that Black soul food and that
Puerto Rican soul food.
It's the musical
representations
of how those cultures bridged,
you know?
It just represented
what we understood
our life experience was
in New York,
especially in Harlem between
El Barrio and West Harlem.
So we said,
"We gotta do that, too."
So we came up with a boogaloo
beat, but we had no lyrics.
[Joe Bataan's "Gypsy Woman"]
The singer,
he had a heavy accent
that just didn't fit with
the boogaloo at that time.
I had a Curtis Mayfield
songbook in front of me
and I said, "Look, why don't
you do it like this, George?"
Some come from nowhere
through a caravan ♪
Gypsy woman
They come from sunlight
to moonlight ♪
To see my gypsy in motion
Gypsy woman
With lips so red
you could bite ♪
He said, "You know so much,
why don't you do it yourself?"
So I wrote different words
to it.
It's completely different
in "Gypsy Woman."
She was my gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
When we went
into the studio,
I was so nervous
at that recording,
I forgot the lyrics.
The lyrics that came to my head
was "Gypsy Woman,"
Curtis Mayfield's words.
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
She smoke, ha-ha-ha!
She smoke, ha-ha-ha! ♪
A lot of boogaloo songs
were using hooks, you know?
So we said, "She smokes."
Actually, we said,
"She smokes pot."
Right? Well, they said,
"You can't do that."
You know, of course, when we
did it live, we said it.
We were a young generation,
and we had no fear.
And I sit next to Bataan
one day and he said,
"I'm gonna be famous, Nisie.
I'm gonna write my autograph
on your jeans."
And I had a pair of jeans
that were signed
by Joe Bataan for years.
I think we gave everybody
dimes around the neighborhood
to call in and request
the song,
and one of the DJs remarked
on the radio at that time,
he said, "Look, tell Joe Bataan
"to tell his friends
to stop calling.
"The song is a hit.
"He doesn't need
to call anymore.
Everybody's calling for him."
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
Gypsy woman
"Gypsy Woman" became
an anthem, you know,
for East Harlem.
To see and realize
our dream coming true
with our neighborhood finally
knowing that we did something
was, like, unheard of.
We were like the Jackson 5
of New York at that time.
Fire!
[percussive musical flourish]
Boogaloo became the marriage
of Blacks and Puerto Ricans.
While they were not political,
they were important in the
formation of a new culture--
a Nuyorican culture.
It's the beginning of what
people may define as Nuyorican.
You know, as being
fundamentally Puerto Rican
with the experience of being
born or raised in New York.
And boogaloo was
the expression
of the Nuyorican identity.
Culture is the spear tip
of revolution.
[reflective music]
Nobody comes to this country
because they just want
to leave their country.
Nobody comes to this country
just to--
you know, "We want to party."
The only reason immigrants come
is to make a better lives for
themselves and their family.
Puerto Ricans came in because
there was such poverty.
Corruption was rampant,
food was scarce.
My grandmother says she
remembers not eating for days.
She couldn't take it anymore
in Puerto Rico,
and they ended up
in the cities of New York.
New York was the shining city
on the hill.
When you look at Harlem
and people moving there,
they're trying to find a space
for themselves
where they can be treated well
and treated with respect.
I can never really
separate out
Black and Puerto Rican-ness
in Harlem.
It was no different.
We went through the same racism
and turmoil.
Police are there
in our community
not to promote our welfare
or for our security
or our safety,
but they're there
to contain us,
to brutalize us,
to m*rder us.
[all chanting]
The Black Panthers
became very prominent then
because they understood
what time it was.
Racists down here
said that SNCC
has been run out
of the Black community.
We're here, baby,
and this is where we gon' stay.
You better get yourselves
some g*ns, brother.
Being aware of Stokely
Carmichael and H. Rap Brown
and what was going on
in the Black community,
that was a part
of our political consciousness,
trying to understand
this country
and how it moves
against people.
[tense music]
One the home front, it was
a long, hot, riotous summer.
The streets belong to us!
Civil rights protests
blossomed
into full-fledged riots
that bordered on anarchy.
In 1967, there were over 100
riots that summer.
Get your hands up
and don't move!
We had the riot of Newark,
which was incredible,
in which Black people
shot back.
[g*nf*re]
We had the riots of Chicago.
We had the riots of Detroit,
which was horrible.
In the Motor City,
it took federal troops
to bring the disorder
to an end.
It was the largest uprising
ever, and I witnessed it
from the ninth floor
of the Leland House.
There were armed guards in
front of our particular hotel
and automobiles burning.
It was just mayhem.
It felt like the end
of the world.
And I started to understand
that this was the moment
that things would turn--
that acknowledgement
had to happen.
There is no violent solution
to the problem that the n*gro
confronts in this country,
but I do understand
the sociological,
the psychological,
and the economic reasons
why Negroes,
out of desperation, engage in
this kind of suicidal action.
That was probably
the most riots ever
across America
up to that point.
But one that was significant
was one that happened
in East Harlem
in the Puerto Rican community
where a young man was k*lled
by the police.
[overlapping chatter]
Mr. Mayor, would you agree
with the statement?
Wait a minute.
One at a time. The lady first.
Would you agree
with the statement
that this disturbance--
that it has nothing
to do with civil rights
but rather is a surfacing of
so-called criminal elements?
There is a virus.
The chief virus here
is deterioration and decay,
oppression sometimes,
discrimination,
and a feeling of hopelessness.
It was a community response
to police brutality.
For the first time,
East Harlem was
on the national news.
To see what was happening,
I mean the fires--
I could smell--it was acrid,
the smoke.
It was all over.
I don't think anybody
disagrees
that there must be
law and order,
but I think that what the
Black people are protesting
is that there is not
law and order.
It's only when a little
personal property
becomes involved.
Then we get concerned
about law and order.
But when it's human rights,
they aren't talking about
"let's have law and order"
then.
Political consciousness
is a process.
So our understanding of racism
really has to expand to
include all peoples of color.
[somber music]
Revolutionary culture says
at the cost of your life,
it's important to rebel.
At the cost of your life,
it's important to create
a future for your children.
This riot caused a shift
in the consciousness
of Puerto Ricans
and the community.
And I think the Puerto Rican
community began at that point
to organize--seriously organize.
Hanging out with Black
revolutionaries in those days,
you had to understand
the fervor.
There was a fervor.
You just were not afraid.
And I was ready to roll.
I was ready for armed struggle.
Rap Brown says to me,
"You have to organize
the Puerto Rican community."
Rap believed,
as the Panthers did,
rather than talk about unity,
go to the community
that you come from,
that you were born in,
and organize them.
You've gotta be there
with the people.
Because there was a lot
of internationalism
that was playing out
in Harlem at the time
from Puerto Rico,
from the Dominican Republic,
from various African
nations,
it was this incredible kind
of bubbling synergy
that was happening
around political ideas.
But then you also have people
coming through in the 1960s
like white popular musicians.
[rock and roll music]
3,000 screaming teenagers
are at New York's
Kennedy Airport
to greet--you guessed it--
the Beatles.
I remember when
the Beatles came.
America lost its mind.
First of all, everybody was
saying, "Go get a haircut!"
I didn't understand what all
of the big deal was.
I heard a copy
of American music.
That's what I heard.
When I first heard
the Beatles,
I thought they were Black.
[rock and roll music]
They were a heavy
imitation
of African American
rhythm and blues.
And they'll tell you they
took the music that they heard
from communities of color
in this country.
They were listening
to Jimmy Reed
and Muddy Waters
just like we were.
Everybody does that.
That's called music.
[chuckles]
I thought it was not only cool
and proper,
but the right thing
for young musicians in the UK
to be influenced
by Black music.
Even if you're
writing music
that is specifically geared
towards a group of people,
you still want others to hear it
so that they empathize.
That's the importance
of this type of poetry.
But a lot of other
American artists
like Elvis would use
the Black music
but not acknowledge
the relationship
to the body of music.
The Beatles didn't do that;
the Rolling Stones
didn't do that.
They acknowledged that
there's a merger of our music
with the African American
ethnic music,
and they created a sound that
African Americans can dance to
and not have a problem
with it.
Otis was probably,
out of all those people,
the one that everyone
could relate to.
Great performer.
A lot of energy.
There's some other wonderful
people before him.
Bobby "Blue" Bland,
Garnet Mimms,
a lot of those people
at Motown.
Marvin Gaye.
It was a music that probably
did the most
in the history of music
in America
for crossover in terms of how
the listener
were perceiving
the ethnic music
than any Black artist was
able to do.
The Beatles, the Rolling
Stones, and all of them,
I had not too much to do
with them personally,
it was just--
I felt they were usurping
money and time and energy
that should have been given
to us because we started this.
But this country just
cannot give it to us.
They would rather give it to
some foreign group of musicians
than to give it to musicians
who live, maybe, in your city.
[g*nf*re]
The news tonight,
despite an official denial,
is of a significant escalation
of the w*r in Vietnam.
[dramatic music]
We have made a
national pledge
to help South Vietnam defend
its independence.
And I intend to keep
that promise.
In terms of what's happening
to our sisters and brothers
they're dying unnecessarily,
so with the protest songs,
we can't ignore that.
People were singing about
the w*r in Vietnam,
and protests began to increase.
We fight because
we must fight
if we're to live in a world
where every country
can shape its own destiny.
[students chanting]
Hey, hey, LBJ!
How many kids have
you k*lled today?
Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids
have you k*lled today?
How can white people,
who are the majority
and who are responsible
for making democracy work,
make it work?
They have miserably failed
to this point.
They have never made
democracy work,
be it inside the United States,
Vietnam, South Africa,
the Philippines,
South America, Puerto Rico.
Wherever America has been,
she has not been able
to make democracy work.
We see this country trying
to rule the world,
and someone must stand up
and start articulating
that this country is not God
and cannot rule the world.
[cheers and applause]
You're telling me that
the Vietnam w*r
is to protect freedom
and democracy?
We cannot even sit
in lunch counters.
We cannot even ride
in the front seat of buses.
We can't even vote.
Why are we gonna fight
this w*r?
This is a contradiction we were
not prepared to tolerate.
So the Student Nonviolent
Coordinating Committee
issued the statement.
"We ourselves have often been
the victims
"of violence and confinement
"ex*cuted by the United States
government officials.
"We know that
for the most part,
"elections in this country,
"in the North as well
as the South, are not free.
"We question, then,
the ability and the desire
"of the United States
government
"to guarantee
free elections abroad.
"We take note of the fact
"that 16% of the draftees
from this country are Negroes
"called on to stifle
the liberation of Vietnam
"to preserve a 'democracy'
"which does not exist
for them at home.
"We ask where is the draft
"for the freedom fight
in the United States?
"We believe that the work
in the Civil Rights movement
"is a valid alternative
to the draft.
"We urge all Americans
to seek this alternative,
"knowing full well that this
may cost them their lives--
a penalty as painful
as in Vietnam."
We'll only be able
to stop the w*r in Vietnam
when the young men who are made
to fight it begin to say,
"Hell no.
We ain't going."
[cheers and applause]
[protestors chanting]
Hell, no! We won't go!
Hell, no! We won't go!
Hell, no! We won't go!
Hell no! We won't go!
[engines humming]
Just like African Americans,
you know,
Puerto Ricans got their heads
turned around
once they got to Vietnam
and saw what was going on.
One of the stories
from the boogaloo era
that sort of resonated
and stayed with me for years--
one guy was a paratrooper
that went over to Vietnam.
And he said, "You know, Joe,
we jumped out of planes
with your music on."
A lot of these guys were GIs
from New York and around it,
and they brought their music
over there to Asia.
One guy remarked, he said,
"You ever heard of Tokyo Rose?"
I said, "Yeah." He said,
"Well, they had one in Vietnam."
How are you, GI Joe?
It seems to me that most
of you are poorly informed
about the going of the w*r.
And every time she got
on the microphone,
she said, "Hey, you
guys, man.
"Wouldn't you rather be home
in New York
"listening to Joe Bataan
instead of being over here
fighting against us?"
And they would play my songs.
[Joe Bataan's
"Gypsy Woman" playing]
The draft disproportionately
pulled Blacks and then Latinos
and poor whites in the system
because you didn't have
other alternatives.
You couldn't go to college,
you had no lawyers to fight
for you
if you said you refused to go.
So a lot of people
in our community
were drafted and sent off
to the w*r.
I was drafted.
Some of my friends went off
to w*r and died.
Too many people were dying
that we knew
from our communities.
Black folks have always gone
to wars
to proves that we was worthy
of American citizenship.
But we had gotten to a point
where we could no longer
go dying
to prove how much we love
a nation
that refused to love us.
[somber music]
In that same period,
Dr. King is making a statement
on Vietnam.
A time comes when silence
is betrayal,
and that time has come for us
in relation to Vietnam.
Everybody talks about
the "I Have A Dream" speech,
which is one
of the greatest speeches ever.
But in 1967, and not far
from here at Riverside Church,
Dr. King gives a great speech
about poverty, militarism,
and racism.
And he connects those three.
And it became clear to me
that the w*r was doing far more
than devastating the hopes
of the poor at home.
It was sending their sons
and their brothers
and their husbands to fight
and to die
in extraordinarily
high proportions
relative to the rest
of the population
to guarantee liberties
in Southeast Asia
which they had not found
in Southwest Georgia
and East Harlem.
And I knew that I could
never again raise my voice
against the violence of
the oppressed in the ghettos
without having first
spoken clearly
to the greatest purveyor
of violence
in the world today,
my own government.
[fire crackling]
He does this shift.
He begins to talk about
the w*r in Vietnam
as a w*r of economic
exploitation,
as a w*r of capitalist
exploitation.
The w*r in Vietnam
is but a symptom
of a far deeper malady
within the American spirit.
People were outraged.
They said,
"Stay in your lane."
He says, "This is my lane
because the trucks are coming
from all directions."
Two articles that came out
in the editorial
of "The New York Times"
and "The Washington Post."
Both newspapers were scathing
in their denunciation
of Dr. King
but didn't take issue with him
just on the w*r.
It now sought to discredit him
in very profound ways
leaving nothing intact
that suggested the movement
was the correct thing
to be happening.
The world now demands
a maturity of America
that we may not be able
to achieve.
It demands that we admit
that we have been wrong
from the beginning
of our adventure in Vietnam.
But the true patriot,
the real American,
the one who was doing the
country the greatest service,
was the one who would in fact
state his case
that it was ill*gal,
immoral, unacceptable,
and not to the best interests
of the country.
Anti-w*r demonstrators
protest U.S. involvement
in the Vietnam w*r.
Martin Luther King leads
the procession
to the United Nations
where he urges UN pressure
to force the U.S. to stop
bombing North Vietnam.
That was like a turning point.
His voice had power.
Everyone listened to him.
Not only Black people,
but white people as well.
[dramatic music]
Central Park is
the starting point
for the parade
to the UN building.
The extremes are on display
here in Central Park.
Extremes in hair,
extremes in dress,
and extremes in
political viewpoints.
The march in '67
was extraordinary
because it was happening
in New York.
This was coming down
Central Park West,
this was going
across 42nd Street,
and I was actually on the stage
right behind Dr. King.
[indistinct chatter]
Dr. King was very solemn
that day.
He had a written speech.
One of his aides was toddling
with his speech.
Or whatever.
I don't know if they were
trying to keep Doc
from saying what he wanted
to say,
but when they brought it
back up to the stage,
he folded that paper up
and put it in his pocket
and never used it.
He spoke extemporaneously
without referring
to that document.
There are twice
as many Negroes
dying this day in action
in Vietnam
I didn't go down,
but I do remember I had some
friends that went down
and they came back and they
were so excited about it.
You know, it gave you hope
that there might be
some changes,
that things could change.
[warm music]
The beautiful thing was
the power that you felt
being in those numbers
marching down 5th Avenue
and marching down 42nd Street.
There was a power.
[warm music]
♪
When you're young, one of
the things you experience
when you're fighting
against something
or fighting for a cause
you've gotta believe
you're gonna win,
and you've gotta believe
it's gonna happen soon.
It usually don't happen
as soon as you wish,
but that's the power
of the collective,
the power of the masses.
Young people, whites, Blacks,
Asians, Latinos,
moving men, women together
calling for this change.
You just believe someone
is listening to you.
When you combine the idea of
love and freedom with justice,
then you have a people,
a culture, a music,
a movement, a hope, a prayer,
a life,
that is unstoppable.
[peaceful ambient music]
♪
[lion roars]
Welcome to our World! Where we serve you cookies to ensure you get the best viewing experience on our site.
Did you know that you can remove censorship board-wide, use our advanced search functions, be notified when new content is posted, join our memberships, set episodes to show in any order you want & more if you are logged into your account?
Register or sign in here: ucp.php?mode=register
Did you know that you can remove censorship board-wide, use our advanced search functions, be notified when new content is posted, join our memberships, set episodes to show in any order you want & more if you are logged into your account?
Register or sign in here: ucp.php?mode=register
01x03 - Crossroads
Watch/Buy Amazon
Documentary series examines the story of Harlem, its music during the 1960's and its connections to today.
Documentary series examines the story of Harlem, its music during the 1960's and its connections to today.