The People Sing

This post is by Jenna Blyler.

This week at the White House, whether in praise or protest, the United States Army Choir performed, “Do you hear the People Sing?” to congresspeople, governors, and the U.S. President.

The popular piece comes from a 1980s musical inspired by Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables. In the musical, it is sung as a rallying cry for a decisive, rugged jumble of young people resistant to the French monarchy. The political intent of the U.S. Army Choir holds less interest for me than the opportunity the performance gives each of us to reflect on our values in a separate context. If you are familiar with the musical or the book, I wonder which character you respect. For me, I hope, when the moment comes, to be like Enjolras and Eponine.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine prepared a presentation about water pollution and used the 2010 Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill and the 2014 Flint Water Crisis as examples. As she discussed the effects of lead and oil in our waterways, I remembered that I first learned about these events through my participation in choir. At that time, nearly a decade ago, I didn’t believe in climate change, and without those scores, I might have ignored environmental issues for much longer. But there was something to dissecting, reimagining, and performing these pieces that bypassed my stubbornness and placed me with an experience I hadn’t personally lived. Since then, choir has taken me to the frontlines of wars and social movements, where I’ve somehow become part of history’s defining moments and gained priceless clarity on where I stand in the present.

That to say, the events of today are not unprecedented. Restricting access to literature, for example, might be the oldest trick in the playbook of monarchs, politicos, priests, and similar powers. Back home in Florida, my choir responded to book bans within the public education system by running a concert of forbidden music, which consisted, unsuspectingly, of works such as Ella Fitzgerald’s Old MacDonald Had a Farm and Igor Stravinsky’s Star-Spangled Banner. The concert encouraged the audience to question past decisions, draw parallels with the present, and reexamine their values in a new light. Last night, at her life achievement acceptance speech, Jane Fonda asked the world for similar reflections.

Sometimes, we may see changing our minds as self-abandonment, as if revisiting an aspect of who we think we are means that we lose something, rather than choose it. Instinctually, it may seem easier or more courageous to dig our heels in, bare our teeth, and accept the costs. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. When it isn’t, music and other art forms can offer us a disarming moment of openness that removes us from our present context, engages our imagination, and invites us to choose which version of ourselves to be and on what side of history we stand. A choral arrangement of Robert Frost’s poem, Choose Something Like a Star emphasizes the necessity of these reflections, and remains my favorite piece I’ve sung in choir.

“… So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid…”