Imagine driving west from Charleston, W.Va., to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign on the coldest weekend you had ever experienced for a graduate music audition, only to arrive and find the professor you knew — well, not really knew, but the professor who encouraged you to apply, who had said to you, “You will do well wherever you go, but Illinois will be good for you,” that professor — was not there.
That’s where I found myself in January 1980. I applied months earlier, received an audition date and time, and expected to see the professor who had encouraged me to apply at my audition. But he was away from campus at the time.
Ollie Watts Davis
I had not traveled alone. My then-fiancé was with me, along with my histories of education that began in a four-room segregated school taught by masterful educators trained at Historical Black Colleges and Universities; that continued in eventually integrated classrooms nine years after the Brown v. Board of Education decision; and on to undergraduate education with an international student body taught by professors with Ivy League credentials. I also carried my spiritual heritage that had been formed by Baptist and Church of God in Christ congregations.
When I arrived for graduate school, I began a disciplined course of study for artistic and academic preparation as a classical singer. I also engaged in co-curricular activities — midweek Black Chorus rehearsals, twice weekly Black literature seminars, and Sunday morning church services. All experiences were critical to my development and inform my work today.
It is this lived experience — mine, and the lived experience of so many others — that is now under attack of being discounted and dismantled, with the goal of erasure.
“It is this lived experience that is now under attack of being discounted and dismantled, with the goal of erasure.”
No one, not even our most trusted American institutions, is exempt from these attacks. Having sustained a stress-filled 18-month barrage of attacks and interference in the form of executive orders, a call for comprehensive internal review and social media posts intended to discredit his work at the Smithsonian Institution, Secretary Lonnie G. Bunch III announced a thoughtful, personal decision to step away. With nearly 40 years of service, including seven as the first historian and first African American secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, Bunch announced his resignation from the helm with an expected retirement in three months.
The announcement drew well-deserved congratulations along with grave concern about the future of the Smithsonian from historians, filmmakers, educators and cultural leaders. Bunch’s service and contribution are not lost on me. I add my congratulations and I am paying close attention to his example. He is controlling his narrative. He is resigning on his terms. He is retiring in his time and vows to “stand against wind and tide to prevent history from being erased, softened and made palatable.”
Erasure of histories is the calculated act of judging unrightly whose history is worthy of being seen, known and taught. It is a dangerous disservice to humanity, for it disregards the existence of the ancestors, discounts the contributions of the present generation, and denies future generations the proper education necessary to become who they are supposed to be. Erasure is an implement in a toolkit used to control the historical narrative.
“The news cycle is filled by efforts to rewrite history.”
The news cycle is filled by efforts to rewrite history. We are fighting violent narrative confrontations. Who would have imagined the onslaught of assault on our cultural treasure, namely the Smithsonian Institution?
Colonial thinking is hard-wired and difficult to penetrate. Yet, I understand the call on my life: To serve generations to the best of my ability. So, I press on and raise my voice using permanent marker as did my ancestors to inspire minds and impress hearts. Those I serve are my letters of commendation. As the great Shirley Chisholm says, “Service is the rent I’m paying for the privilege of living on this earth.”
Three things I believe: God has the whole world in his hand; evil can’t conceive and execute a perfect plan; and, in the words of Martin Luther King Jr., the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.
I invite you to use your voice as instrument and influence to pull down the arc of the moral universe toward justice more rapidly. Use the platform upon which you stand and be numbered as one who counters blatant attacks assailing our spiritual, moral, intellectual and physical well-being with integrity and truth-telling within your sphere of influence.
My move from the mountains of West Virgina to the prairie of Illinois was a migration in some respects, although I missed the Great Migration by a decade. Not unlike those brave souls, my movement brought with it pieces of my identity and permanent markings of my history I carried into a new moment.
My histories brought me to this place of being a decorated professor and a celebrated artist. I could not have become who I am without them. I am shaped by my ancestors’ DNA, the history they experienced and the service they rendered.
I’m entering my 47th year at Illinois with 45 of them as artistic director and conductor of the esteemed Black Chorus. Professor William Warfield had been right. Things have worked together for my good at Illinois.
“Free people, free people.”
Over the years, I have lent my voice to worthy causes. But we who believe in freedom cannot rest. Free people, free people.
The year 2020 was a defining moment for me. I pivoted from contributing in my usual way and curated a recital series of spirituals and art songs from my musical heritage that spoke directly to the time.
The year 2026 is calling me to quicken my pace and lift my song even more. Refusing the luxury of feeling stunned or stilted with disbelief at what’s happening, I resolve to speak with renewed intensity.
In 2027 I will return to those West Virginia hills to be inducted into the West Virginia Music Hall of Fame. I will make a pilgrimage on the turnpike to my hometown, Mount Hope, drive the winding road to Kessler’s Holler and view what remains of W.E.B. DuBois Elementary School. I will drive North Pax Avenue and see what’s left of the segregated housing project where I spent most of my formative years. I will reminisce about time spent on the playground, playing and presenting talent shows for parents sitting in lawn chairs lining the sidewalk.
I will leave renewed and strengthened from remembering my histories, ready to write new chapters using more permanent marker in the language of acts of service.
Ollie Watts Davis is the Suzanne and William Allen Distinguished Professor in Music and associate dean for graduate study in the College of Fine and Applied Arts at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, and a Public Voices Fellow of the OpEd Project.