Music Minus None: DEI forever
“We must not remember that Daniel Webster got drunk but only remember that he was a splendid constitutional lawyer. We must forget that George Washington was a slave owner . . . and simply remember the things we regard as creditable and inspiring. The difficulty, of course... is that history loses its value as an incentive and example; it paints perfect men and noble nations, but it does not tell the truth.” —W.E.B. Dubois
In 1996, I read a book called Lies My Teacher Told Me. In it, author James W. Loewen examines twelve popular high school history texts, showing how they sanitized and edited American history into a narrative of unbroken, noble progress. It was my first exposure to historiography; I’d never considered how the force of economic and cultural beliefs might play into how we told our stories. Dumbed down for a bestseller though the book may have been, for me it was monumental.
I was a young woman navigating my first big opera house job and trying to get started as a conductor. My workdays were laced with regular doses of casual sexism and occasional worse harassment, and when I sought support or advice, what usually came back was some version of calm down, you’re new here. Women haven’t been active in positions of leadership for very long in our business. Men are in charge, so don’t make them uncomfortable or be a baby about it. Show that you can take it! Eventually acceptance will come.
An obedient student, I’d dutifully learned the Great Lineages of Classical Music’s composers, performers, and conductors, and that knowledge felt like an initiation. I might not have belonged to the thoroughbred class, but I believed my fluency showed respect that brought me nearer to it, like Sophie memorizing Oktavian’s family tree (that’s a Der Rosenkavalier reference, which shows I have never really gotten over my love of being in the club). Now, inspired by Loewen’s book, I started to dig deeper into music history. It didn’t take long to find the presence of women, who weren’t new to the profession at all. Composers, performers, patrons, influencers - they had been players from the start. It’s just that their stories didn’t get repeated as often or included in the most exclusive texts. And the more I learned about classical music’s sacred canon of men, the more I learned what a very small circle they represented: tiny, tight-knit clubs in Paris, Milan, and Vienna, with occasional upstart energy from some fringe German town. What had been left out of the narrative was, of course, vast. It wasn’t just numbers. It was variety and nuance - diversity.
I eagerly embraced this when and where the diversity met my life and made me feel good, which centered on my gender. It felt great to talk about powerful women of the past, to learn their music, and to consider why their stories had not been brought forward. But not every reconsideration of historical narratives captured my attention. I specifically remembering turning away from conversations about Madama Butterfly and Porgy and Bess. That those works, which I loved, could be experienced as racist - well, I didn’t want to sit with the discomfort that idea aroused, or consider my part in the larger story.
In that regard, the last decade has been a mind- and life-changing one, beginning with the Ferguson protests in 2014 and continuing to the present day. Our industry has slowly, reluctantly, rudely, unskillfully, and finally begun to grapple with its racist, sexist, and classist practices. So many incredible performers, creators, and educators have put their work on the line and given of their time and energy to educate people and move the needle. The adoption of DEI in schools and workplaces was powerful. Even if some people treated it more like CYA, it often felt like we were beginning to move in new directions. New music was under my fingers and in my studio, and colleagues across the country were creating and performing work with newly amplified voices. We were just beginning, it seemed, to hear new stories in a new way, just the start of a long journey.
The interruption of that barely-begun effort in the last weeks and months has been heartbreaking. Watching our current leadership cruelly take giant, increasingly cavalier steps backward, disrespecting the work of so many, is discouraging in the extreme. To have words like diversity, equity, and inclusion, which should ring out as obvious American values, disparaged as discriminatory or meant to uplift the undeserving, is crazy-making.
I have empathy for anyone who wants to run from the pain of learning about their own privileges in a racist, sexist, and classist system. Capitalism has incredible benefits and breathtaking harms; most of us, perhaps all, experience some combination of both. What human isn’t more drawn to the story of their disadvantage, and the ego-salving hero’s journey of overcoming it, than to the story of how they were unaware of their advantages and how they blindly benefitted from them?
Add to this our current rough road with technology, each of us barely hanging on as computers permanently change the way we see the world. Screen life makes it easier than ever for us to curate an existence that reinforces what we want to believe. We don’t simply stay ignorant, we have algorithms that actively feed us what we want to hear. It’s possible for us to connect virtually, but it’s not a given that we’re wise enough to do so outside the lines of our own comfort, especially as our own fears rise concurrent with increasing global and environmental stability.
So yeah, humans, I feel us, but we have got to do better. America is swiftly leading the charge back towards segregation and subjugation. DEI has transformed my life as a performer and an educator. I won’t go back.
This newsletter is called “Music Minus None.” That’s inclusion. So for this month, the inspiringly named March, I’m committing to a daily post amplifying the career and/or work of someone who’s opened my eyes and ears and taught me. I invite you to comment, to suggest and share, and to join the conversation. There’s a lot to deal with out there, and this lil page about music is not going to change the world, but it sure as hell is also not going to say nothing.
Music Minus NONE. Solidarity.
This is dedicated to all of my friends at the Kennedy Center, and at state universities. Keep doing your good work, and take heart - also take naps, and go outside.
Bonus content: STRIKE UPDATE!
My friend Patricia Kristof Moy sent this video from French pianist Paul Montag, who made it in support of the striking pianists at the French conservatories. It’s a great combo of education about our specialties and solidarity across the profession. You can turn on captions if you don’t speak French!
thanks for reading.