Paul Robeson, photographed at Madame St George’s studio in London in 1925, stands as a haunting symbol of a talent suppressed. Once hailed as a prodigious force in American culture, his story reveals the devastating impact of political persecution on artistic legacy.
The Rise and Fall of a Cultural Titan
In August 1972, the New York Times arts section posed a poignant question on its front page: Time to Break the Silence on Paul Robeson? This query highlighted a painful truth. Robeson spent the first half of the 20th century as one of the United States' most extraordinary talents, only to become, in the second half, its greatest casualty of the Red Scare. Today, as attacks on liberal and progressive politics draw comparisons to that era, Robeson's erasure feels particularly resonant.
This week marks fifty years since Robeson's death, yet the silence largely persists. Over the decades, his decoupling from the narrative of African American culture has been so thorough that generations of Black Americans have never encountered his name. What his political opponents began, the passage of time has nearly completed.
A Legacy of Groundbreaking Achievement
Robeson's talent was nothing short of monumental. In 1943, he integrated Broadway, becoming the first Black man to play Othello in the United States, a role previously performed by white actors in blackface. His run of 296 performances remains a Broadway record for a Shakespeare production.
His prowess extended far beyond the stage. A two-time All-American at Rutgers University, he is considered one of the greatest college football players in history. He graduated from Columbia Law School and even played defensive end for two years in the National Football League before achieving world renown as a concert singer and Hollywood actor.
At his peak, Paul Robeson was the most famous Black American in the world. His legacy inspired a staggering lineage of Black performers, from Lena Horne and Harry Belafonte to James Earl Jones, Andre Braugher, Keith David, and Denzel Washington.
The Price of Political Conviction
However, Robeson's refusal to denounce the Soviet Union as Cold War tensions escalated led to his isolation. He was shunned by the white mainstream and by respectable pillars of the Black establishment, including the NAACP and the Urban League, who feared being branded communist.
In a stark act of perceived patriotic duty, Jackie Robinson, the Brooklyn Dodgers star who had integrated Major League Baseball, testified against Robeson before the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1949. Robinson's testimony, coupled with two bloody riots protesting Robeson's concerts in Peekskill, New York, and immense government pressure, effectively ended Robeson's iconic status.
The state department, labelling him "the most dangerous man in America," refused to issue Robeson a passport for nearly a decade. His name was purged from record books and historical texts, even those from his alma mater, Rutgers University.
Parallels to Modern Political Divisions
Robinson's testimony and its devastating impact on Robeson draw unsettling parallels to today's volatile political climate, where the citizenship and loyalty of many Americans are routinely questioned. The current era sees intense debates over disengagement, particularly amid assaults on diversity initiatives and hostility towards teaching Black history in public schools.
Just as many progressives implored Robinson not to testify in the 1940s, some argue that the current political darkness is not a fight to be joined. Robinson himself would later express profound regret and bitterness over his role in Robeson's downfall and the lack of racial progress in America.
A Legacy Awaiting Reappraisal
For those who stood by him, Robeson never needed rediscovery. He was The Tallest Tree in the Forest and Citizen of the World, providing shade and inspiration. His supporters offered unwavering protection and veneration in return.
Following his death, one poignant letter to the editor served as a stark indictment: "He wasn’t mentioned in history books, like Nathan Hale. He wasn’t mentioned on football game broadcasts, like Red Grange... The man who was never mentioned despite the fact that he truly excelled not in one of the above fields, but in all of them." The letter lamented that only in death was he safely hailed as a "great American."
Robeson's isolation recalls the near-disappearance of other Black icons, like Malcolm X, who was later reclaimed by a new generation. A half-century after his death, Paul Robeson, The Tallest Tree in the Forest, still awaits his full and rightful reappraisal in the annals of American history and culture.
