“The Only Way Out is Back Through”
Today is MLK Day. A day to think about and reflect upon the life and sacrifices of Martin Luther King, Jr. and his visions of a more equitable and harmonic world.
I remember the morning of the inauguration of Barack Obama, watching the news. All the pundits were there, waving their arms and proclaiming that we were now living in a “post racial world.”
This was all, of course, just a ruse. A crock of steaming shit, if you will.
The economic violence and suffering inflicted by the Transatlantic Slave Trade cannot be erased by electing a different kind of face to front the Empire.
The Wound goes much deeper.
One time, during the Presidency of Barack Obama and after the “Post Racial” proclamations, I was cast in a play in a church way out in deep Brooklyn.
Brownsville, to be exact.
“Ma’afa” , the play was called, meaning “Great Tragedy” or “the Black Holocaust”. It is a play that was put on yearly to commemorate the Transatlantic Slave Trade and the human toll it took on countless lives. It was an Event and people came from all over the area- far outside the city, even- to see it. The play was/is brutal and spared nothing in its depictions.
I was cast to play a Dutch colonial, crooked priest. It was a large cast and I was one of three White actors in it.
I had one or two scenes so for most of the rehearsal process, I would sit in the pews and watch.
I remember the sounds of whips on the stage and how they would echo through the church building. Over and over and over and over. Harsh slash of leather on the wood. With each stroke, the actors would double over and wail- in unison- to portray the constant beatings.
One day, when I was watching rehearsal for “Ma’afa”, I started to become overwhelmed by the pain- and my implication in it. You could call this a panic attack. That’s what it felt like. Shallow breaths. Walls closing in. Tears welling.
There were Healers sitting in the pews for this type of event- as it was not uncommon.
I went over to the Healers. I half explained myself.
I didn’t need to. They got the point.
An elderly man sprinkled me with holy water.
An elderly woman held my hand and rubbed my back.
“The only way out is back through,” she whispered into my ear.
“The only way out is back through.”
My body calmed.
Years later, I was riding the subway to Lincoln Center.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the actor John Turturro (“Barton Fink”, “Do the Right Thing”, “The Big Lebowski”, among others). I didn’t want to make a deal of it but I wanted to say something.
I am me, after all, and I cannot let these moments pass.
“Hey, man,” (inner monologue: so casual! So nonchalant! good job!), “just wanted to say, uh, I love your work.” (Inner monologue: be more specific, David! That’s an acting thing! Say WHY you love it!).
“Such stillness you’ve got,” (inner monologue: ok! Less casual! Kind of vague and maybe a little pretentious but ok! You said SOMETHING!)
John Turturro Turturro’d (which means slightly turned. It’s a word I just made up.) to me and said, “Thanks. You know, it takes a lifetime to stop flopping around, kid.”
— — — —
“The only way out is back through.”
“It takes a lifetime to stop flopping around, kid.”
These things are related.
It is no secret to anyone out there that we are very far from living in a “post racial” world. There is lots of work to do and I have done relatively little to none of it, in the grand scheme of everything.
I am but a dazed and confused White Man trying to make sense of my daze and confusion, but I do know that there is some clarity in this: if we can sit still as the storms rage inside us and all around us- if we can find the place that stops flopping around, kid- if we can realize in a primal and bone-deep kind of way that the only way out is back through- not around or over or to the side or any other which way we think we can juke the pain- if we can arrive there- well then maybe we have a chance to manifest some of the harmony of which Dr. King dreamed. In ourselves. Amongst each other. In nature.
And even if that harmony never comes, at least we will know that we went down swinging in our stillness.
