If you listen to old white men, nostalgia means (among other things) a sentimental longing for the days when women were under their thumb; when gays, immigrants and people of color could be openly disparaged and discriminated against without consequence; and when our social, political and media culture constantly reinforced their dominion over all. They want those days back, regardless of what it means to anyone else.
I’m nostalgic for the 1960s, because that’s when I first learned to RESIST the things those old white men cherished. It’s also when I learned what it meant to “identify” with something. It was a time so powerful that it shaped the world view I would keep for all my days. I planted my flag on the side of the resistance. Civil rights, Stonewall, birth control, draft resisters. The massive March on Washington against the Vietnam War. Those beliefs defined me. But I was only 14, and isolated in a suburb of Pittsburgh. There weren’t many opportunities for a kid like me to actually participate in the generational rebellion. But in my room with the door closed, there was protest music.
One of those voices of the 1960s was more beautiful than all the others — Joan Baez. Fifty years later, it still is. And fifty years later, Joan Baez is still a righteous, principled, lover of humankind. She’s on her farewell tour now, and I was honored to see her concert last night in Nashville. These are some of the moments that I savor:
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I blog this today because writing it down makes it last longer. I hope you feel as fortified by Joan Baez as I do.
Thank you for your posting. 50+ years ago I worked doing the books for a shoe store owned by a wonderful dear man who loved Joan Baez. All alone in the back room, I would listen to his tapes of her songs over and over. The sound of her voice and theme of her music has been with me all these years.
I do. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing the details so we can enjoy the experience 💓