The Music of Archie Roach
Alice Walker and Archie Roach: Sydney Opera House 5/14
Photo by Karen Villanueva
The Music of Archie Roach
Seams Of Gold: Was the Gold We Seek Once Inside Us?
©2014 by Alice Walker
Twenty- two years ago, in Adelaide, at one of Australia’s literary festivals, I met Archie Roach. But did we actually meet? What would we have said? It is probably truer to say that I saw Archie Roach, as he sauntered past in colorful vest and Mohawk hair cut, on the way to the stage to sing a selection of his extraordinarily beautiful and soulful songs. An Aboriginal man of gentle force, dignity, and with more than a bit of indomitability in his smile, he certainly stood out. Did I meet Ruby, his wife? Was she there? Probably, because even though they were caring for a houseful of abandoned street children at the time, as someone had whispered to me, they were almost always together. So much so that one did not say “Archie” or “Ruby” but “Archie and Ruby” always.
I bought the CD Charcoal Lane for its most haunting cut: “Took The Children Away,” and, home again, I listened to it until I knew every line. At first it was almost too painful to bear, the genocide, pathology and sheer madness visited on the Aboriginal peoples by the British convict/settlers and their descendants, but as I became used to Archie’s voice – pure, truthful, wise – I turned from mourning to celebrating the survival of this poet and lover of his people who, with only his voice (and Ruby’s accompaniment and songwriting) resolutely traveled the land. A blackfella, guitar in hand, Roach expressed a fierceness to honor the truth of his life as an Aboriginal (a Nunga, more correctly, since ‘aboriginal’ is simply what all the many different groups of people the Europeans ‘discovered’ in Roach’s homeland – of some 40 to 60 thousand years – were called) that included ancestors and kin of the distant past, sisters and brothers of the deeply stressful present, and the beloved children of a nearly unimaginable but inevitable future.
Always when I am deeply moved by someone, I think I will never see them again. But years later Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter came to the Bay Area in California. A friend and I went happily off to hear them. They were wonderful, but it was a chilly evening and as soon as they’d finished their last set we whisked them away to my house in San Francisco where we four set about immediately building a fire. Fire built, heat turned up, warm drinks served, maybe some snacks, we sat right down on the floor and within an hour, as soon as they were warm, and as if they hadn’t just delivered an entire concert across the Bay, they began to sing. I dragged out drums and percussion sticks and we sang and played until it was time for them to go.
I asked them to stay, of course. I could not imagine losing them again so soon. But they were on tour, had an itinerary, and were committed to moving on. Bereft, but hoping it didn’t show, I let them go. Before leaving we hugged. And this is what I would fly thousands of miles twenty-two years later to tell Archie; alone now, since Ruby had died some years before: When I hugged them I had the distinct impression, and also “saw” this somehow (and see it still, as I write) that each of them contained a substantial seam of gold, studded with minerals and small plants, running vertically right down the center of their bodies. When I asked Archie if he had ever experienced anything like this he said one of his uncles had had something similar, but that it was a light, a golden light. I wonder if it was golden light that I saw? But then how did the plants and minerals stick? I have never experienced this before or since, and I have hugged hundreds, if not thousands, of good people.
Archie is some years younger than me, yet, seeing him backstage at The Sydney Opera House -that magical structure that seems to be made of colossal clam shells – I had a sense of us being close in Being if not in age. He had lost Ruby, the love of his life. They had lived together for thirty-eight years, since they were teen-agers living on the street. He’d also suffered a stroke and, from cancer, lost part of a lung. I had lost a child I loved for over a decade, had only recently seen my only grandchild, and had experienced my own set of physical challenges, personal and professional storms, which, without ancestor protection, staunch friends and family, and gratitude for Life, would surely have driven me under.
Yet, we were standing.
Since we were guests of the spectacular 2014 Sydney Literary Festival, I gave Archie a copy of my two latest books: The Cushion in the Road: Meditation and Wandering As the Whole World Awakens to Being in Harm’s Way, and The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers. He gave me a CD, Into the Bloodstream, and a boxed set of his work called CREATION, which I have been listening to steadily. My favorite CD so far is Disk Four, “Sensual Being” which has the same passion and power of all Archie’s work, but is surprisingly upbeat, humorous at times, and yes, sensual. I love it. The very first song “Alien Abduction” is about extraterrestrial “aliens” who come to Earth from time to time to abduct people and carry out experiments on them. Since this is a subject much discussed by South African Zulu shaman Credo Mutwa, whose massive African “Bible” Ndaaba, My Children I have had the hair-raising adventure and duty to read, it seems to open for contemplation an entirely unexpected channel of Indigenous thought. The First Nations People of Earth have rarely been invited to join the discussion of who else might be roaming the galaxies, but it is lovely to have these two “Native” men carry on with what they know or surmise, anyway. This running off with the story – whether experienced, imagined, God whispered, dreamed, or overheard – is such a black trait, I think, as I write this. And I suppose it comes precisely from the awareness of being, for the most part, excluded from the “National” or “International” conversation, since what do we know anyway, having no say, usually, about how things are run. (Insanely, as it has turned out).
This is not said in bitterness, for which it is too late, but rather in humor. The word on the Net is that because of Fukushima and other disasters stemming from non-listening, much of the world is going down, which leads to an existential frame of mind. If it’s “all over” all is permitted: wars and starvation of people, slavery and the abuse of children,for instance. Or, (and this is why we love Camus) if it is “all over” now is the time to rejoice at any opportunity to deeply embrace others and this world. Archie Roach, an ‘Aboriginal’ man who, as a boy, was stolen from his people and an effort made to turn him into a caricature of his white captors, has made his choice. It is solid, radiant, and beautiful beyond belief. As is he. As was she, his other self, and most beloved: Ruby Hunter. May she rest in peace.
Recommended: Survival In Our Own Land: “Aboriginal” experiences in “South Australia” since 1836: told by Nungas and Others. Edited and researched by Christopher Mattingley: co-edited by Ken Hampton. The film Utopia by John Pilger.
Also recommended: The Myth of Sisyphus, by Albert “One must imagine Sisyphus smiling” Camus.
La música de Archie Roach
Vetas de oro: ¿Estaba el oro que buscábamos dentro de nosotros?
Siempre, cuando me siento hondamente conmovida por alguien, pienso que jamás lo volveré a ver. Sin embargo, años después, Archie Roach y Ruby vinieron al área de la Bahía de San Francisco en California. Una amiga y yo salimos alegremente a escucharlos. Estuvieron maravillosos, pero era una tarde gélida y tan pronto como terminaron su última parte nos los llevamos a mi casa en San Francisco donde nos acomodamos los cuatro inmediatamente prendiendo el fuego. Prendido el fuego, la temperatura elevada, servidas bebidas calientes, quizás algún refrigerio, nos sentamos directamente en el piso y en una hora, tan pronto como entraron en calor y como si ni hubiesen realizado todo un concierto en la Bahía, empezaron a cantar. Saqué tambores y baquetas y tocamos y cantamos hasta que fue la hora de marcharse.
Les pedí que se quedaran, por supuesto. No podía hacerme a la idea de perderlos de nuevo tan pronto. Mas estaban de gira, tenían un itinerario y se hallaban obligados a continuar adelante. Afligida, pero esperando que no se notara, los dejé partir. Antes de que se fueran nos abrazamos. Y esto fue por lo que volé miles de millas veintidós años después a decirle a Archie; solo ahora, ya que Ruby había muerto unos años atrás: cuando los abrazaba tenía la nítida impresión, y también lo “veía” (todavía lo veo, mientras escribo), que cada uno de ellos contenía una considerable veta de oro, tachonada de minerales y pequeñas plantas, corriendo de arriba abajo hasta el centro de sus cuerpos. Cuando le pregunté a Archie si alguna vez había experimentado algo parecido, dijo que uno de sus tíos había conocido algo similar, pero que era una luz, una luz dorada. Me pregunto si fue una luz dorada lo que vi. Sin embargo, ¿cómo se sujetaban los minerales y las plantas? Nunca he experimentado esto, ni antes ni después y he abrazado a cientos, sino miles, de buenas personas.
Archie es algunos años más joven que yo, no obstante, al verlo entre bastidores en la Casa de la Ópera de Sydney –esa mágica estructura que parece hecha de colosales conchas de almeja- tuve la sensación de que nosotros éramos cercanos en el ser si bien no en edad. Había perdido a Rubv, el amor de su vida. Habían vivido juntos por treinta y ocho años, desde que eran adolescentes que vivían en la calle. Él también había sufrido un derrame cerebral y perdido parte de un pulmón por cáncer. Yo había perdido una hija que amé por más de una década, solo recientemente había visto mi nieta y había experimentado mi propio grupo de amenazas físicas, tormentas personales y profesionales, lo que, sin protección ancestral, amigos firmes y gratitud hacia la vida, me hubieran enterrado.
Sin embargo, estamos en pie.
Como éramos invitados al espectacular Festival Literario de Sydney 2014, le regalé a Archie copias de mis dos últimos libros: The Cushion in the Road: Meditation and Wandering As the Whole World Awakens to Being in Harm’s Way (La almohada en el camino: meditación y andanzas cuando el mundo entero despierta a estar en el camino del daño) y The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers (El mundo seguirá a la dicha: convirtiendo la locura en flores). Él me dio un CD, Into the Bloodstream (En el torrente sanguíneo), así como una caja con el conjunto de su obra denominada Creation, que he estado escuchando incesantemente. Mi CD preferido hasta ahora es el disco cuatro, Sensual Being (Criatura sensual) que tiene igual pasión y fuerza que toda la obra de Archie, pero es sorprendentemente optimista, divertido y, sí, sensual. Me encanta. La misma primera canción “Alien Abduction” (Abducción alienígena) trata de “aliens”, extraterrestres que vienen a la Tierra de vez en cuando a secuestrar personas para realizar experimentos con ellos. Ya que este es un tema muy discutido por el chamán zulú de Sudáfrica Credo Mutwa, cuya copiosa Biblia africana, Ndaaba (Mis hijos), he tenido la conmovedora aventura y el deber de leer, parece abrir a la contemplación un canal enteramente inesperado de pensamiento indígena. Los pueblos aborígenes de la Tierra raramente han sido invitados a sumarse en las discusiones sobre quiénes más pueden estar viajando por las galaxias, pero es estupendo tener a estos dos indígenas que prosigan con lo que saben o infieren, de todas formas. Esta exposición de la historia –sea experimentada, imaginada, susurrada por Dios, soñada u oída accidentalmente– es un rasgo negro, pienso mientras escribo esto. Y supongo que viene precisamente del discernimiento de ser, por lo general, excluidos de la conversación “nacional” o “internacional”, porque ¿qué sabemos de todas formas, sin tener voz, normalmente, sobre cómo se llevan las cosas? (Alocadamente, como ha resultado.)
Esto no está dicho con amargura, para la cual es demasiado tarde, más bien con humor. Lo que se dice en la Internet es que debido a Fukushima y otros desastres ocasionados por no escuchar, gran parte del mundo se está arruinando, lo que lleva a una estructura mental existencialista. Si todo “está acabado” todo está permitido: guerras y muerte de personas por hambre, esclavitud y abuso de niños, por ejemplo. O (es por esto que amamos a Camus), si todo “está acabado”, ahora es el tiempo de regocijarse con cualquier oportunidad de abrazar fuertemente a otros y a este mundo. Archie Roach, un hombre indígena que, de niño, fue robado a sus padres y sufrió el intento por convertirlo en una parodia de sus captores blancos, ha hecho su elección. Es increíblemente sólida, radiante y bella. Tal y como es él. Tal y como era ella, su otra parte del ser, y su muy amada: Ruby Hunter. Que en paz descanse.
-Mañuel Verdecia
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