Oh, To Be Free! Concert of Quanda Johnson

The concert last night was an incredible, uplifting, awesome experience.
The range of melodies and texts included fear, love, loss, oppression, happiness, defiance, and longing for freedom.
Quanda Johnson, soprano, based in New York City, has researched the stories of the fugitive African-American slaves who came through the Underground Railroad to Canada and freedom. From the deep sadness of "Lord, How Come Me Here" in which the woman cries, "They treat me so mean, they stole my children away, I wish I was never born," to the defiance of "My soul's been anchored in de Lawd; I'm gwinter pray and never stop, Until I reach de mountain top, My soul's been anchored in de Lawd." Quanda's range was so great, and her voice so powerful, that it seemed as if, should she sing in San Francisco, people would hear her in New York.

The singer is from a middle-class well-educated African American Philadelphian family, trained and experienced in Philadelphia and New York, but surely not immune from the racism which is still pervasive. She has taken on the mission of expressing the experience of the African diaspora, and the survival of African music and thought, in spite of barriers and oppression. The triumph of the songs in rising above heart-breaking and tragic experiences lifts the hearts of the listeners. In spite of all, the African-Americans have made their way to the top of the mountain, and this inspires us all -- to do better at working against oppression, and to be more steadfast in overcoming whatever problems we ourselves face.

The concert showed clearly how important religion was and is to the African Americans. The experience of having no one to turn to, no authority on their side, left them no help but God - Jesus - the Lord.
Even if no help came on this earth, there was assurance that judgement would be meted out - that where bosses, police, the courts and judges failed them, the Eternal Judge's all-seeing eye would provide a just judgement in the final times.
Religion for the oppressed was not just something nice to do on Sundays, not a pat on the back for good deeds, but a last appeal for moral support, recognition of wrongs, and affirmation of value, by a people who had been put down, denigrated, and enslaved by material power, unjust laws, and hostile governments. Higher than local law, higher than the master, and the law which had acquiesced with slavery, was a spiritual power which could judge the oppressed as worthy, and injustice as wrong.
As in Julia Ward Howe's text, when justice catches up with the oppressor, it can be a fearful and terrible judgement:
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on."