Just in time to reinforce the realities of the very recent historical past at the core of this debate is a new 3-CD collection released to coincide with a PBS series coming in January: Freedom: A History of US.

While this amazing set of patriotic, protest, workers, gospel, war and other songs is an incredible resource, it is perhaps TOO eclectic and comprehensive to hang together as a seamless listening experience. Disc 2 focusing on the plight of the black man and uplifting war ditties works best in this regard, several songs of which might act as an education for Senator Lott and his fellow-travelers.

Louis Armstrong, who whites came to regard as a nonconfrontational "good negro," couldn't make his frame of reference any clearer than on "(What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue" from 1929:

Old empty bed...springs hard as lead
Feel like ol' Ned...wished I was dead
What did I do...to be so black and blue

Even the mouse...ran from my house
They laugh at you...and scorn you too
What did I do...to be so black and blue

I'm white...inside...but, that don't help my case
'cause I...can't hide...what is in my face
(jazzman sounds)

How would it end...ain't got a friend
My only sin...is in my skin
What did I do...to be so black and blue

(instrumental break)

How would it end...ain't got a friend
My only sin...is in my skin
What did I do...to be so black and blue

What did he do? Nothing other than being born black - and this from the decidedly unmilitant Armstrong, who was derided for a time in his later years by black militants who only understood their history only a little better than Lott.

But Satchmo's poignant plea is just a generalized introduction to our segregated past. Billie Holiday's horrifying, stark "Strange Fruit" from 1939 is another matter entirely:

Southern trees bear strange fruit.
There's blood on the leaves,
There's blood at the roots.
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze;
There's strange fruit hanging from the poplar tree.

The scenic view of the quiet south;
Those bulging eyes, the twisted mouth.
The scent of magnolia comes as sweet and fresh.
Suddenly: the stench of black burning flesh.
Now here my friends,
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck.
A tear for the rain to gather;
The roaring wind to suck.
For the sun to rise,
And those trees to drop:
And I hear there's a strange and bitter crop.

Spend a little time with that song, that imagery, that mindset, Trent. This is the logical conclusion of segregation, sanctioned by law, enforced by terror.

Josh White's "Trouble" from 1940 continues the theme:

Well, I always been in trouble, 'cause I'm a black-skinned man.
Said I hit a white man, [and they] locked me in the can
They took me to the stockade, wouldn't give me no trial
The judge said, "You black boy, forty years on the hard rock pile."
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