It’s at this point that the contrast between Davis and Albert is the sharpest. When Davis decides to release a record, he can call on all kinds of free musical help to produce what is ultimately nothing more than a cover-version of an old classic. But compare his labor-free accumulation of grace to the manner in which Albert and his Indians will get literally nothing but police harassment for their labor, not only fighting battles they know they will lose, but acquiring a virtual get-into-jail-free card for their trouble. For Davis, “culture” is an unearned grace; for Albert, it’s a life of toil with no material reward, and an identity whose fundamental opposition and antagonism to the state is as well understood by the state as by the chanters themselves. His “culture” brings with it — is stitched and woven out of — a fundamental identity of alienation that Davis will never need to understand, and never will. And so, while Davis means well, sort of, he’s not an Indian, not black, and his little campaign against the status quo lasts only as long as it amuses him to continue it: his is the privilege to possess an uncomplicated correlation between place and identity that will be neither extended to nor sought by Albert and his men. And they will work hard for what he will never even know enough about to truly want, and never need to work to possess anyway.
Aaron Bady | The Privileged White Men of Treme, and Their Hard Working Others
Notes
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