Volume 13:1 Winter 2000/ISSN 1075-0029

�➇News from the recent PFP exhibit!!Folk Arts of Social Change!

� Bloodstains by Bil l Westerman

� Reclaiming a tradition: mid-autumn festival inPhiladelphia’s Chinatownby Deborah Wei

� La Virgen de Guadalupeand Struggles for Justiceby Miguel Diaz-Barriga & Luis Tlaseca

I N P R O G R E S S

WorrKsmaga z i n e o f t h e p h i l a d e l p h i a f o l k l o r e p r o j e c t

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10 Folk arts of social change: excerpts

22 Folk arts of social change: curator’s selection

30 About PFP exhibitions

32 Membership form

1 From the director

3 Bloodstains

6 Reclaiming a tradition: mid-autumn festival inPhiladelphia’s Chinatown

8 La Virgen de Guadalupe & struggles for justicein Chester County

Blood Stains

by William Westerman

In 1890, a religious revival sweptacross the Plains states among theNative American nations with anunusual message. It preached thatif believers kept dancing, then allthe ancestors and dead buffalowould return, all the whites woulddie, the world would be covered ina flood, and those who dancedwould survive the deluge. For thisceremony, the Dakota Indians, whohad been defeated and impover-ished, confined to reservations andfacing freezing cold and near star-vation in the wintertime, designedspecial new clothing, often madeout of the thin muslin sacks usedto haul in grain supplies in the ear-liest days of reservation life. Unliketraditional ceremonial clothing ofthe time, many of these Ghostshirts, as they became known,were pure white, with an occasion-al symbol to protect the wearerfrom bullets. The shirts were toothin to shield anyone from thecold, but donning the shirt madeone immune from gunfire. On abitter December day, the Indianswere conducting a Ghost Dance atWounded Knee when the whitesoldiers, interpreting the dance asa threat, moved in to subdue thisuprising. They arrested the leader,Sitting Bull, and in the confusionand ensuing struggle to free him,the US army opened fire, killing

around 300 unarmed civilians.Those who weren’t killed outrightfroze to death in the snow.

Was it aggression? On whosepart? Certainly, as the Irish-Ameri-can folklorist James Mooneywould later show his mostly whitereadership, this was a genuine reli-gious ceremony, with appeals todeity and belief in supernaturalintervention. Mooney’s family hadIrish republican sympathies; hewas raised in a Quaker town inIndiana where Earlham Collegewas the dominant institution. Itwas a religion, he wrote, but oneborn of devastation and oppres-sion at the hands of whiteinvaders. To the army it was war-like behavior and little more;some anthropologists said it indi-cated a pathology.

Today, someone might see theGhost Dance as an intertwinedreligious and political movement,or as a phenomenon calling onspiritual intervention (like somuch religious life) and citing asa goal the end of political oppres-sion (like so many political move-ments). The dancing, themovement, the music, the cloth-ing-these were all the outwardmanifestations of deeply-heldbeliefs, artistic ways of conveyingbeliefs to one another, to the

whites, to the spirits. It is impos-sible to separate the belief fromthe action, the internally heldideas from the creations andmotions that expressed them,and in this case, the religiousfrom the political. And yet thereremain questions about the cul-ture of the Dakotas in 1890: Werethey acting or reacting? Werethey protesting or despairing?Were they hopeful or hopeless?And, was everyone participatingof like mind about all these otherdegrees of belief and commitment?

It is far easier to shrug and shootand kill off what you don’t under-stand than to take the time to dis-entangle all the strands of beliefand life experience and tragedyand victory and subjugation andviolence and transcendence andalliance—and the other definingrelations that constitute social lifeamong beings with very unequalpower.

The negotiation of power rela-tionships is a fundamental aspectof human existence. On somelevel we are always aware of thepower we have in a situation, orwe are trying to assess our ownand the other person’s. That is

[Continued on p.4 ➝]

From the Editor

Folk arts are seldom seenas progressive or politi-cal, and artifacts of polit-ical expression are rarelyseen as belonging to atradition of art-making.

Despite their differences, grass-roots artists and grassrootsactivists fight similar battles forequity and justice, often needingto begin by asserting the realityand authority of their own expe-riences. Folklore (another namefor art) can help people in thesestruggles, and our recent exhibi-tion “Folk Arts of Social Change”filled the galleries of the SamuelS. Fleisher Art Memorial here inPhiladelphia with folklore formsthat have historically helped peo-ple to know and name them-selves, to communicate collectivetruths about their experiences, toremember the past, and to fight,in many different ways, for digni-ty and justice.

Our new exhibition took a wideview of folk arts in its attentionto the crafted, creative and tradi-tional quality of social changework. In its attention to themeanings and functions of folkarts, the show took a similarlywide view of Philadelphia’s pro-gressive heritage. “Folk Arts ofSocial Change” brought togetherthe kinds of progressive politics(and possibilities) and roots tradi-

tions, or alternatives, that havelong been at the core of thePFP’s work. We see art andactivism, not as things that “oth-ers” do, but as processes that weall call on in our daily lives. Our“Folk Arts of Social Change” wasanother step in working to makeboth art and activism more acces-sible to us, as powerful and col-lective resources. The process ofundertaking the exhibition wasmoving and humbling, as we hadthe opportunity to meet (and tolearn from) so many differentpeople who artfully craft justiceand equity in their everydaylives. We see the exhibition, andthe glimpses of it that we sharein these pages, as just the begin-ning of an ongoing project, andwe invite your responses—bothon the brief samplings we canoffer in these pages and on ournew web site, which will beopening in the new year. (Pleasecome visit us atfolkloreproject.org). We hope thatyou will share your thoughts.(We’ll be happy to send you amagnet in thanks!)

More than 170 interviews wereconducted by curator TeresaJaynes over the course of twoand a half years, and we arehappy to thank many for making“Folk Arts of Social Change” pos-sible. We received funding from

the Philadelphia Exhibitions Ini-tiative (funded by The Pew Char-itable Trusts and administered bythe University of the Arts), theNational Endowment for the Arts,the William Penn Foundation, thePennsylvania Humanities Council(the state-federal partner of theNational Endowment for theHumanities), the PennsylvaniaCouncil on the Arts, and many,many generous PhiladelphiaFolklore Project friends andmembers. We especially want tothank Teresa Jaynes for her workboth in curating “Folk Arts ofSocial Change” and over the pastfive years at the PFP. By the timeyou receive this, we are bothproud and sad to tell you thatTeresa will have left us and willbe working full-time on her ownart, the recipient of a 1999 PewFellowship in the Arts. We’ll missher and wish her well…—Debora Kodish

“Peace pillow” made in 1970 by theauthor’s grandmother.Photo: Will Brown

Pro-choice marchacross the BenjaminFranklin bridge, 1992

Photograph by Harvey Finkle

3

all around us, from the battlefieldto the kitchen. If religion is ulti-mately about our relation to thedivine, then politics is about ourrelation to violence, force, and power.

In our interiors we nurture spiritu-al thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.Occasionally these are givenexpression in places of worship,in sacred spaces around thehome, in moments of trial oremotion. But, though it is seldomfashionable to say so, we also allnurture our own observationsand reactions about power andviolence, rarely giving voice tothose impressions. It is thosemoments when the interiorawareness of unjust powerbreaks through in an artistic way,often social, that the PFP exhibi-tion “Folk Arts of SocialChange” celebrates. Folk-lorists are most interested inthat significant place wherebelief meets creativity. Whydoes someone return to atraditional art form that hasbeen banned? Why doessomeone dance in opposi-tion to an occupying army?What possesses someone towrite on a freight train forpassers-by to see (as I recent-ly saw), “Graffiti is art and ifart is a crime may God forgive me”?

The development of a political lifestarts in the family and in thecommunity. No single act makesone political, any more than anyone act makes someone reli-gious. No single act makes some-one an activist. Each action is partof a matrix of other actions onehas taken, in public or in one’spersonal life. Nor does any onesingle personality trait, race, orsocial class make one consciousof the injustice of the world.There are layers of experienceand ideas that are lacquered ontoeach young mind: the words yourparents and relatives tell youabout how power works in yourlittle world; the violence you wit-ness; the songs you hear; maybethe movies you watch or the

books you read at what is calledan “impressionable age”; theartists you come in contact with,sometimes speakers who cancrystallize your sentiments andinspire you to work with them.Each experience, each quote youremember, each book you readbecomes absorbed and synthe-sized into your worldview, whose shape is as individual as a fingerprint.Even in this, the most linear cul-ture, we talk about thesemoments of shape and transitionin circular, cyclical terms: it was a“turning point,” a “pivotal”moment, a “revolution.” Amoment when we turned awayfrom the path we had beengoing. Every one of us can go

through a whole catalog of suchmoments, some of which are dis-crete and some contiguous, oneaction flowing into another. Theyare, like most folklore, based onface-to-face interaction. An anti-war petition circulated by agrandmother with her 8-year-oldgrandson in tow; the compellingtestimony of a Central Americanrefugee, or the words of anactivist like Mike Finley articulat-ing the history of a people, or thevoice of State Senator RoxanneJones soaring over rallies for thepoor, lifting the people beyondeveryday possibility, out of thedoubt of theory and into thestreet of action; a tour of a prisoncell filled with hundreds of hand-made papier-mâché statues cele-

brating freedom; breaking breadand eating rice with survivors ofmassacres, from Cambodia toGuatemala to Sri Lanka. Each ofus has moments that make uswho we are. For me as a youngfolklorist there was no momentmore profound (and ultimatelyformative in my choice of careerpath) than a visit in 1983 to theuppermost storage attic of theSmithsonian to see the Ghostshirts from Wounded Knee, thewhite cloths ripped from thefrozen bodies of the massacrevictims. I did not know that therewould still be bloodstains on theshirts; time had not cleansedthem from the clothing, howeverfaint they remained. Having seenthem with my own eyes I have

not been able to rid myself of thestains either.

We all have moments that shapeand stain our outlook on theworld, on its powerful and itspowerless. Those pivotalmoments only form one streamof thought and action, but thereare hundreds of influences andmoments of turning (or of calm)in a given life. Much of it is hard-er to document: the layers of talkin a home and of moral instruc-tion of the youth that pass byalmost unnoticed, little lessonson how to deal with the govern-ment, the police, and othersaround you; the heroes of yourpeople and family; the living con-ditions on your street and in your

5[Continued on p. 28 ➝]4

Bloodstains/continued from p. 3

how I define political, though ofcourse most of what interests mepolitically is in the larger scale ofsocial justice and injustice andnot in the sphere of politics in,say, the classroom. To me, politi-cal expression is among the mostcomplex and least understoodphenomena in the repertoire of

human behavior. Our lives aredefined by manifestations ofpolitical life and yet they are usu-ally transparent—all around usbut something we are lookingthrough, not at. (Shrewd politicalconsultants are mastering the artof understanding just enough ofwhat the people want, and howto manipulate that cynically fordifferent ends.) The country oneis born into, the state where onelives, the neighborhood whereone can choose to live and with

whom—all these are the resultsof centuries of political conflictand consensus. Every child isborn political, because inscribedin every birth is a particular loca-tion in a nation or a colony, theage and class and marital statusof the mother, the ethnic and reli-gious background of the baby,

and centuries of historical forcesthat brought the parents together.We are all placed somewhere inthe social hierarchy from our first moment and we must struggleforever to make the best of that situation.

As a student of folklife, whatmakes it fascinating for me is thatonce consciousness, language,and creativity develop, each per-son also becomes an actor in thatpolitical drama, not just a labeled

being. On one level our role isreactive, at the same time it iscreative. We create our station,and may struggle to place ouroffspring in a better one. All ofour political expressions, fromprotesting injustice to celebratingliberation, are reflections of ourinternal beliefs about the waypower is distributed, shared, ormishandled in our society, be iton the local or international level.But getting to all the levels ofbelief, all the factors that makeone act the way one does, thestories heard and the experienceslived that change the way onemight go in life—that can be alifetime of work.

Like the practice of religion, politi-cal behavior evolves throughouta lifetime. Our lives are punctuat-ed by religious rituals aroundbirth, puberty, marriage, parent-hood, and death. No single eventmakes someone a Catholic, or aBuddhist, and even conversionsand epiphanies are points alonga trail. The same is true with thepolitical life; our lives are punctu-ated by the irruptions of historicalevents and by the political forcesthat shape our country. They arealso punctuated and circum-scribed by outbursts of violence

To me, political expression is among the most complex and

least understood phenomena in therepertoire of human behavior.

We all have moments that shape and stain our outlook on the world, on its powerful and its powerless. Those pivotal moments only form one stream of thought and action, but there are hun-dreds of influences and moments of turning (or of calm) in a given life.

Acts of political belief,in Philadelphia: protest-

ing the Gulf War, and the closing of a

neighborhood library. Photos: Bill Westerman

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Above, left to right: Former AAU staff member Kim Lorwith youth at Mid-Autumn Festival, Greater Philadel-phia Overseas Chinese Association language school

dance troupe, Cheung’s Hung Gar Kung Fu Academylion dancer, and Philadelphia Chinese Senior Citizen’s

Tai Chi class group performing sword form. Photos:Rodney Attienza, 1999

Reclaiming a tradition: mid-autumn festival inPhiladelphia’s Chinatown

by Deborah WeiIn July of 1979, I traveled to live in HongKong for two years with some goals formyself. I wanted to learn to speak Cantonese and I want-ed to experience the visceral reality of living under Britishcolonialism as a Chinese. Though I was born in New York, Iwas raised here in the Philadelphia area. The thought that Ineeded to travel halfway around the world to reclaim a lan-guage was a reality which I had come to terms with as partof what it means to be Asian in America.

Before I went to Hong Kong,Mid-Autumn Festival was

just this to me-a few stories andanother strange custom

my parents tried to infuse intoa household where their fourchildren fought desper-ately to “be American.”

I had been in HongKong for three monthswhen the Mid-AutumnFestival occurred. It wasan experience whichwould profoundlychange my life. As achild in Philadelphia, Iknew that once a year (ifmy parents had time tomake the trip to China-town), one night theywould take out a card-board box weighing sev-eral pounds. Inside thebox would be four heavycakes, made of a mixtureof bean paste and lotusseeds. My parents wouldtake out the cakes lov-ingly, cut them up andoffer them to us. As chil-dren, we would screwup our faces at thestrange food, noses wrin-kled. We’d take tentativetastes of the preciouscakes, then run off to

watch “Patty Duke” or“Leave it to Beaver” orwe’d hit the streets toplay half ball or wiffleball. I never reallythought about what myparents talked about afterwe all cleared out of thekitchen. I never thoughtabout why they valuedthose four cakes somuch.

My father talked of theMid-Autumn (or Moon)Festival sometimes. Hehad been raised in anorphanage which wasrun by Christian mission-aries in Shanghai.Though his mother wasalive, she did not haveenough money to feedthem both and gave himup to the missionaries.One year, after theJapanese invaded Shang-hai, the orphanage was

closed and my fatherreturned to his village tobe with his mother. Hereturned just in time forthe Mid-Autumn Festival.He remembered sittingoutside under the mooneating mooncakes, nutsand fruits with the moth-er he hardly ever saw. Before I went to HongKong, Mid-Autumn Festi-val was just this to me—a few stories and anotherstrange custom my par-ents tried to infuse into ahousehold where theirfour children fought des-perately to “be Ameri-can.” Another time formy father to get nostalgicwhile we squirmed withanxiety to run off andplay. There was no spe-cial significance to thisday. We went to school.My father went to work.No festivity. It was just

another day.

On October 6, 1979, Iwas at the home of theChau family—my adopt-ed family in Wanchai,Hong Kong. Baat-mouh(a term of respect formothers of friends andacquaintances) spent theday cleaning, cookingand preparing a feast.Ming was my adoptedbrother. He spent hourspatiently explaining Chi-nese culture to me. Hewas incredulous at myseemingly boundless lackof knowledge of the tra-ditions and culturalmarkers which were fun-damental to his under-standing of what it meantto be Chinese. That day,he told me, “Tonight,you will see somethingreally beautiful. This fes-

7[Continued on p. 26 ➝]

ers represented theirsearch for justice, reaf-firmed the dignity of theirculture, and expressedtheir devotion to La Vir-gen (Our Lady).

La Virgen is the mostimportant symbol ofMexican and Mexican-American identity andculture. After the 1519 to1521 conquest of Mexicoby Cortés, indigenouspeoples were subjugatedand forced to practiceChristianity. La Virgen deGuadalupe’s appearanceto Juan Diego, a poorIndian peasant, onDecember 12, 1531, hascome to symbolize hopeand dignity for the poorand marginalized. Sherepresents the integrationof Aztec and Catholicbeliefs since the hillwhere She appeared,Tepeyac, was also thesite of worship to theAztec goddess Tonantzin.La Virgen’s appearanceas a brown Virgin Maryalso signified the emer-gence of the mestizo raceand culture that resulted

from the Conquest. Since1531, Mexicans and nowMexican Americans havecarried her image innumerous demonstra-tions and protests-fromthe 1821 war of Mexicanindependence to the 1910-1920 Mexican Revo-lution, from United Farm-worker’s strikes of the 1960s to protestsorganized by mushroomworkers in the 1990s.

Luis Tlasecamigrated toSoutheasternPennsylvania inthe early 1980sand after yearsof working in

the mushroom industrybecame active in unionorganizing. Mr. Tlasecawas active in organizingthe Kaolin Worker’sUnion (KWU), and hetalks about the signifi-cance of La Virgen deGuadalupe for Mexicanculture and activism:

“We march with La Vir-gen to give the impres-

sion—not only to givethe impression, but toshow—that we arebelievers. She is ourMother and by carryingHer we believe that Sheis going to help us, Herchildren, who are seek-ing justice so that there ispeace. For this reason wealways carry the image ofLa Virgen de Guadalupe.For me, the most positiveand direct message isthat we are not alone,that we have a protectorwho is always with us.The message that we aresending is that we areprotected by Her andthat She will help us inseeking justice and peaceand in resolving ourproblems. At an organi-zational level She helpsto unite us. The presenceof La Virgen is a way ofdrawing people so thatthey will struggle fortheir rights.”

Often, an image of LaVirgen is carried inmarches, and Mr. Tlaseca

explains, “The workersare the ones who decidethat we will carry La Vir-gen. We want to showthat even though we arein protest, She is still ourprotector. When theworkers have problems,such as accidents at oroutside of work, they livewith the hope and faiththat La Virgen will aidand guide them. Theproblem is that many donot understand themeaning of La Virgen forus… She is a part of ourculture, our beliefs, ourfaith. She is our Motherand we believe in Her.We believe that She isalways with us, and thather presence is a causeof happiness, a source ofstrength that makes usfeel whole again.

At present, Luis Tlasecaand members of theKWU are involved inlabor negotiations overbasic issues such as

8 9[Continued on p. 27➝]

Members of the KaolinWorkers Union at the Ken-

nett Square Mushroom Festival, 1994. Photos:

Miguel Díaz-Barriga and theKaolin Workers’ Union

Images of La Virgen deGuadalupe (Our Lady ofGuadalupe) areeverywhere inChester county—

in Mexican restaurants,on T-shirts and bumperstickers, at the offices ofCatholic services, at alocal convent, on ban-ners hanging from busi-nesses and homes, and atpolitical protests. For theestimated 10,000 Mexi-cans who have migratedto the region, mainly towork in the mushroomindustry, devotion to LaVirgen (Our Lady) signi-fies both their connectionto Mexico and hopes fortheir future in the UnitedStates. For manymigrants, including laboractivists, the meaningsassociated with La Virgenalso inform their attempts

to overcome marginaliza-tion and demand justice.This was especially evi-dent in 1994 when agroup of workers carriedan image of La Virgen deGuadalupe in the mainparade of the AnnualMushroom Day Festival.

The Festival, whichincludes a mushroomcook-off, a beautypageant, tours of mush-room farms, and a streetfair, was organized bycivic leaders and mush-room growers to educatethe public about andpromote mushroom pro-duction in the region.The Festival also servesto bring the communitytogether—local artists dis-play their work, highschool bands march inthe parade, and dinnersare held for civic leaders.For the most part, even

though migrant laborplays such a large role inthe industry, festivalorganizers have notemphasized the role andpresence of workers.Until recently, the Festi-val culminated with thecrowning of a mushroomqueen who was present-ed along with the winnerof the mushroom-pickingcontest. This contest wasthe major way that theMexican community par-ticipated in the Festival.

The group of abouttwenty-five workers andrepresentatives from theCommittee to SupportFarm Workers whomarched in the paradewith La Virgen sought toemphasize the role ofMexican workers inmushroom productionand demonstrate theirgrowing influence as a

labor movement. Theyear before, mushroomworkers had organized astrike and a union atKaolin Mushroom Farms.Kaolin management,however, challenged thelegality of the union elec-tions. Aided by lawyersfrom Friends of Farm-workers, the KaolinWorkers’ Union (KWU)engaged in a legal battlethat went all the way tothe PennsylvaniaSupreme Court. After fiveyears of legal maneuver-ing, the Supreme Courtordered management tonegotiate with the KWU.In all of their marchesand protests, includingthe 1993 strike and amarch from Chestercounty to Harrisburg,members of the KWUcarried images of La Vir-gen de Guadalupe. Indoing so, Mexican work-

La Virgen de Guadalupe andStruggles for Justice in

Chester Countyby Miguel Díaz-Barriga and Luis Tlaseca

Many Philadelphians havefought for liberty and jus-tice, truly for all, and haveused compelling traditionsof grassroots art-makingin their struggles. Despiteofficial silence, activerepression, and commer-cial appropriation, thesehome-made traditions ofart and politics endure.

Folk arts are seldom seenas progressive or political,and artifacts of politicalexpression are rarely seenas belonging to a traditionof art-making. When wetake a closer look, thestatements that theseobjects make can seemsurprising, and remind usthat a complete sense ofhistory, arts and politicsremains hidden from us.The objects gathered inthe “Folk Arts of SocialChange” exhibition havebeen part of many differ-ent and continuing strug-gles for justice, equity andfreedom in the last fivedecades. Whether little orwidely known, these various struggles dependon traditions passed onand developed within

communities and out ofcollective experience.

The hand-made objects andcarefully saved memorabiliadisplayed in this past fall’sexhibition carry importantstories: of naming, ofrenewal and remembrance,of taking risks. Someobjects recall definingmoments of courage.Others represent powerfulvisions of peace and free-dom, or times when theweak outwitted the power-ful. Such common themescome out of the sharedexperiences of people(whether they call them-selves activists or not)across movements, decadesand miles. In the often dan-gerous places in whichthese arts originated, and inthese galleries where wedisplayed them, the folkarts of social change arevehicles for transmittingunofficial history, for pass-ing on and preservingknowledge that spans gen-erations.

This ongoing project isabout how we choose toact, about how we learn

and transmit ethics and values, and about how com-munity-based arts helpmake this learning andteaching possible. Folkloreinhabits the boundarybetween the individual andthe collective, and while weattempted to describe in this exhibition some col-lective patterns, inevitablythere are many individualswhose experiences are notyet included. We invite you to share your stories,experiences, and reflec-tions, and to help build acollective picture that can truly pass on the hard-won wisdoms that come from struggles for a better society.

[Continued on p. 12 ➝] 11

Welcome to “Folk Arts of Social Change!” The following pages offer a very brief tour of our recent exhibition. We wish

we could also bring you the dynamic feel of the full exhibit— the sounds of

peoples’ voices telling their own stories, the video of demonstrations, and the

chance to literally add your own voice to those gathered on the “chant wall.”

For a fuller sampling of what we have been up to, visit our forthcoming web

site (www.folkloreproject.org)…

FOLK ARTS OF SOCIAL CHANGEExcerpts from an exhibition

Photo left: Girard College protest, 1965.Photograph courtesyof Temple UniversityUrban Archives

F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E : I N T R O D U C T I O N

❚❚❚❚Photo Caption

XXXxxxxxxx

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Lion, 1987Painted papier-mâché andcloth made in Hong Kong .

Courtesy of Sifu Shu PuiCheung. Photo: Will Brown

Viewers at the exhibition.Photo: Thomas B. Morton

[Continued on following page ➝]

Folk arts are sometimes dis-

missed as being simple, old-

fashioned, or conservative—

but beneath their surfaces

can lie complicated histories,

functions and meanings. The

folk arts shown here work

hard: they link people to her-

itage and lost homes, they

tell stories of tragedy to the

rest of the world, and they

create resources for resis-

tance. They allow complicat-

ed responses to difficult

questions.

Precisely because they offer

indirect critiques of power,

many folk art forms that do

not seem overtly political

have been effective tools of

survival and sites of resis-

tance. Folk arts can allow

people to imagine and

rehearse freedom in times

and places where political

repression or oppressive sys-

tems make direct opposition

impossible.

In Philadelphia, a traditional

festival like Chinese New Year

annually turns the world

upside down, changing the

balance of power. Folktales

exchanged at a social gather-

ing create satisfying

moments in which the poor

but clever trickster bests the

stronger and more powerful

adversary. Folk arts can be a

life preserver for ideas about

freedom and liberation, help-

ing those ideas stay afloat,

whether tapped or dormant.

The people who sing, tell,

make, and use these arts play

important but mostly unac-

knowledged roles in sustain-

ing resistance and the imagi-

nation of freedom.

The challenges posed by folk

arts, and their progressive

possibilities, are not always

readily visible. The practice of

folk arts can in many ways be

an unknown and dangerous

path, followed at

personal risk.

Ah Chey and the Rich Man“One time, the rich man gave Ah Chey his chewing pouch,in which he carried his betels and nuts. The rich man toldAh Chey to carry his pouch for him, and to follow him on avisit to the palace. The rich man rode on a horse and AhChey ran after. The pouch was heavy and Ah Chey did nottie it up-so everything fell out as he ran. When the richman got to the palace, he called Ah Chey to bring hispouch but there was nothing in it. The rich man asked,‘Where is my betel and nuts?’ Ah Chey said, ‘I ran afteryou. You were riding too fast and I do not know where thebetel and nuts went. I did not dare to stop to pick themup because I was afraid that I would lose you.’ The richman said, ‘Next time, don’t embarrass me like this. If any-thing falls off, you must pick it up.’ So next time, Ah Cheywas ready to pick everything up, and he did-he even pickedup the horse droppings. When they arrived at the palace,the rich man called Ah Chey again, asking for his chewingpouch. When he opened up the pouch, he saw that it wasfull of horse droppings. The rich man was very embar-rassed and shouted at Ah Chey, ‘Why did you put all ofthese horse droppings in the pouch?’ Ah Chey answered,‘You told me to pick everything up!’”–Told by Touch San,translated by Chiny KyThis traditional Khmer folktale is one of many storiestold by Khmer refugees here, survivors of the KhmerRouge. It concerns a poor servant who outwits his richand powerful master. Ah Chey wins this power struggle bytaking his master’s words literally: his seeming stupiditymasks his cleverness. Ah Chey refuses to take his mas-ter’s crap (figuratively) and gives him his own crap back(literally).

Exhibition display ofcanning that includesjams, pickles and veg-etables from Ms. Epps’garden, 1998, as wellas Mrs. Epps’ memorydolls. Photo from theexhibition: Will BrownPainting of “Ah Cheyand the ChewingPouch” by Eang Mao,1997

Heritage gardening and seeds of resistance“I put in my garden today some dandelions, plantain, chickweed,lambsquarters, okra, greens—all of this is grown by mothernature which was originally eaten by African Americans to sus-tain themselves on the plantation. I have herbs, berries, fruits,vegetables from the past to the present and the present tothe past. Because my great uncle who was ninety-five, he was aslave. So these are things that were passed down. Because themaster didn’t but give them bread and water to live, but theyknew they needed more to sustain them, so they found grassesand natural foods that they got from their own home. Theyused to steal from the family garden and with the rotten meat,they knew how to make a meal and not be sick. And this is howthey survived, and this knowledge has been passed on to this day.”–Blanche Epps

T O O L S O F S U R V I V A L , S I T E S O F R E S I S T A N C E F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E E X H I B I T I O N

12

On lion dancing in Chinatown“In Chinatown on New Year’s, the whole community is out attwelve o’clock on a weeknight. The police have blocked thestreets. People are running all over, setting off fire crackers.It’s the one time when the community really totally owns thestreets. There’s no tourists. It’s just folks who have a reasonto be there.Lion dancing is a lot more popular in the south, where mostpeople from Chinatown come from. Because it’s associatedwith kung fu, it is by and large pretty working class. This is nota rich boy’s sport. You’re paid as entertainment by people whohave money, to appear at celebrations, and bring luck. My son Aaron, who is a lion dancer with Sifu Shu Pui Cheungnow—he was the one who came home from school in kinder-garten and told me that he didn’t want to be Chinese any-more. So I said, ‘Why do you say that?’ And he said, ‘Chinesepeople are stupid. In school everyone calls me the stupid Chi-nese boy.’ So I said, ‘Do you think you’re stupid?’ And he said‘no.’ And I said, ‘Is Mommy stupid? Is Daddy stupid? And Iwent through this litany but at the end of that he still keptsaying, ‘But Chinese people are stupid.’ So this constantassault on his identity, on who he was, it was just very painful.How he got into kung fu, I think, was his own child’s way ofseizing power. I think he’s come to the realization that he ain’tgonna change who he is. He’s Chinese, it’s not something hecan get away from. He is very conscious about race. Youwatch him trying to make sense of this thing, whatever thisthing is, in his mind. And one day, I was walking in Chinatownand I saw my old Sifu, my kung fu teacher. And I introducedthem and Sifu looked at my son and said. ‘Do you want tocome and study kung fu?’ And Aaron looked at him and his eyesgot real big and he said ‘Yeah.’ And it was the first time I saw himlike actually interested in anything Chinese. So I started takinghim and he just got totally into it, and after that he got totallyproud of being Chinese. He’s looking at these pop icons—JackieChan and Jet Li—almost as life preservers. His kung fu school, it’sthe one place in Philadelphia where it’s like all the other guys arelistening to the Chinese guy.”–Deborah Wei

T H E P E O P L E U N I T E D W I L L N E V E R B E D E F E A T E D

15[Continued on p. 16 ➝]14

Displays of posters, banners, props and

t-shirts from Philadelphiademonstrations.

Button collections, c.1930s-1990s.

Photos: Will Brown

Naming a position and acting on

beliefs are continually necessary

folk arts. Some people learn

activism from family and neigh-

bors. Others find their way

through experiences that forever

change the way the world looks.

When people connect with one

another, work collectively and

cultivate a movement, they both

draw on and create a storehouse

of tools and techniques: the

craft of social change. Leaders

pass on their wisdom to succes-

sors, colleagues learn from one

another, and children inherit a

family tradition of political

action. In this work there is cre-

ativity, analysis, doubt, conflict,

drudgery, ethics, and values.

The signs, banners and puppets

in this section represent the

visible parts of collective efforts.

The events at which they are

carried require tremendous

levels of coordinated planning

and attention to thousands of

details: What kind of event will

be staged? Which words and

images should be used? How to

control the message to the

media? What will draw a crowd?

Both in planning and demon-

strating, individuals can find

space to craft their own posi-

tion, and to contribute their per-

sonal style and vision to the

larger effort.

These objects also represent

some visible ways in which peo-

ple risk serious personal and pro-

fessional fallout for taking unpop-

ular stands. Demonstrations, sit-

ins, actions, die-ins, sick-outs and

other interventions are among the

ways like-minded people build

community out of shared risk.

Public events also balance the

necessary but mundane behind-

the-scenes work with liberatory

moments of catharsis, humor, and

celebration.

Record your chantChants are memorable, portable, and effective verbal art forms that can unify acrowd. People recall not only the words of chants but what it felt like to hearothers shouting the same words together… At the exhibition, we invited peopleto write their memories of chants on re-recordable cards. Our chant wall filled upwith words passed on, folk poetry remembered, reused…and people gatheredaround to listen to one anothers’ words.

What do we want? Freedom! When do we want it? Now!What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!What do we want? A Union! When do we want it? Now!What do we want? A contract! When do we want it? Now!1, 2, 3, 4. We don’t want your racist war.1, 2, 3, 4. Open up the clinic door. 5, 6, 7, 8. Don’t tell us when to procreate.Stop the bombing, stop the war. U.S. out of El Salvador.Hey, hey, ho, ho! The death penalty has got to go.Hey, hey, ho, ho! Clinic bombers have to go.Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids did you kill today?Hey, hey, Reagan and Haig! How many nuns did you kill today?Hey, hey, what do you say? How many workers have you screwed today?

Racist, sexist, anti-gay. Born-again bigots go away.Hell, no, we won’t go! We won’t fight for Texaco!Ronald Reagan, he’s no good! Send him back to Hollywood!Stop anti-abortion lies. We will not be terrorized.Gay, straight, black, white. Same struggle, same fight..The people united will never be defeated.Our bodies, our lives. Our right to decide. Down with dope. Up with hope.Say it loud. I’m black and I’m proud.Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh!No justice. No peace.They say give back. We say fight back.

Peace! Now!Freedom! Now!Fed Up. Can’t take it anymore.Give me a U-N-I-O-N. What’s that spell?The Unions got the power. Workin’ people’s power. Power, power, power! Power by the hour.

Condensed messagesLapel buttons get the word out, display solidarity and help people con-nect on issues they care about. Wearing a button is about making apublic declaration of a personal belief. The words on a button can sparkconversation and debate, whether between strangers or friends. Theyhelp people of like minds to connect, and they make divisions apparent.A button asks its reader, “Where do you stand?” or “Are you with me oragainst me?” These small beacons help a community survive when it isunderground or virtually invisible in mainstream culture.Buttons’ size and durability make them easy to keep through theyears. People who save their buttons are recording their own history ofpolitical activity and interests; many collections chart their owner’spolitical growth, along with changes in perspective and in intensity ofcommitment. Button collections also provide details about politicalparties and campaigns, networks of organizations, significant eventsand battles, and the leaders and martyrs of political causes. Likebumper stickers and t-shirts, buttons condense a political positioninto a few succinct words.

T H E P E O P L E U N I T E D W I L L N E V E R B E D E F E A T E D F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E E X H I B I T I O N

17

Photographs of theinstallation of “BigShoes to Fill,” morethan 100 pairs ofshoes of activists,annotated with theirstories about timeswhen they “took astand,” “walked thewalk,” or “followedin the footsteps” of inspiring others. Photos by WillBrown

Viewers at the exhibi-tion opening. Photo:Thomas B. Morton

16

Folk sayings are easily remembered,

but not always understood. People

talk about “walking the walk” and

“following in the footsteps” of others,

about “taking a stand,” “standing

firm,” and “standing tall.” These say-

ings, along with many traditional

proverbs, are all commonly expressed

folk wisdom about social change, and

they condense and preserve the

experiences of many who have

gone before.

Such folklore passes on basic values.

When we talk about having “big shoes

to fill,” we are remembering larger-

than-life heroes and holding ourselves

accountable to them. When we praise

people for “walking the walk,” we are

acknowledging the difficulty of back-

ing up words with deeds. These ways

of speaking encourage us to think

twice about our own steps; they are

reminders that any of us can choose

to “walk” in a particular way.

The shoes that we displayed represent

the real steps and invisible labor that

many different mentors and role mod-

els have contributed to movements for

freedom, justice and equity. These

shoes belong to a wide range of indi-

viduals. Some have national reputa-

tions and others are best known on

their neighborhood block. Like the

installation we assembled, social

change is built one pair of shoes at a

time—and every step counts.

B I G S H O E S T O F I L L F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E E X H I B I T I O N

[Continued on p.18 ➝]

1918

Left: Robert M. Smith’s bolt cutterwith cloth case, used to break intoGE, 1984. Next page: William H. andMiriam Crawford’s dining room fromParkside Avenue, Philadelphia,1940s-1990s. Reinstalled in the exhi-bition. Photos: Will Brown

Acts of conscience“On the morning of January 30, 1984, in memory ofMahatma Gandhi’s birthday, we drove up to the back ofa test facility at the General Electric Space Center inValley Forge. The sun was just coming up and it wascold. I remember there even being a light snow. Takingthe pair of bolt cutters, we cut through the locks andclimbed to the top of the building via a stairway thatgoes up the back of the test facility. When we reachedthe top of the building, we poured blood that had beendrawn from our arms onto the test equipment. The actrepresented the bloodshed that would ensue in war andwas a reminder that we should cherish life, not threat-en or destroy it with nuclear weapons or any kind of warplanning.Then we unfurled down the side of the building a verylarge banner—if you can imagine a five-story banner,easily a story in width, hanging from the side of thebuilding. It had taken weeks to make. It was anchoredat the top with a number of magnetic weights. It read,‘DSCS III is immoral and illegal.’ (DSCS III stands for‘Defense Satellite Communication System’ and it wasthe name of the satellite GE was producing for nuclearwar planning.) But even though it was quite visible tothe turnpike that adjoins that facility—I mean, wecould hear people honking-we sat at the top and waitedfor probably close to an hour before we were arrested. Itsurprised us that frankly, the reaction, and getting thepolice wasn’t a lot faster. We expected to be up there allof minutes. We watched as the police came up over thehill, five or six police cars, plus a van-all for four people.Some of the time was spent praying. We had a bit of aservice prepared, I seem to recall. We also took up abullhorn, where we spent a few minutes addressing thesecurity personnel who were scurrying around downbelow. Hours later, we were taken before a magistrate,before being jailed upon refusal to pay bond. We werejailed for, I think, five days before the bail was reducedto personal recognizance, and subsequently thecharges were dropped against us out of concern thatwe would argue a justification defense.”–Robert M. Smith

Dignity Suits“When I graduated from high school, even though I hadtwo scholarships, I knew that my family could not affordfor me to go to college. So I started working. So I lookedfor a job, looked for a job. And finally found a job with theAmerican Friends Service Committee with the Quakers.Now, the reason I applied there, and I felt comfortable,because I thought it was the American Friendly ServiceCommittee. I used to make $1.91 an hour. My first checkwas fifty-seven dollars. I think the first time I felt that I had an inkling to strug-gle was when I went to Blum’s, a really nice departmentstore, to buy an outfit. And I had tried on some clothes.And the woman said, ‘Who’s helping her?’ And the otherwoman said, ‘Don’t worry about it, she’s a spic, she’snot gonna buy anything.’ And I was the only one in thedressing room. Something just hurt. So I tried on thetwo suits. I had just gotten paid. I paid her. I told you—Imade like fifty-seven dollars a week. And each suit wasfifty dollars back then. It was 1967 or ‘68. I boughtboth suits. And I wrote a check. When I got home, mymother said, ‘We have to take them back.’ I told her, ‘Nomom, I have to buy them, I have to buy them.’ My momsaid, ‘Why?’ (My mom always told everybody this story.)I told mom, ‘Today I bought my dignity.’ And of course,you know, I was broke for the next two weeks. So I thinkthat was when I really noticed that things were differ-ent. Because, there was disparity, but I always thoughtit was because we were poor, that we couldn’t get thosethings, not because we were of color.”–Rafaela Colón

F R E E D O M I S M Y B A D G E

Bill and Miriam

Crawford have been

well-known activists in

Philadelphia since the

late 1940s. Many people

first met Bill when they

visited his store, the

New World Book Fair in

West Philadelphia. Open

from 1961 to 1974, the

store featured Marxist

and African American

books; it was an invalu-

able resource and a

gathering place for

many people and for

progressive causes. The

Crawford’s home was an

equally important set-

ting for formal and infor-

mal political work.

The walls of their former

dining room chronicled

four decades of their

political life. They

recorded the Crawfords’

involvement in the

Communist party, in the

civil rights, Black Power

and anti-war move-

ments, the “Stop Rizzo”

campaign, and Bill’s

own campaign for city

controller. Like an elabo-

rate, oversized scrap-

book, the walls seam-

lessly mixed political

memorabilia with

favorite images of

African American liter-

ary and musical figures,

popular culture, car-

toons, and photographs

of old friends. Each

piece has a story.

Thanks to the help of

many, we were able to

preserve the Crawford’s

dining room walls and

reassemble them in the

exhibition. An artistic

creation in its own right,

the Crawford’s assem-

blage evokes the homes

and workplaces of many

activists. Like other folk

arts, these lovingly-

tended walls of memory

and struggle trace com-

munity and convey folk

history.

We took the name of

this section from Bill

Crawford’s words:

“Thomas Henry Barnes,

known as ‘T.H.’ was my

grandfather, and he was

the son of a runaway

slave. So the anti-slav-

ery movement was sup-

per table discussion and

laid the basis with me. I

think that my first con-

tact with Marxism was

through a booklet or

something that my

grandfather had. But I

think the most impor-

tant factor was the

struggle in the black

community for freedom.

Freedom was my badge,

which I got from my

grandfather and my

great-grandfather, hav-

ing been a slave and

escaped, that was a very

powerful influence—the

need to understand

what it meant for a

slave to break out, and

not just a man but for a

woman with a baby in

her arms. If you can pic-

ture them tonight com-

ing up through here get-

ting here and finding the

place you were sup-

posed to go, and the

kind of courage it took. I

shudder at the number

of people who never

made it.…”

—William H. Crawford

F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E E X H I B I T I O N

(In the exhibition, we included the following story, along with a missingpolaroid photograph from 1968, onceowned by Rafaela Colón, showing herin the suit described. Our labelexplained that sometimes objectsdon’t remain to document peoples’experiences, and in those cases, stories are important tools for keeping memory alive.)

[Continued on p.20 ➝]

20

“His instrument is his spirit”“The tror sao is one of the main instruments forplaying the music for Cambodian weddings. In alot of the music, especially the wedding, the trorsao would lead the music and then other musi-cians would follow that. When my dad used toplay, he would be the tror sao. And the wholegroup used to be our family—seven people, play-ing takhé, khim, tror ou, drum and singing. Wayat the beginning, my brother Koung Khom playedthe drums. My sister Leap played the khim,along with me—she would also help sing. I wouldplay the takhé and my sister Lisa would alsoplay the takhé. Sometimes we would changearound. My brother Sipo would play a tror ou, orswitch with my father. My father still plays thetror, with a new group that he helped organize.We don’t play together as a family any more. Wesurvived the Khmer Rouge, but my brother diedhere from cancer. My sister Leap was really tal-ented , creative and outgoing. She was caring toothers. She was killed on June 30, 1996 as abystander in a violent shooting spree in thecommunity. The reason I name both the artsand the tragedies is that you have to carry onthe art-it helps you remember at least. Andsometimes art can help you forget and some-times forgive. So no matter what happens orwhat kind of tragedies my father went through,he wouldn’t give his music up. Although it is hard.Sometimes you feel you are playing in pain,because usually you used to be in a group withall of the family and now my father is in a groupwithout us. For me, it is painful. I couldn’t handleit, but for him he is into it and he really cherish-es the music, no matter what. It is like breathingfor him. It’s like a weapon to protect yourself. His instrument is his spirit.”–Leendavy Koung (daughter of the artist)

Right: Tror sao, two-stringed violin by PeangKoung, 1980s. Far Right:a case of objects associ-ated with “stories to live

by,” including a pen-nant from the 1963

March on Washington,a “Save Chinatown” t-shirt, artifacts from the

Powelton “FBI StreetFair,” the first Take Back

The Night March, thefirst issue of the Ladder,

and more. Photo:Will Brown Words to Live By

“There comes a time when we must act, not because it istraditional, not because it’s acceptable, but becauseconscience says that it is right.” Guideposts, words of inspiration, can come from any-where—and inside the front cover of his daily planner,Father Paul Washington keeps such words: facts, quotes,dates, statistics about African American buying powerand numbers of African Americans incarcerated, wordsof scripture, names of civil rights martyrs, and more.When he is called on to speak, he is never at a loss,always prepared. Many have depended on Father Wash-ington, over the years, for his readiness, for knowing whatto do, for helping others to find the ethical, just andrighteous position. The words in the front of his planner,and the many dates and appointments inscribed in itspages, are reminders of both the struggle to find theright and ethical way, and the hard daily work of buildinga just society. Formerly rector of the Church of theAdvocate, Father Washington’s planner from 1968includes the dates of the third Black Power Conference,held at the Advocate under his tenure, on August 28through September 1, 1968—a time when “somethingrevolutionary took place there.” The planner also chroni-cles countless meetings on many issues of importanceto his parishioners in the North Philadelphia neighbor-hood of the Advocate, and on local, regional, national andinternational issues.“Reggie Schell came, from the Black Panther Party, andthey wanted to have a rally. And they wanted to use thechurch. And of course, what you knew about the BlackPanther Party, you read in the white press. ‘These arepeople who believe in violence and this and that and theother.’ And I listened very carefully to what the BlackPanthers were saying. They were saying ‘We have a rightto defend ourselves. And if violence is perpetrated on us,we feel justified in defending ourselves by violence.’ I always sought for an answer as to ‘Why?’ Why would youdo it? And I wanted to be able to justify my answers the-ologically and biblically. They’re saying they have a rightto self-defense, and by God, I believe they have thatright. People really came for that rally from all over thecountry—10,000 people. And people were afraid thatthere’d be violence. Not a single incidence of violence. Andso they came and went… There are some firsts thattook place there, at the Church of the Advocate.”–Father Paul M. Washington

Left: Father Paul Washington’s 1968 leather-bound calendar. Below: Objects included in“Stories to Live By” section: alternativepapers, perspectives on Frank Rizzo, a t-shirt“Welcome to Philadelphia” on the MOVEbombing. Photos: Will Brown

Plenty of history is stored in

the memories and keepsakes of

those who lived through both

legendary and little-known

struggles for justice and free-

dom. The everyday objects

gathered in the final section of

“Folk Arts of Social Change”

were associated with signifi-

cant experiences. Like the

hand-made objects in the open-

ing section, their meanings,

messages and uses are kept

alive by their custodians; such

meanings are not always readi-

ly apparent.

The objects included are physi-

cal evidence of important sto-

ries, and of the community that

emerges from the kitchen

tables, the streets, and the

church basements where work

for social change began and

continues. Each of the artifacts

reflects aspects of the identity

and perspective of the person

who saved it, as well as the

history of a family, a communi-

ty, or a political movement.

Justice and equity live both in

the stories that animate these

objects and in the debates and

disagreements that they pro-

voke. Each of these objects

holds many stories for its

owner. In the exhibition, we

told some of these stories; oth-

ers remain unsaid.

Stories associated with these

and other objects of memory

elaborate universal themes:

epic sagas of conflicts between

good and evil, the exploits of

clever tricksters and venerable

sages, tales of great risks and

of how people have “paid the

price.” There are coming of age

stories, and stories of how peo-

ple have served as witnesses

and actors, playing their part,

expected or not. All of these

themes have been played out,

like great social dramas, in the

streets of Philadelphia—and

they are still being played

out today…

21

S T O R I E S T O L I V E B Y F O L K A R T S O F S O C I A L C H A N G E E X H I B I T I O N

sonal liberation that can come withfighting for equity and justice.

But while these stories contain theusual suspects of corrupt politi-cians and abusive police, they gobeyond simple morality tales ofthe struggle between good andevil. Along with bold acts of hero-ism, there are stories of reluctantheroes. There are tales of preju-dice and violence within theranks, and stories of burnout fromthe tedium of organizing and ofpaying the price for one’s beliefs.Whether the setting is in the 1950sor in the late 90s, there is a con-sistent thread of finding one’s fam-ily of choice and of buildingcommunity through that work.Ultimately, each story reflects abasic credo: stay informed, partici-pate and make a difference. All ofthe stories come from interviewsand are transcribed as they werespoken. Cuts are marked with

ellipses and our edits with brack-ets. As usual, we edit only mini-mally, preserving the style ofspoken words, of peoples’ voices.

I am honored to have had theopportunity to get a glimpse ofthe diverse legacy of socialchange in Philadelphia. The menand women who participated inthis project lent more to us thanjust their memorabilia, art, orshoes. I was deeply moved andinspired by the collective wisdomand compassion that I found. ThePhiladelphia Folklore Project isindebted to the many people whotook time away from their work toshare their experiences andinsights with us.—Teresa Jaynes

Passing it on“My father…raised us to be con-cerned about bigger things. Imean still be concerned aboutyour immediate family, butwe…were kind of raised socially.

So our house was this open door.Anybody that needed a place tostay could stay there. I mean,every Sunday he fixed breakfast,fish and grits and coffee, and peo-ple would just pile in the house.And you would hear all the con-versation.

This is where I first started hearingpolitical conversation, and not justabout the Vietnam War, but aboutthe Second World War and theKorean War, which I had a broth-er in. Second World War whichmy father and his peers were in.You got a chance to hear thisracist stuff about the war and thekind of things that they did… Soyou would hear all the politicalstuff about work and all that.You’d hear the social gossip aboutwhose cheatin’ with who and whowas in the bar the night before.You know? And who’s locked up.

22

Photographs from the exhibitionopening. Above, photographer

Bob Brand looks at images fromhis collection with exhibition-

goers in the Crawford’s diningroom (the“Freedom is my

Badge” section). Right: TeresaJaynes talks with friends in the

“People United Will Never Be Defeated” section.

Photographs: Thomas B. Morton

23[Continued on p. 24 ➝]

As you round the corner in the galleryof the “Folk Arts of Social Change”exhibition you are greeted by over ahundred pairs of shoes that seem to bemarching together. Each pair has anumber that corresponds to a card in anearby binder. On the cards the ownersof the shoes have written their reflec-tions on what it means to them to standup for justice or why they have chosento work for social change. One of myfavorite pair of shoes in “Big Shoes toFill” is from Barbara and Stephen Gold.The pair is made up of one shoe fromeach of them. On the card that accom-panies the shoes Barbara wrote, “Ourmismatched ‘pair’ comes as a pairbecause we have worked together inthe movement so long that it is truly ajoint effort… Racism, sexism, discrimi-nation against the poor, the disabled—Taking stands against all these is thefabric of our life and that of the chil-dren we raised.” Many of the peopleinterviewed for Folk Arts of Social

Change also described their staminaand commitment to the work as beingan intrinsic part of their family life(whether that family is kin or the fami-lies we choose to create).

In doing the field work for this exhibi-tion I interviewed over 170 individuals.At a modest estimate of four stories perperson, it comes to 680 stories of socialchange and I just scratched the surface.In this exhibit we just begin to assemblewhat folk arts of social change look like.It is a mere slice of a much bigger pie.

The best of the stories reflect the com-plexity of the dilemmas, relationshipsand ethics that people have faced whileworking for social change. While noneof the narratives are limited to a singlepoint, the following selection in thisissue of Works in Progress is groupedalong four prominent themes: passing ona commitment to act for the greatergood, taking a stand for your beliefs,outwitting a powerful foe, and the per-

Folk Artsof SocialChange

Curator’s Selection

2524

Teresa Jaynes in thePFP office. Photo:

Debora Kodish

Save Chinatown t-shirt, loaned byMary Yee, displayed in the “Stories to LiveBy” section, with astory about thestruggles of theChinese communi-ty to preserve theirneighborhood.Photo: PhiladelphiaFolklore Project

The vice president of our local at that time was awoman. She stood up… She pointed her finger atthis person and said, ‘Siddown now!’ He did. Thelaughing stopped. And she just looked at me like,‘Are you gonna continue?’ When we were walkingback after the whole session was over, my body wasshaking. I mean, I can’t tell you how horrible it was. Ihad her for support at that moment, otherwise I don’tknow what I would have done. I would have neverdone that again. I can still feel it.”—Sylvia Liberman

“I got arrested around Christmas time, ‘cause I waswith a group from the SNCC [Student Non-ViolentCoordinating Committee] office. We’d gone to adiner… and the place, like most of these places,wouldn’t serve us because we were an integratedgroup. And so we all got arrested. It was funnybecause you sort of figure that you’d have thesenoble moments. You know, you’d steel yourself upand all of that. But I remember feeling at the time,‘Shit, I don’t really wanna do this.’ You know, it wasso close to Christmas. I wanted to go home. Butthere we were. We went off to the city jail. And oncewe were there, there were about a dozen of us, and Iwas the only non-black male. I wasn’t a white maleeither. So the question that came up quickly was:where would I go to jail? And I got put with whiteprisoners in the city jail. And I said, ‘Look, why don’tyou just put me with these other guys?’ But thelogic… that the guard was telling to me… was that Iwasn’t colored. Which meant I wasn’t black. Ofcourse I was colored, but that—you know. Sobecause of that, then I have to go with the whiteprisoners.”—Ed Nakawatase

The Weak Outwitting a Powerful Foe“So we spent about 90 days planning, and we spent90 days crystallizing all of the complaints… And thenwe said, November 17th at 10 a.m., we’ll call for astrike and walk out of all the schools… And at 10a.m., students started to walk out of their schools…all across the city. They came from as far as Bartramand Overbrook. And the police scanner was sayingthat they just left Southern, and they’re walking downBroad Street. They just left Bartram High School.They’re coming down Woodland Avenue, right?They’re coming from every direction, by the thou-sands. 100,000 students. It was the largest walk-outstudent protest in the history of America. And therehas not been one this large since then. Well, theinteresting thing was, before the police action againstthe students, one of the young students hollered outthe window, ‘They’ve agreed to 24 of our 25demands”… And the students just went wild, theyhollered, screamed and clapped. And it was at thatpoint that somebody said they heard Frank Rizzo say,‘Get their black asses.’ And at that point the policestarted wading in, and wading in with tear gas. But itconcluded with some positive things—the first time astudent bill of rights was done. And the studentsgrew and they learned something. A number of themwere beaten and drug through the streets and stufflike that… And they paid a bitter price for it. The

students retaliated by tearing upcenter city Philadelphia. They real-ly just really swarmed across theentire city, and went on a ram-page.”—Walt Palmer

“That takes me back to 1971 whenwe began to get a number ofclients who were just returnedfrom a training program funded bythe federal and state governmentsin the Poconos where people fromthe inner city and clearly economically depressedareas had been recruited to learn how to operatesuch daunting pieces of heavy equipment as bull-dozers and front-end loaders and graders and grade-alls… And we began getting these clients coming inand saying, ‘Well, I spent six months up there… andwhadda you know, when I come back they’re notgiving me any work and I’m starving.’…And theirexperiences led the Equal Employment OpportunityCommission to conclude that they’d been set up andthat they were the victims of racial discrimination bya union that had no intentions of integrating theirwork force.

So we began a lawsuit, class action lawsuit, challeng-ing racial discrimination by the operating engineers…And the case was assigned here in federal court inPhiladelphia, to Leon Higginbotham… About a yearor so into the lawsuit… operating engineers who hadheard about the lawsuit, whites, went down to thehiring hall which was then located at 12th and Vine…and en masse 50 or so white operating engineerscame there in trucks and physically beat up threeblack operating engineers who had testified at adeposition about the case... And so we went to JudgeHigginbotham and won an injunction. And we actual-ly had a trial for about a week on these incidents…And Judge Higginbotham ended up issuing a 70-pageopinion recalling the history of blacks in this country,slavery, the slumbering 13th Amendment, the CivilWar, the post-Civil War civil rights acts. And what washappening in Philadelphia in 1972, by the violence,and retaliation against black construction workers,was just an extension of what black people had suf-fered in Philadelphia and in the United States at thefounding of this country and through and includingthe Civil War and beyond. And it was a magnificentopinion. Some criticized it at the time as being unnec-essarily historical in concept… But it was actually themost eloquent piece of legal writing to put in contextwhat had happened here.

And as things developed after that year and a half wewon, and Judge Higginbotham issued a very broad-based order which in effect said, ‘The operating engi-neers industry has discriminated against minorities inentry, in training, in promotions, and most important-ly where it hurts most: in the pocketbook.’ And heissued a very broad-based injunction. And that casewent to the Court of Appeals on that issue where wewon and ultimately to the United States Supreme

Then you would hear them networkto help each other. People havinghard times and who needed what.And so this all kind of took place inour house. My father said there wasalways room to help somebody. Andpeople would go hunting or fishing,they would give it to my dad andhe’d throw it in the pot. He was areal good cook, but he cookedeverything the same way with toma-to paste and over [the] top [of] rice…So, people would give it to thembecause they knew they couldalways come and get something toeat. And every Sunday he cookedfish and grits and coffee and rolls.

And they’d come on shifts. And so you’d get to hearthis discussion and you get to hear all this stuff. Andhe was just like this magnet for the community.” —Maisha Sullivan

“I grew up with a lot of stories around the table andif I were to say what is the one thing that probably topushed me to do union work, it was probably thestories around the table… You have a standard thatyou have to live up to. Right? Like what would myfather would say if he thought that I ratted somebodyout because they signed the union card? Whatwould my father say if… I was a shop steward and Ididn’t do every single thing I could to make sure thatthat person’s job was protected? Or the case that’shappened to… most union activists on the job, is thatas soon as you become a really good shop steward,management offers you a management job… Youwould never even think of taking the job. You could-n’t take it… because the ghosts in your head wouldlike, you’d become a schizophrenic. Right? I mean,your mental health depends on [it]. Your head wouldblow up! That’s right!”—Denys Everingham

“The purpose for coming here was the fact that theycouldn’t study in Russia unless they wore a yellowpass… they had to identify themselves as Jews. Sothe family started inching out. A sister came and abrother. You know, one sent for the other. And thenthey needed jobs, and it was in the needle trade. Andthey were really sweatshops. And they got very busywith the thing and became organizers for the Amal-gamated Clothing Workers. So I was very familiarwith strikes… My mother had a very good idea, too.During the strikes… no-one suffered during thestrikes. Everyone turned their salaries into my moth-er, and even those that were on strike did not missanything. She doled out their weekly allowances toall of them.”—Miriam Seidler

“My father didn’t have a job when I was a kidbecause of his politics… He was a teacher and heactually came to Philly to teach …got a job but thenlost it because he was a Marxist. He had a bookcasethat he kept locked. And I remember him decidingthat I was old enough to see these books. My under-

standing, because I was little, is that the FBI ques-tioned our neighbors and my father was out of workand many of his friends were out of work. So, Iremember feeling so grown up that he showed methese books, which I was not the least bit interestedin, but they were fascinating in other ways becausethere was this locked bookcase and he trusted meenough… You know, there are just many, many sto-ries of injustice that I grew up on understanding. Itwas difficult in a way because there were real limits[also], and because I respected [my parents] so muchI think there were struggles for myself around… myown rights or lack thereof as a woman. And I’m alesbian, so in terms of issues of homophobia, thelimits were very clearly there. But… my parents wereso progressive in many [other] ways, and their ideasreally made sense to me… So I had to find my ownway with that… my own discrimination or what I feltI was ruled out of because I was a woman just hitme in a very different way and enabled me to speakup for myself, which was really important in under-standing why other people speak up forthemselves.”—Nora Lichtash

Taking a stand“Once when I was thirteen…I was in Columbia,South Carolina. On my birthday we went to a dance,a Ray Charles dance. And it was a dollar and wedanced all night, and we had a great time… And sowe’re all back…sitting on the steps across from aroad… [and] there was a phone booth across theroad. And these two soldiers were at the phonebooth. And they were white. One was an officer.And all of a sudden these bricks and bottles wenthurling from our side of the road, crashing, breakingthe glass of the telephone booth and hitting the offi-cer in the head. And he started bleeding. And with-out any conscious thought… I sprung across thatroad as fast I could and threw myself on this whiteman so that—and I knew that my body on his, thatthey would stop throwin’ the bricks and the bottles.And they did stop… And some of the neighborswere mad at me. My cousins at first couldn’t under-stand it. There was a lot of screaming and sobbingbecause there was a lot of blood and there was a lotof glass and broken stuff… And it was just a mixtureof confusion and violence and it felt awful. It feltbad. And I wasn’t sure why I did what I did… sud-denly it was like, gee, being thirteen wasn’t so great.And maybe at twelve I was better. And I just alwaysremember that. ”—Barbara Smith

“We’re talking about ‘75, ‘76, ‘77. Women were not atthat time active in the labor movement in Philadel-phia… I remember going to a state convention [ofthe Pennsylvania Federation of Teachers] and readingthe results of the women’s rights meeting… And Iremember one of the membership standing up onthe table and saying, ‘Siddown! We’re not interestedin that crap!’ And it was mostly men there. And theywere clapping, and they were laughing, and I wasthe one they were laughing at. My whole body want-ed to cry and run away. And I just stood there. Iremember who it was. I mean, you never forget that.

Folk Arts of Social Change: Curator’s Selection/ continued from p. 23

[Continued on p. 27 ➝]

tival is the most fun. New Year ofcourse is special, but the Moon Fes-tival is really something.” I noddedstupidly. That evening, the Chaufamily gathered as Baat-mouh tookcare of the seemingly endless ritualsnecessary to conduct the ancestorworship for Mid-Autumn Festival.Then we all crowded around thetiny fold-out table in the ten-by-ten-foot space that served as bedroom,dining room and living room. Baat-mouh had cooked many dishes.Chicken, fish, pork, beef—all kindsof meats. Soup with dried dates.Vegetables and large quantities offresh fruits. And of course, moon-cakes.

In addition to Ming’s parents andhis two brothers and two sisters, hisuncle joined us during these festivaltimes. A-Kauh lived in a tool shedin the toney section of Hong Kongknown as the Peak. There, in ahousing complex peopled by whitefolks and late model BMW’s, Mer-cedes and the occasional RollsRoyce, A-Kauh lived amongst therakes and the hoses. He was thegroundskeeper and earned extramoney on the side cleaning off thedew from the cars in the morning.The nine of us tucked in, eatingand laughing. After the meal wecleaned up as fast as we could, andall piled out of the house and intothe alleys to find our own favoriteMid-Autumn hang-out spots aroundHong Kong. Ming and I hopped ona tram headed for Victoria Park.

The streets were packed, and as wegot off the trolley, I saw the sightthat would cause me to fall in lovewith my own culture and heritage,and with a holiday. There beforeme, hundreds of families sat in thepark waiting for the moon to risehigh in the sky. Children ran every-where with lanterns lit. Each familyhad staked out an area for itselfwith rows of candles. Music playedsoftly in the background. Hawkerssold lanterns and snacks. It waspeaceful, joyous, and the spirit offamily was so sweet. We wanderedthrough the park for several hours,watching the children play and

holding our own lanterns up to thesky. Ming said, “But now we haveto go to the Peak.” We boarded acrowded bus that wound up themountains in central Hong Kongand all along the side of the moun-tain path, lights sparkled as peoplemade their way up and around themountain with their lanterns. Themoon shone in the sky, large andround. When we got off the busand began to walk around themountain with the rest of the revel-ers, I realized all that I had lost. Ifinally understood the tendernessmy parents showed in our diningroom when they cut open thecakes to share. I began to under-stand what it would mean for myfather to be able to spend this holi-day with his mother in a war-torn,poverty-stricken village in China.When Ming reached out to hold myhand for the first time, I fell in love again…

In the summer of 1996, three mem-bers of the Chinatown Committeeof Asian Americans United (AAU)took a group of immigrant China-town youth for a picnic. While thegroup sat in the shade of a largetree along the banks of theSchuykill, the youth talked abouthomesickness and in particularabout the elderly in Chinatown.The youth, who ranged in age from12 to 16, realized that though thehomesickness was bad for them, itwould be much worse for theelderly. The times they felt the mosthomesick were during the tradition-al holidays—Chinese New Year andthe Mid-Autumn Festival. From thisquiet conversation, the idea tomount a Mid-Autumn Festival inPhiladelphia Chinatown began toblossom and grow.

AAU has always seen arts and cul-tural work as a fundamental meansfor creating social change in ourcommunities. Folk arts in particularcan be a catalyst for social changebecause they have a special power.They unite the political fight forsocial justice with a profound cul-tural thread which speaks to theheart and the spirit. We believed

that working with these youth toestablish a Mid-Autumn Festival inChinatown would not only fill acultural need, but also could serveto raise the consciousness of theChinatown community about our fundamental human right to culture.

Chinatown, where AAU has itsmain office, is often viewed by pol-icy-makers as a dining and touristzone, rather than as a residentialneighborhood. Larger commercialinterests have shaped Chinatown’sdevelopment and impeded thecommunity’s own ability to main-tain a vital vernacular culture: therehas been no place for the commu-nity to gather for itself, or to prac-tice and enjoy traditional arts. Withthis in mind, we began together torecreate festival, to recreate home,on Tenth and Vine Streets.

The youth decided they would liketo do a play based on a folktaleabout the Moon Festival. But manyof the youth were unclear about thestory. They had vague memories ofa story about the Moon Maiden,and many of them wove a mish-mash of various folktales togetherin their minds trying to remember. Iam a “jook sing”—a Cantoneseterm which is used for American-born Chinese. (It literally means“hollow bamboo” and implies whilewe have the “outsides”—the physi-cal appearance of being Chinese—we lack the “insides”—the heartand soul, spirit and culture of beingChinese.) As a jook sing, I was littlehelp in trying to figure out the folk-tale. After a bit of library researchwe came up with two versions ofthe tale and the youth worked tocreate the play “so other kids outthere don’t forget the stories theway we did.” The youth themselveschose the theme for the first festi-val: “Honoring the Elderly.” Theyworked for two months organizinglogistics, making paper lanterns,preparing scenery for the play, andlining up additional acts, one ofwhich was the Senior Citizens’ TaiChi Group from Chinatown. They

[Continued on p. 27➝] 2726

wages, health benefits,and work conditions. Inthe KWU’s office, work-ers regularly meet notonly to talk about strate-gies but also to converseabout their hopes for thefuture and their experi-ences as migrants. Imagesof La Virgen deGuadalupe, which adorn

the walls of the office,serve as reminders of Herpresence. At the 1994Mushroom Festival agiant mushroom walkedthrough the crowds, par-ticipated in the parade,and oversaw the mush-room picking contest.The mushroom symbol-ized the power of this

commodity for the eco-nomic well-being of theregion and the vitality ofthe community. For Mexi-can workers, the pres-ence of La Virgen in theFestival represented analternative sense of com-munity and well-beingthat went beyond eco-nomic considerations. In

the United States, Mexi-can migrant workers havemaintained their devotionto La Virgen to expresstheir search and demandsfor dignity, justice andbelonging.

–Miguel Díaz-Barrigaand Luis Tlaseca

Maintaining tradition: mid-autumn festival/ continued from p. 7 Maintaining tradition: mid-autumn festival/ continued from p. 26

La Virgen de Guadalupe and Struggles for Justice in Chester County/continued from p. 9

thought perhaps one hundred peo-ple might come to see their festival,but were really not sure who mightattend.

On that cool fall evening four yearsago, over 450 people from the com-munity showed up in the play-ground of Holy Redeemer for thefirst Mid-Autumn Festival. By lastyear, the attendance had risen toover 600. This year, as we preparedfor the fourth festival, we realizedthat many of the youth involvedwith the first play had moved on.They now have jobs and greaterfamily responsibilities. Some havemoved out from the community insearch of more affordable, decenthousing than what is available in thecramped confines of Chinatown. Anew group of youth have begun towork on carrying out the festival.Some of them, like me, cannot reador write Chinese well. We sat withChinese song sheets written outphonetically and prepared songs inMandarin and Cantonese for a sing-along. Other youth and elders told

us what the songs mean. Danceswere practiced in one end of theoffice space. The planning commit-tee has grown and includes youthand elderly. We still search for waysto offer young people access to folkdance and singing traditions in aconsistent way. The festival hasbecome a reason to celebrate, andas such, has become a reason todevelop craft and technique. It hasalso become a vehicle for under-standing the dynamic nature of tradi-tion. It was only after we mountedthe festival in Chinatown that Ilearned from my father that thelanterns which were so precious apart of the festival in Hong Kongand in Chinatown were never a partof Mid-Autumn Festivities in north-ern China where he grew up. What Ihad assumed to be a ubiquitous partof the festival turned out to be “asouthern thing.” And of course, theannual Mooncake Eating Contestand the Chinatown Macarena Dancewhich has come to mark one of thefinales of the festival are pure home-

grown Philadelphia traditions. Andso it goes. Each new idea forreclaiming culture has become acomplex, multilayered adventure.

On September 25, 1999, AAU spon-sored the fourth Mid-Autumn Festi-val celebration in Chinatown. Mychildren, and the others who came,learned the story of Houyi andChang E. They saw mooncakes notas the weird heavy cakes in thecardboard box, but as “the specialtreat we get to eat once a year.”They lit their lanterns and ran withtheir friends through the playgroundat Holy Redeemer. They built memo-ries of a sacred, spiritual link tothousands of years of Chinese cul-ture. My father and the other elderswho attended remembered theirchildhood in China. This year, underthe full moon, my husband and Icelebrated the twentieth anniversaryof our “first date”—and I will fell inlove all over again…–Deborah Wei

Folk Arts of Social Change: Curator’s Selection/ continued from p. 24

Court on issues involv-ing the contractors andthe contractors associa-tion, and that case didn’titself end until late 1989.

But at a tremendousprice for people whowere willing to be, ineffect, the lead plaintiffsand to stand up and todo the right thing. And

it was during the courseof that case that I got anumber of threats onmy own life and whichled me to believe that Imust be doing some-thing right if someonefelt that I ought to bethreatened.”—Harold Goodman

“I decided to work with

folks at PhiladelphiaCouncil of Neighbor-hood Organizations ona housing survey of landspeculation in NorthPhiladelphia… I did titlesearches on entireblocks. And they wereall controlled by four orfive individuals. Big timespeculators, slum lordssitting on property, not

giving a crap, tax delin-quent… And we weretrying to figure out, howdo we make a pointabout this? ‘Cause allthese people were taxdelinquent. They owedall these back taxes,which were funding forthe schools! Right?… Buthow do you package[Continued on p. 28 ➝]

street fair. And the next day theywere gone. They never cameback and they never figured outwho stole the files.”—Robert J. Brand

Personal Liberation and Sustenance“You talk to all sorts of differentpeople who had their run-ins withthe draft during the ‘60s and Iremember when… One of mygood friends did some real seriouspolitical body painting on me, sothat when I did go through the[draft induction] process and wastold to strip this and strip that, theappropriate slogans began toreveal themselves. So, we had a lotof fun back then, I can tell you…That’s what it was all about at thatpoint... If it wasn’t fun, it wouldn’twork so well. People do this stuffbecause they’re serious, but the joythat you get out of…‘Speakingtruth to [power].’ It’s really liberat-ing. And if it wasn’t liberating per-sonally to engage in social change,you wouldn’t have a movement.”—Karl Baker

“It came from my experience withthe Radical Fairies. Well, it was theStonewall 25 demonstration, andACT UP was a part of the anti-demonstration, which was the ille-gal demo up 5th Avenue. Becausethat year they had changed theroute and banned the drag queens,and banned the floats, and it wasjust this total bogus rainbow cardthing. I was in the demonstration,and I’d been in ACT UP for a fewyears then, and I was reallyexhausted, really burnt out. Andwe were saying the same chants,and all these people were dead ordying… And so I sat down on thiscorner, and watched everything goby. And then I heard this amazingdrumming. And I looked up…and there’s these beautiful incredi-ble fairy puppets floating aboveeverything. And they were likehugging people, and dancing, andbelow them were like naked peo-ple, and people painted in allthese colors, and people in wheel-chairs with masks. It was phenom-enal. It was like the liberated zoneof that protest march… And sotwenty blocks later, I’m naked run-ning down 5th Avenue under

these puppets screaming my headoff. And that also taught me thisincredible language that like—Wow! Not only could can thesepuppets translate incredible vocab-ulary in one instant image, but italso is inspiring. And you coulddance under them. And the peoplewho make them were so alive.And it challenged everything Ithought about art. And it chal-lenged everything I thought aboutwhat could happen on the street.Because what happened was, itwas totally transformed. Thatplace, that moving location, wasan autonomous zone that didn’thave a time, or a place, or anagenda, or a politic, or a languageor anything. It was this absoluteliberated zone. It was amazing.”—Mattyboy Hart

“During the McCarthy period,political folk music was always abig thing for me. I wrote realcorny songs that we would sing.And so many political people areso earnest. I found some old stuffthat a friend of mine and I wroteand we were just hysterical. It wasa real cut at the earnestness…Among the most exciting time [waswhen] folksingers would come infrom New York, or who knowswhere, and we’d have what wecalled hootenannies at people’shouses. And, I mean, I met WoodyGuthrie, I met, like, everybody.And we would just sing and play,and the house would shake. Iremember that. The outside worldwas hostile. But that was so pow-erful, the stuff we sang.”—LibbyFrank

“I remember it with the large abor-tion, the pro-choice demonstra-tions in Washington. And one ofthem I took my daughter to whenshe was, I don’t know. She wasprobably in her early teenageyears. And she was so used to liv-ing in a family that never voted forthe candidates that won andalways were out of step with themainstream. And I remember wearrived at this demonstration andshe said, ‘All these people agreewith us?’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ And ittotally gave her this picture of her-self differently in this society, asnot being this child of totalweirdos, but being part of a move-

ment.”—Jean Hunt

“The absolute wonderful thingabout the civil rights movement fora lot of people is that music kindof carried you through it. As Iremember, the first time I wasarrested… I remember when wewere in jail they had separated themen from women obviously…And so the way we would makesure that everybody was okay inthe male section, the way theywould make sure we were okay, iswe would start singing. And theywould hear us, and then they’dstart singing back. And then wewould hear them. And in the littlesongs sometimes we would justweave in, like one of the womenin our cell got sick and we had toget her out of there, and so we letthem know that she had got sickand we had gotten her out, but wejust weaved it into the song. Sothat, for me was probably the piecewhere both my background comingout of the church and then the strug-gle, that I began to really get anappreciation for the role particularlymusic plays.”—Judy Claude

this and sell it to themedia, right? We werethinking, you know,nobody’s gonna payattention to this.

So I remember havin’this brainstorm—I was akid! I was a junior incollege, but my heartwas into this stuff. And Iwould go there at eightin the morning and stay‘til six at night justlookin’ up dustybooks… And I remem-ber sayin’, ‘This is it. I’mgoin’ after city officials.I’m gonna do titlesearches. I’m gonna lookup everything that theyown. And I’m gonna findsomething.’ And I did. Ifound two. The sheriff,who was responsible forcollecting taxes andputting stuff up for sher-iff’s sale, was tax delin-quent on his property.And the other one was abig politician in the cityconnected to Rizzo. Well,Pearlman bought ahouse for Rizzo andgave it to him… Well, Idid a search on that

property, and it was taxdelinquent. A lot ofmoney! And I got thosetwo things. I ran back tothe office, and I said, “Igot it!” It was like Wood-ward and Bernstein! Weleaked that baby to thepress, got on the frontpage of the “B” sectionof… whatever newspa-per was out at thetime… and we wereable to highlight therampant speculation inslum lording going on,and it was… the genesisof this gift property pro-gram that the city stilloperates. That all cameout of that time and thatresearch… It just gaveme this sense that therewas a reason for me togo [on]. At that point Iwas almost on the vergeof droppin’ out ofschool. I was thinkin’,what’s the point? Whyam I doing this? I shouldbe in the communitystruggling. And then Ithought, you know, thecommunity needs theseskills… I just remember

spending days, weeks inmusty rooms pouringover books just to nailthat.”—Debbie Wei

“I think it was in 1971that an FBI office inMedia, Pennsylvania wasbroken into, and all ofthe FBI files were stolen.And then people startedreading them. And themore they read, themore they realized howintense the [FBI] surveil-lance was. And so theirresponse was to startpublicizing the files. TheFBI correctly assumedthat if they could infil-trate Powelton, someonecould lead them to whostole the files. And all ofa sudden, literally fortyagents showed up inPowelton, which is not abig community. And soeverybody was trying tofigure out what to do.The next night we had ameeting at the communi-ty center of East Powel-ton Concerned Residents—well over a hundredpeople. And we set up asystem of photographing

the FBI people, andputting up posters oftheir photographs ontrees, so that everybodyknew who they were.And then we had thisdiscussion. We figuredout that what the FBIreally cared about was tostop us from looking atthe files. So we decidedto have a street fairwhere we would exhibitthe files. People just gotwonderfully creative. Wetook a bunch of thephotos and reallyenlarged them, and cutjigsaw puzzles out ofthem. We had a ‘Pin theTail on J. Edgar Hoover’game, live skits, hotdogs and hamburgers,and music on people’sporches. It was greatfun. The day of thestreet fair we recruitedabout three vans. Andeach one was loadedwith what looked to be250 pages of files. Andthen they went in differ-ent directions to Powel-ton. And so, we had the

2928

town; the things that happen topeople with the same color skinas you or who speak your lan-guage; the conditions and socialhierarchies where you work; therisks you have taken to improveyour life and those of your lovedones; the blood stains you havewitnessed and the marks theyhave left upon you.

And each of these exists not onlyin one dimension or only in thepresent, but rather exists at thesame time in memory, in the con-stellation of all the people whohave ever been close to you, inthe litany of past events andinjustices. Faulkner in his cloudyway was right on target in hisdepiction of power and politicsacross generations in Absalom,Absalom!; it is the imperfection

of memory, the knowledge offamily stories, and the actions ofone’s grandparents that providethe background that will likelyshape your actions towards oth-ers today. Just as we are not bornneutral, we are born with a politi-cal history, having had theactions of our grandparents, andtheir grandparents, set the stagebefore our entrance. Of course,hope exists in our power tochange that, or in our determina-tion to continue their struggles.As we are the products of tradition,our ambivalent relations to themaintenance and change of thattradition is perhaps the politicalstruggle, the internal civil war, weall wage within ourselves. Such isthe curse of being reflective, cre-ative beings. Such is the curse of

belief, as well as its power toemancipate. We are all stained withthe blood of our ancestors—but thechoices about what to do about itare ours. —William Westerman

Bloodstains/continued from p. 5 Folk Arts of Social Change: Curator’s Selection/ continued from p. 28

Folk Arts of Social Change: Curator’s Selection/ continued from p. 22

[Continued on following page ]

3130

Works in Progress, the maga-zine of the Philadelphia Folk-lore Project (PFP), is publishedtwice a year. We depend uponsubscriptions and donations tocover the costs of the workdescribed in these pages andthe magazine itself. To sub-scribe and for more informa-tion, please call:215-468-7871

Editor: Debora KodishDesigner: Ife Designs + AssociatesPrinting: Garrison PrintersPrinted on recycled paper

Philadelphia Folklore Project StaffCarole Boughter, Program SpecialistPatricia Frahme, AccountantCathy Harris,Assistant to the DirectorJoan Huckstep, Dance SpecialistDebora Kodish, DirectorDeborah Wei, Education Specialist

Philadelphia Folklore Project BoardGermaine Ingram, Co-chairDeborah Wei, Co-chairTerrence CameronRuth CameronLois FernandezThomas KramerNora LichtashMogauwane MahloeleCheryl McClenney-BrookerSamien NolMary YeeChamroeun Yin

We are happy to

acknowledge support from:� National Endowment

for the Arts

� The Pew Charitable Trusts

� The William Penn Founda-

tion

� Philadelphia Exhibitions

Initiative, administered by the

University of the Arts and

funded by The Pew

Charitable Trusts

� Pennsylvania Council

on the Arts

� Independence Foundation

� Pennsylvania Historical and

Museum Commission

� Philadelphia Music Project,

administered by Settlement

Music School and funded by

The Pew Charitable Trusts

� Dance Advance, a grant

program funded by The Pew

Charitable Trusts and admin-

istered by the Philadelphia

Dance Alliance

� Pennsylvania Humanities

Council, the state-federal

partner of the National

Endowment for the

Humanities

� Samuel Fels Fund

� The Golden Rule Foundation

� Philadelphia Cultural Fund

� Philadelphia Foundation

� Leeway Foundation

� CoreStates

� Dolfinger-McMahon

Foundation

� and individual Philadelphia

Folklore

Project members

Thank you to all.

Exhib

its:

We Loan Exhibits: travelingexhibitions on Philadelphiafolk arts and culture avail-able now!

Uses of Tradition: Arts of ItalianAmericans in Philadelphia explores the meanings of someof the beautiful and useful folkarts that Italian immigrantsbrought to this region over thelast one hundred years—from thestonecarving, stained glass andmosaic work that ornament ourgrand buildings to the family andregional craft traditions carriedon in more private settings, likepalm-weaving and window dis-plays. This exhibition considersthe meanings and uses of inherit-ed traditions in peoples’ lives. 54matted and framed photographswith 17 interpretive text panels.

You, Me and Them: Photographs by Thomas B. Morton is an extended essayon how culture is created,reshaped and attacked in ourmulticultural society. Photographsby this thoughtful African Ameri-can photographer represent morethan twenty years of his docu-mentation and exploration of cul-ture-making in communities ofcolor in the Philadelphia area.Morton has attended communityfestivals and celebrations, wit-nessed weddings, funerals,momentous performances, tri-umphs and tragedies. Includedare images of Korean, Hmong,Vietnamese, African American,Puerto Rican and Jewish peoplethat testify to the ways in whichfolk arts are important in peo-ples’ lives. 27 framed and mattedphotographs with text panels.

Giants, Kings and CelestialAngels: Teaching Cambodian Artsin Philadelphia. Work by PeangKoung, Eang Mao, Sipom Ming,Chamroeun Yin and their stu-dents. This exhibition introducesfour Cambodian artists: a mask-maker and folk opera director, acostume-maker, a temple painter,

and a dancer/mask maker. Thefocus is on how they try to teachCambodian arts here in Philadel-phia, sharing Khmer values alongwith Khmer arts. 24 framed andmatted photographs with 7 origi-nal drawings by students and textpanels.

“Plenty of Good WomenDancers:” African AmericanWomen Hoofers from Philadel-phia. Glamorous film clips, pho-tographs and dancers’ vividrecollections convey a portrait ofveteran Philadelphia womenhoofers prominent during thegolden age of swing and rhythmtap (1930s-1940s). This exhibitionfocuses on women who “cameup” from the 1920s through thepresent. Restricted to few roles,unnamed in credits, these AfricanAmerican women dancers haveremained anonymous within andoutside of the entertainmentindustry and sometimes even inthe communities in which theyreside. The exhibition offers us aglimpse into an era often viewedonly through the perspectives ofmale tap dancers, agents, andentertainment impresarios. Ithonors the artistry and rhythmicinnovation of these dance pio-neers. 50 framed and mattedphotographs in six panels, withtwo additional text panels.

ODUNDE African American Festival: Twenty Years on SouthStreet. Photographs by ThomasB. Morton. ODUNDE is one ofthe oldest African American streetfestivals in the country. It hasgrown into a dynamic event thatdraws more than 200,000 peopleevery year. Included are vividimages of the Egungun dancer, abatá battery, the procession andoffering, drummers, dancers, andcelebrants. Photographs show thearts that are at the heart of atwenty-year-old African American

street festival that has persisted,despite opposition and gentrifica-tion. 30 matted and framed pho-tographs with text panels.

Keep It Real. Graffiti has becomeincreasingly controversial. But thedebate over graffiti is usuallyone-sided, with all young urbangraffiti writers and artists groupedtogether and treated as vandalsand worse. This exhibition paysattention to some of the opinionsand experiences of a group ofeleven young men who paintelaborate graffiti. Each is repre-sented with a single color photo-graph of his work—chiefly“pieces” (short for “master-pieces”), with some memorialwalls and commercial commis-sions. The artists are also repre-sented by text panels whichinclude their comments andquestions. They ask why there ismoney to arrest graffiti artists, butnot for schools or jobs. The exhi-bition raises questions about dis-investment in urbancommunities, and controversiesover what is public and privateproperty. 11 large-format mattedand framed photographs withtext panels.

Please call us (215-468-7871) with anyquestions about our traveling exhibitionsprogram, or for further information.

About Our Exhibitions:

Our exhibitions are user-friendly, and appropriate bothfor agencies with no previous exhibition experience,and for museums. Exhibitions come in well-labeledcrates, with detailed packing, installing, and repackinginstructions. Photographs and panels have wire backs,and are easy to hang.

Exhibits cost $250-$500 for each six-week rental. Weprovide insurance for the exhibits. Shipping costs arethe responsibility of the borrower and must bearranged through our office. Organizations that servelow-income or under-served communities may be eli-gible for reduced fees. (Please call us for more information).

Interpretive, educational and marketing materials (suchas postcards, posters, videos, and related PFP publica-tions) are available for many of the exhibits. We alsoprovide borrowers with sample news releases, pho-tographs, and captions.

For virtual samplings of these exhibitions, visit ourwebsite in 2000: folkloreproject.org

Borrow some of our pictures for your walls. . . and get tothe heart of community traditions important to diversefolks. Six exhibitions can now be rented—they showhow people use folk arts today in diverse urban neigh-borhoods, as essential tools for living. Let us know if youwant to bring pictures from our neighborhood to yours.Six exhibitions are available:

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P A I DPHILADELPHIA, PA

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Philadelphia Folklore Project

1304 Wharton St.

Philadelphia, PA 19147

About the Philadelphia Folklore ProjectFolklore means something different to everyone—as it should, since it isone of the chief means we have to represent our own realities in the faceof powerful institutions. Here at the Philadelphia Folklore Project, we arecommitted to paying attention to the experiences and traditions of “ordi-nary” people. We’re a 12-year-old independent public folklife agency thatdocuments, supports and presents local folk arts and culture. We offer exhi-bitions, concerts, workshops and assistance to artists and communities. Weconduct ongoing field research and we organize around issues of concern.We maintain an archive and issue publications and resources. We urge youto join—or to call us for more information. (215-468-7871)

Join and get the shirt off our back!____$25 Basic. Get magazines like this 2x/year, special mailings and

25% discount on publications.

____$35 Family. (2 or more at the same address). As above & 1 FREE PFPpublication. (We’ll send a list.)

____$60 Contributing. As above, 2 PFP books (we’ll send a list), dis-counts, and a “Plenty of Good Women Dancers” or “Folk Arts of SocialChange”t-shirt. ($15 tax-deductible)

____$150 Supporting. Magazines, mailings, 3 PFP books (as above), dis-counts, t-shirt, PFP video. ($75 tax deductible)

____$10 No frills. Magazine & mailings.

____Sweat equity. I want to join (and get mailings). Instead of $$, I cangive time or in-kind services, help with mailings, computer (MAC)consulting, work on a committee, or something else.

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