01-31-19
Originally written by Abel Meeropol in the 1930s, Strange Fruit was made famous first by Billie Holiday; the song has since gone on to be covered and performed by countless artists. It was first created as a poem and later turned into a protest song Mr. Meeropol as a response to the lynching of African Americans in the Southern United States during the Jim Crow era. “Strange Fruit,” in this context is a reference to the victims who have been lynched now hanging from the poplar tree.
The song itself isn’t disgusting; in fact, its haunting appeal creates a beautiful soundscape; its creation would help lead it to become an anthem for the Civil Rights movement. The fact that it exists is disgusting, and the fact that we as a culture still haven’t learned the most important lessons from work like this is disgusting. We may have moved away from regularly lynching people, but in effect, we’ve traded the rope for guns. African Americans in our country continue to experience an imbalance that leaves them on the more dangerous side of the police force.
The difference between a “reckless youth,” and a “thug,” seems to be determined first by skin-tone, and then second by tax bracket. The prison system acts in a manner to sustain recidivism as opposed to rehabilitation, especially since we’ve begun to privatize our facilities — modern-day slavery, directed and focused on low-income communities, communities that typically are comprised of minorities.
In the 80+ years since the creation of this song, we have seemed monumental advances culturally for people of races and nationalities, yet the danger persists. New forms of intolerance are bred in every generation, just under a newly devised guise—the red hats of today, are no different than the white hoods of yesteryear if anything they’re worst as they feel emboldened enough to show their faces.
Lyrics:
[Verse 1]
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees[Verse 2]
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh[Verse 3]
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop