'Strange Fruit' documentary examines art of propaganda

Once again, audiences have been reminded of propaganda's power: the in-your-face image of U.S. soldiers draping an American flag on the face of a Saddam Hussein statue, and later pulling it down.

To some viewers, this was an outrageous act of imperialism. To others, it was a bold assertion of command and control.

What the act's impact mainly demonstrates is that propaganda thrives in even the most jaded, sophisticated era.

It was ever thus. Consider these famous lyrics, introduced by Billie Holiday:

"Southern trees bear a strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees"

The song, "Strange Fruit," today is considered one of the great anthems about racism. It has generated scholarly studies, been entered into the congressional record and achieved a musica sacra status among performers and historians.

Yet here is how New York City's Amsterdam News jauntily reviewed it back in 1939: "By all means, get a load of (Holiday's) recording of 'Strange Fruit,' " it went, "and although you'd never guess from the title, it is a swell bit of propaganda against lynching."*

The rise of this "swell bit" from agitprop ballad to object of reverence is the same tide that yields the fine and occasionally flawed one-hour documentary "Strange Fruit," airing at 11 p.m. tomorrow on PBS (KCTS-TV).

An imperfect film

Produced and directed by Joel Katz, the film seeks three goals: to provide social and political context for the song's creation, to set the record straight on its origins, and to chart its impact.

In many ways, Katz succeeds.

He profiles the individuals associated with "Strange Fruit," skillfully inserting them into the American landscape of the 1930s and beyond. Interviews with scholars of the present and survivors from the past help frame each segment.

The historic footage of protests and performances is as enthralling as the many still photos and artistic representations of lynching are disturbing. Katz balances both.

Less comfortably, "Strange Fruit" is wrapped in worship. A song about lynching could scarcely be approached in frivolous fashion; nevertheless, an air of solemnity and martyrdom pervade the production.

This focus leads to some oversights and glossing. For instance, the film omits that "Strange Fruit" always has been far more popular among educated blacks and whites than among average listeners, or that many African Americans have intensely disliked the song's portrayal of blacks as victims.

Song's composer revealed

But "Strange Fruit" also contains a crucial clarification: that the song was written not by Holiday, as she sometimes asserted, but by a Bronx high-school teacher named Abel Meeropol, who composed it as "Lewis Allen" in memory of two lost infant sons.

Singer and civil-rights activist Abbey Lincoln, who lends a strong presence to the documentary, acknowledges she initially thought a black person wrote it. Curiosity led her further.

"Amazingly, I found out not only he was white, he was Jewish American," she said.

That Meeropol should ever have been a semi-forgotten man seems astounding in retrospect. Besides "Strange Fruit," he wrote the brotherhood ode "The House I Live In," for which Frank Sinatra accepted a special Academy Award in 1945.

Later, Meeropol and his wife — civil-rights activists, labor unionists and one-time Communist Party members — adopted the two young sons of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, executed by the U.S. government for passing secrets to the Soviet Union.

Michael and Robby Meeropol speak lovingly and passionately about the man who became their father a half-century ago. If their descriptions border on deification, it's understandable.

Still, any discussion of "Strange Fruit" must deal with Holiday's role. Placing a legend in proper perspective is never simple, and uneasiness occasionally creeps into the film.

One concern is her understanding of, and sympathy with, the song. The film cites conflicting accounts about whether she even wanted to record it.

The conclusion is Holiday's experiences with racism probably magnified both her interpretation and sense of ownership — hence her claims of authoring the song.

Song was a touchstone

This kind of examination is less valuable than the documentary's musical and historical scholarship.

In 1938 and 1939, Holiday was in the midst of an engagement at Cafe Society, located in Manhattan's Greenwich Village and the first truly integrated club outside Harlem.

According to the film, she was approached by people who first heard the song performed by Meeropol's wife, Anne, at teachers' union meetings.

It was a period of radical political movements, fueled by the Depression and worldwide upheaval. In New York, much of it took place at the nexus of social activism and the arts.

It also was a time when the NAACP-led civil-rights movement was especially interested in lynching as the most visible and egregious example of racism.

As guest historian Michael Denning explains, "Strange Fruit" synthesizes all these ingredients. Stylistically, it is a combination of 1930s European cabaret — itself acutely political — and African-American club jazz.

And as the documentary so often and so effectively reminds us, the song became over the decades not only a touchstone for those who felt discrimination, but a flashpoint for accusations of being unpatriotic or troublemaking.

Now, that's the kind of history worth remembering in these interesting times.

If the difference between effective and ineffective propaganda is the art that propels it, then Billie Holiday's rendition of "Strange Fruit" is likely to outlast any statue toppling.

*From the book "Strange Fruit," by David Margolick.

Kay McFadden: kmcfadden@seattletimes.com