Perspective | In a time of mayhem, music can be the language of statesmen (2024)

Where politicians, business executives and diplomats have failed, or made only the slightest progress, perhaps artists using their talents can prevail.

“The number of times I’ve been able to connect with counterparts, even in governments that have different views than our own, through music has been quite something to see,” said Secretary of State Antony Blinken during Monday’s introduction.

A multigenerational, coed cohort of musicians have gamely stepped into the breach: Herbie Hanco*ck, Denyce Graves, Chuck D, Lainey Wilson, Justin Tranter, Teddy Swims, Armani White, Jellyroll, Breland, Kane Brown and Grace Bowers. They are performers in jazz, country, rap, classical and pop. They’re veterans and newcomers, some of whom found their way into the music business through showcases and studio work and others who built their careers using social media. In their work, they speak to female strength, gender fluidity and sexual identity, systemic racism and discrimination, but also the joy of wide open roads, big trucks, good parties, dewy love and the soul-lifting joy of a single beautiful note launched into the wind.

The program recalls the 1950s when the government dispatched a group of jazz musicians to perform around the world to counter the anti-American sentiments being broadcast by the Soviet Union. Greats such as Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie and Benny Goodman were asked to speak to the world through their music, to exemplify American values — even as they lacked the full rights of citizenship in a segregated society. They were truth-telling patriots, who performed before adoring international audiences and sometimes spoke a harsh truth to officials in their own government who weren’t doing enough to support and protect Black Americans. Their lessons about free speech and free thinking reverberated both outside the United States and within its borders.

“America’s secret weapon is a blue note in a minor chord,” Blinken said, quoting a foreign correspondent’s words about Louis Armstrong’s performance behind the Iron Curtain.

Today’s American popular culture is no secret weapon. It has fans in high places around the world. Former Japanese prime minister Junichiro Koizumi was such an Elvis devotee that former president George W. Bush flew him to Graceland on Air Force One. And when Taylor Swift performed in London recently, her backstage meet-and-greet included a selfie with a smiling Prince William and his children Prince George and Princess Charlotte. But can music make inroads among those who have little use for America’s government, economic system or social mores? Can it directly change minds and hearts, or can it only speak to the fans it already has? And how will artists balance global outreach with the work that needs to be done domestically?

“This is not about propaganda,” rapper Chuck D said in an interview Tuesday. “Culture is a voice that I think connects human beings … and what’s out in the world can come back to teach the United States.”

Chuck D, the booming baritone of Public Enemy, led the way in the late 1980s in establishing rap’s ability to speak to social ills and get under the skin of recalcitrant political leaders. He used rap to highlight social issues and tell universal stories from overlooked communities. Long before social media allowed like-minded folks to find each other across geography, Chuck D understood that rap was akin to the talking drums of another era.

“We’re not flying to Burma on a DC-10 to teach them about America,” Chuck D said. “We can learn from the world.”

The State Department, in collaboration with YouTube, announced the revival of its musical diplomacy program in September and Blinken, dressed in his usual suit and tie, grabbed a guitar for an actually-quite-soulful performance of the Muddy Waters’s classic “Hoochie Coochie Man.” But in the immediate aftermath of that announcement, Hamas attacked Israel; the war in Gaza erupted; Palestinian casualties surpassed 35,000 and Ukraine continues its fight to beat back Russian invaders. And on the home front, the presidential election has escalated the bickering over immigrants, refugees and the very idea of what it means to be American if this is no longer a country dedicated to welcoming the tired and hungry but only the wealthy and well-educated.

But hip-hop artist Armani White is an optimist. Like Chuck D, he doesn’t necessarily have faith that governmental institutions can create change, but he believes that the individuals who populate the corner offices and cubicles can. He has faith that the musicians those individuals assembled will speak up for those who lack access to a microphone or simply don’t have the words to articulate their disaffection with the way things are or have always been.

“I believe in a body of people to change what needs to be changed,” White said. He recalled a teacher he had as a kid growing up in Philadelphia who pointed to a map with the words “United States” written across it. The words weren’t embedded in the landscape, the teacher said. They weren’t etched into the mountains. The point of the lesson was that America “is an idea,” White said. “It’s a way of observing and looking at the world.”

With that lesson in mind, White, 27, is hoping to represent a rising generation of artists and leaders, and to bridge the gap “between what’s going on in my world and what’s going on in the world at large.” He’s marveled that he has fans in India and Dubai and South Korea who are listening to what he has to say. He wasn’t intimidated by their attention; he was buoyed. “A lot of people move throughout the world with no purpose,” he says. “I can move with confidence” knowing that he’s being heard.

Diplomacy is an act of faith. That people will stand by their word. That they can articulate their wants and that they have the capacity to compromise. It’s not always the case that better angels prevail in any handshake agreement or historic treaty. Sometimes, it’s simply that our worst, most destructive impulses are held at bay.

American music lives outside of governmental institutions. It often seems in a constant state of combat with big business. That’s part of its value, energy and power. Chuck D, for one, wants to make sure it stays that way. He wants music to walk alongside policymakers, to keep educated watch over big business.

But he believes in a global community. Speaking to it is not a monologue but a conversation. Music, he says, “is the best language for truth.”