I Stand Here Struggling For The Rights

When I Sang My American Folk Melodies In Budapest, Prague, Tiflis, Moscow, Oslo, Or The Hebrides Or On The Spanish Front, The People Understood And Wept Or Rejoiced With The Spirit Of The Songs. I Found That Where Forces Have Been The Same, Whether People Weave, Build, Pick Cotton, Or Dig In The Mine, They Understand Each Other In The Common Language Of Work, Suffering, And Protest.

The Man Who Accepts Western Values Absolutely, Finds His Creative Faculties Becoming So Warped And Stunted That He Is Almost Completely Dependent On External Satisfactions, And The Moment He Becomes Frustrated In His Search For These, He Begins To Develop Neurotic Symptoms, To Feel That Life Is Not Worth Living, And, In Chronic Cases, To Take His Own Life.

Every Artist, Every Scientist, Must Decide Now Where He Stands. He Has No Alternative. There Is No Standing Above The Conflict On Olympian Heights. There Are No Impartial Observers. Through The Destruction, In Certain Countries, Of The Greatest Of Man's Literary Heritage, Through The Propagation Of False Ideas Of Racial And National Superiority, The Artist, The Scientist, The Writer Is Challenged. The Struggle Invades The Formerly Cloistered Halls Of Our Universities And Other Seats Of Learning. The Battlefront Is Everywhere. There Is No Sheltered Rear.

As Americans, Preserving The Best Of Our Traditions, We Have The Right- Nay The Duty-to Fight For Participation In The Forward March Of Humanity

I Shall Take My Voice Wherever There Are Those Who Want To Hear The Melody Of Freedom