Strange Fruit APerformance about Identity Politics E.Patrick Johnson Introduction Givenrecent developments incritical race, queer, feminist, and gendertheory , Iconsidered writingan essaythat would engage the various arguments circulating amongthese disciplinary camps: essentialismvs. constructionism,discursivity vs. materiality,class vs. race,etc. I wasgoing to submit theessay to the 1998 National CommunicationAssociation Convention (NCA) as part of apanelon race and sex- ualityto be presented inthe fall of 1998.Theessay failed. I lacked boththe moti- vationand drive towrite in that form. Ibeganto write what eventually became a script for aperformance of mylife history .Icalledmy colleague, Bryant Keith Al- exander,to see if hehadsomething in his performance bagon race and sexuality . He did. Thus,we submitted aperformance panelto the Black Caucusof NCAen- titled,“ ResidueT races ofaBlack GayMasculinity .”The title of myperformance was Strange Fruit andBryant’ s was Brother Scars .Ourperformances atthe conference inNew York lasted 30 minuteseach, and were followedby alivelydiscussion that raised manyimportant questions about identity politics. Icontinuedto add moreto the script andit eventually became a 90-minuteper- formancein eight “ movements.”Each movement re ects adifferent aspect ofmy identityaround which my “ queerness”pivots. Theyrange from myperformance of dragto issues of black masculinityto how I negotiatedrace, gender, and sexuality in Ghana,W estAfrica. The show utilizes slides, music, voice-overs,dance, and en- couragesaudience participation. Thefull-length version of Strange Fruit debuted on 19 January 1999 at the Uni- versityof NorthCarolina at Chapel Hill to a standing-room-onlyaudience. I was nervousabout performing such aprovocativepiece onthe campus ofabig south- ernuniversity .Much tomy surprise, itwas well received, thoughnot without someunexpected and“ queer”responses from variousparts oftheaudiences. For instance,on opening night —aFriday—the majority of theaudience was black womenacademics. Notonly did theyregister all of theinside academic punningin theperformance (e.g.,references toHortenseSpillers, Judith Butler, bell hooks, TheDrama Review 47, 2 (T178), Summer 2003. Copyright q 2003 New YorkUniversity and the Massachusetts Institute ofTechnology 88 Strange Fruit 89 etc.),but they were notshy about participating in thosemoments in the show whenthe audience is encouragedto clap, dance, or say“ Amen.” Thesecond night,however, was decidedly different. Populatedwith mostly black gaymen —someof whomI knew—theSaturday night audience was cold anddespondent. Theirfaces looked pained andperforming for themwas work. I noticedthat a few black meneven left at intermission.During the black gayclub scene inwhich I encourageaudience members toclap andverbally respond, the black gaymen in the audience in particularsat motionless, taciturnly resisting my invitationto participate in the performance. Afterthe show ,Iasked oneof my goodfriends, whois alsoa black gayman, if hesensed thetension in theaudience from otherblack queer brothers.His response wastelling: “ Ican’t believe youput ourbusiness inthe street like that,” he said. “Whatdo youmean?” I responded. “Thechildren don’ t wantall of thosestraight folks knowingtheir business. Some ofusain’t asoutabout that stuff asyou are. W e[are] still intheSouth, you know .” IguessI knew,butI hadn’t remembered. Inthe pseudo-liberal space of this“ south- ernivy ,”Idid notregister the anxiety that a showsuch as Strange Fruit wouldcreate for black gaymen whose lives arecomplicated by thehegemony of homophobia notonly in black communities,but also in the South in general.My representa- tionof aspects of“thelife” transgressed an unspokencontract among southern black gaymen: never speak of oursexuality outside the boundaries of “our”des- ignatedspaces. Therefore,responding favorably to my show and participating wouldhave implicated themin its discursive meanings—i.e.,interpellated 1 them as“queer.”The stakes weretoo high —atleastfor someof them—for suchrec- ognition.They were fathers, schoolteachers, corporate executives, ministers even, who,for whateverreason, had not come toterms with their sexuality in ways that wouldallow them to be comfortableeven watching a performance abouta black gayman’ s experience—their experience. Thereafter,I performed Strange Fruit atvarious colleges and universities around thecountry including the University of Texasat Austin, Mt. Holyoke College, BatesCollege, T rinityCollege, American University ,CaliforniaState University atLos Angeles,Northwestern University ,theUniversity of Vermont,Emory University,PurdueUniversity ,theUniversity of Californiaat Berkeley ,theUni- versityof Massachusettsat Amherst, and the University of Chicago.Again, the showreceived variousresponses from sheerdelight to utterdisgust. After my ex- perience withthe black gayaudience in North Carolina, I neverassumed theshow’ s receptionbased onthe demographics of theaudience. At BatesCollege, for exam- ple,the audience was all white with the exception of aboutfour people of color. Yet,this audience was one of, if notthe most, responsive audiencesI haveper- formed for.During the “ church”scene, for instance,in which I encouragecall and response,there were moments when I hadto pause to let the audience quiet down because their“ hallelujahs,”“amens,” “preach brothers,” and “ tellits” drowned out my“ sermon.” Themost moving response Ihadto theshow ,however,was at Purdue Univer- sity.Located innorth central Indiana in the town of WestLafayette (where, inci- dentally,theKu Klux Klan is stillknown to march),Purdue is mostlyrecognized asanengineering and hard sciences university.Nonetheless,I wasinvited by the AfricanAmerican Cultural Center to come perform Strange Fruit .Iwasmore than abit anxiousabout performing theshow at Purdue, namely because of itsloca- tion,the fact that I wouldhave to drive there,and because ofallof thepreshow publicitythe performance received: thestudent newspaper contactedcolleagues atNorthwesternabout the show; black fraternitiesvolunteered to usher; and I re- ceived e-mailinquiries about the show from Lafayettereporters. Given the con- text,all of thisinterest in theshow set my teeth on edge. So much so that I asked mypartner to drive withme sothat I wouldnot be alone. 90 E.Patrick Johnson Myanxiety intensi ed untilI actuallywalked onstageto face astanding-room- onlycrowd of over 300.Studentswere sittingand standing in the aisles, in the back of thetheatre, and down fronton the oor.They hung on to every word throughoutthe performance andgave me ave-minutestanding ovation. After thequestion and answer period, asteadystream of teary-eyedstudents came up tometoexpress howmuch they appreciated theshow .“Yousaved mylife to- night,”one white female student said. “I’ve been strugglingwith my sexuality for ayearnow .I’ve thoughtabout suicide andeverything. Y ourshow let me know thatit’ s OK.I’ mgonnabe alright.”And with that, she embraced me ina long, heartfelthug. I wouldhave never expected thisresponse tothe show at a conser- vativemidwestern university.Nonetheless,it was a pedagogicalmoment not only for theaudience who undoubtedly were hungryfor ashowlike Strange Fruit , but for measwell. The response atPurdue taught me thatthe places inwhich our work asperformance artists/scholarsis mostneeded is notin locations where transgressivework andradical discourse isthenorm (if notpasse ´),butin locales wherethose radical voices aremuzzled by institutionalracism, sexism, classism, andhomophobia.Such responses tothe show also con rm thesubversive poten- tialof performance, theinterventions and “ radicalresearch” it galvanizes by “commingling[...] analyticaland artistic ways of knowingthat unsettles the insti- tutionalorganization of knowledgeand disciplines” (Conquergood 2002:151). Alwaysfollowed by livelydiscussions and/ordebate, each performance of Strange Fruit accomplished whatI hadintended: to raise questions around race, class, gen- der, andsexual identity .Besides wantingto contribute to a dialogueon these issues, onemight ask whyI chosethe autoethnographic performance mode toengage theseideas asopposed tothecritical essay . Over thepast few years,I havebeen thinkingabout the connection between physicaland social location and identity .Raisedin a single-parenthome in west- ernNorth Carolina on the “ black”side of town,my choices regardingrace, gen- der, class,religious, and sexual identi cation were mapped outlong before I wouldconsciously make up myown mind aboutthose identi cations. For the mostpart, I performed accordingto the script: Ilived inpublic housing,played sports, anddated girls.But there were conspicuous “ misperformances”as well.I 1.“Masculinity.”North- westernUniversity perfor- mance (2000).(Courtesyof E.Patrick Johnson) Strange Fruit 91 hada veryhigh voice andsang soprano; I hadvery effeminatemannerisms; I made goodgrades in school and spoke ina “standard”(i.e., non-black, non-southern) dialect—neitherof whichwere considered “black”in the eyes of myblack class- matesand neighbors; I pretended asif myfamily lived ina homeat thetop of our streetrather than in public housing,by havingmy white high school friends drop me off therewhen they gave me rides homefrom school.These performative de- viationsfrom theprescribed racial,gender, and class script raised morethan one eyebrowwithin the black communityin whichI lived, aswell as within my own family. Itonly got worse. When I wentoff toschoolto attend the University of North Carolinaat Chapel