The Rohonc Codex: Hungary’s Mysterious Manuscript That No One Can Read

Image by Klaus Schmeh, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Mag­yar, which is spo­ken and writ­ten in Hun­gary, ranks among the hard­est Euro­pean lan­guages to learn. (The U.S. For­eign Ser­vice Insti­tute puts it in the sec­ond-to-high­est lev­el, accom­pa­nied by the dread­ed aster­isk label­ing it as “usu­al­ly more dif­fi­cult than oth­er lan­guages in the same cat­e­go­ry.”) But once you mas­ter its vow­el har­mo­ny sys­tem, its def­i­nite and indef­i­nite con­ju­ga­tion, and its eigh­teen gram­mat­i­cal cas­es, among oth­er noto­ri­ous fea­tures, you can final­ly enjoy the work of writ­ers like Nobel Lau­re­ates Imre Kertész and Lás­zló Krasz­na­horkai in the orig­i­nal. Alas, no degree of mas­tery will be much help if you want to under­stand a much old­er — and, in its way, much more noto­ri­ous — Hun­gar­i­an text, the Rohonc Codex.

“Lit­tle is known about this book before it was bequeathed to the Hun­gar­i­an Acad­e­my of Sci­ences in 1838,” writes The Art News­pa­per’s Gar­ry Shaw. “Its 448 pages bear illus­tra­tions cov­er­ing Bib­li­cal themes and an as yet unread­able text, writ­ten using around 150 dif­fer­ent sym­bols.”

Like the famous­ly cryp­tic Voyn­ich Man­u­script, much cov­ered here on Open Cul­ture, “there has been much spec­u­la­tion over what lan­guage, if any, is encod­ed — rang­ing from old Hun­gar­i­an to San­skrit, or even a spe­cial­ly invent­ed one — as well as debate over the book’s ori­gin and date of cre­ation.” Most col­or­ful­ly, some attribute it to the noto­ri­ous nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry forg­er Sámuel Literáti Nemes.

Down­load this PDF scan of the Rohonc Codex, and you can behold for your­self both its often charm­ing­ly sim­ple medieval-style illus­tra­tions — many of which exhib­it a mix­ture of Chris­t­ian, Pagan, and Mus­lim sym­bol­ism — and the fiendish­ly reg­u­lar-look­ing script against which gen­er­a­tions of would-be deci­pher­ers have banged their heads. Here in the twen­ty-twen­ties, per­haps arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence can do its part, as has been attempt­ed with the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, to build upon ear­li­er analy­ses. One of those, con­duct­ed in the ear­ly nine­teen-sev­en­ties, deter­mined that, what­ev­er the lan­guage in which the Rohonc Codex was writ­ten, it shows no traces of case end­ings. To enthu­si­asts of bizarre man­u­scripts, that dis­cov­ery prob­a­bly means lit­tle, but to stu­dents of Mag­yar, noth­ing could come as a greater relief.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore a Dig­i­tized Edi­tion of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book”

An Intro­duc­tion to the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book

The Strangest Books in the World: Dis­cov­er The Madman’s Library, a Cap­ti­vat­ing Com­pendi­um of Pecu­liar Books & Man­u­scripts

An Intro­duc­tion to the Codex Seraphini­anus, the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished

Solv­ing a 2,500-Year-Old Puz­zle: How a Cam­bridge Stu­dent Cracked an Ancient San­skrit Code

The Foot-Lick­ing Demons & Oth­er Strange Things in a 1921 Illus­trat­ed Man­u­script from Iran

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Cats in Medieval Manuscripts & Paintings

Renais­sance artist Albrecht Dür­er  (1471–1528) nev­er saw a rhi­no him­self, but by rely­ing on eye­wit­ness descrip­tions of the one King Manuel I of Por­tu­gal intend­ed as a gift to the Pope, he man­aged to ren­der a fair­ly real­is­tic one, all things con­sid­ered.

Medieval artists’ ren­der­ings of cats so often fell short of the mark, Youtu­ber Art Deco won­ders if any of them had seen a cat before.

Point tak­en, but cats were well inte­grat­ed into medieval soci­ety.

Roy­al 12 C xix f. 36v/37r (13th cen­tu­ry)

Cats pro­vid­ed medieval cit­i­zens with the same pest con­trol ser­vices they’d been per­form­ing since the ancient Egyp­tians first domes­ti­cat­ed them.

Ancient Egyp­tians con­veyed their grat­i­tude and respect by regard­ing cats as sym­bols of divin­i­ty, pro­tec­tion, and strength.

Cer­tain Egypt­ian god­dess­es, like Bastet, were imbued with unmis­tak­ably feline char­ac­ter­is­tics.

The Vin­tage News reports that harm­ing a cat in those days was pun­ish­able by death, export­ing them was ille­gal, and, much like today, the death of a cat was an occa­sion for pub­lic sor­row:

When a cat died, it was buried with hon­ors, mum­mi­fied and mourned by the humans. The body of the cat would be wrapped in the finest mate­ri­als and then embalmed in order to pre­serve the body for a longer time. Ancient Egyp­tians went so far that they shaved their eye­brows as a sign of their deep sor­row for the deceased pet.

Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty Library, MS 24  f. 23v (Eng­land, c 1200)

The medieval church took a much dark­er view of our feline friends.

Their close ties to pagan­ism and ear­ly reli­gions were enough for cats to be judged guilty of witch­craft, sin­ful sex­u­al­i­ty, and frat­er­niz­ing with Satan.

In the late 12th-cen­tu­ry, writer Wal­ter Map, a soon-to-be archdea­con of Oxford, declared that the dev­il appeared before his devo­tees in feline form:

… hang­ing by a rope, a black cat of great size. As soon as they see this cat, the lights are turned out. They do not sing or recite hymns in a dis­tinct way, but they mut­ter them with their teeth closed and they feel in the dark towards where they saw their lord, and when they find it, they kiss it, the more humbly depend­ing on their fol­ly, some on the paws, some under the tail, some on the gen­i­tals. And as if they have, in this way, received a license for pas­sion, each one takes the near­est man or woman and they join them­selves with the oth­er for as long as they choose to draw out their game.

Pope Inno­cent VIII issued a papal bull in 1484 con­demn­ing the “devil’s favorite ani­mal and idol of all witch­es” to death, along with their human com­pan­ions.

13th-cen­tu­ry Fran­cis­can monk Bartholo­maeus Angli­cus refrained from demon­ic tat­tle, but nei­ther did he paint cats as angels:

He is a full lech­er­ous beast in youth, swift, pli­ant, and mer­ry, and leapeth and reseth on every­thing that is to fore him: and is led by a straw, and playeth there­with: and is a right heavy beast in age and full sleepy, and lieth sly­ly in wait for mice: and is aware where they be more by smell than by sight, and hunteth and reseth on them in privy places: and when he taketh a mouse, he playeth there­with, and eateth him after the play. In time of love is hard fight­ing for wives, and one scratch­eth and ren­deth the oth­er griev­ous­ly with bit­ing and with claws. And he maketh a ruth­ful noise and ghast­ful, when one prof­fer­eth to fight with anoth­er: and unneth is hurt when he is thrown down off an high place. And when he hath a fair skin, he is as it were proud there­of, and goeth fast about: and when his skin is burnt, then he bideth at home; and is oft for his fair skin tak­en of the skin­ner, and slain and flayed.

Pigs and rats also had a bad rep, and like cats, were tor­tured and exe­cut­ed in great num­bers by pious humans.

The Work­sop Bes­tiary Mor­gan Library, MS M.81 f. 47r (Eng­land, c 1185)

Not every medieval city was anti-cat. As the Aca­d­e­m­ic Cat Lady Johan­na Feen­stra writes of the above illus­tra­tion from The Work­sop Bes­tiary, one of the ear­li­est Eng­lish bes­tiaries:

Some would have inter­pret­ed the image of a cat pounc­ing on a rodent as a sym­bol for the dev­il going after the human soul. Oth­ers might have seen the cat in a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent light. For instance, as Eucharis­tic guardians, mak­ing sure rodents could not steal and eat the Eucharis­tic wafers.

Bodleian Library Bod­ley 764 f. 51r (Eng­land, c 1225–50)

St John’s Col­lege Library, MS. 61 (Eng­land (York), 13th cen­tu­ry)

It took cat lover Leonar­do DaVin­ci to turn the sit­u­a­tion around, with eleven sketch­es from life por­tray­ing cats in char­ac­ter­is­tic pos­es, much as we see them today. We’ll delve more into that in a future post.

Con­rad of Megen­berg, ‘Das Buch der Natur’, Ger­many ca. 1434. Stras­bourg, Bib­lio­thèque nationale et uni­ver­si­taire, Ms.2.264, fol. 85r

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent

What Peo­ple Named Their Cats in the Mid­dle Ages: Gyb, Mite, Méone, Pan­gur Bán & More

Cats Migrat­ed to Europe 7,000 Years Ear­li­er Than Once Thought

Cats in Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: How Japan’s Favorite Ani­mals Came to Star in Its Pop­u­lar Art

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

How the Beatles Wrote Their Songs: From Early Demos to Final Recordings

More than a few of us can claim, with some con­fi­dence, to know every Bea­t­les song. And indeed it may be true, in that we’ve heard every track of all their stu­dio albums. But as decade after decade of Bea­t­les schol­ar­ship has demon­strat­ed, there’s know­ing their songs, and then there’s know­ing their songs. Musi­cian and YouTu­ber David Ben­nett has made it his project to attain the sec­ond kind of knowl­edge, and on his ded­i­cat­ed series UnBea­t­led, to share it with the pub­lic. In each UnBea­t­led video he ana­lyzes just one song — “Help!,” “Here Comes the Sun,” “Pen­ny Lane,” and so on — at a lev­el of detail fine enough to neces­si­tate not just break­ing it down to its com­po­nent tracks, but also exam­in­ing the demos and unre­leased takes record­ed in the stu­dio.

This process can reveal a great deal about the Bea­t­les’ song­writ­ing process, as Ben­nett explains in the video at the top of the post. In the course of twen­ty min­utes, he cov­ers eleven songs, a selec­tion not nec­es­sar­i­ly lim­it­ed to the group’s uni­ver­sal­ly praised com­po­si­tions.

Take the first, “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine,” whose ear­ly record­ings dif­fer both lyri­cal­ly, melod­i­cal­ly, and in time sig­na­ture from the ver­sion we know (and may or may not love), begin­ning with an idea of John’s and being fur­ther shaped by Paul through its iter­a­tions. Anoth­er of John’s musi­cal seeds is “Every­body Had a Hard Year,” whose fin­ger­pick­ing pat­tern (orig­i­nal­ly learned from Dono­van in India) is also heard in “Julia” and “Dear Pru­dence,”  and which evolved, with dif­fer­ent chords, into the mid­dle sec­tion of “I’ve Got a Feel­ing.”

Such inter­con­nec­tions come as rewards of close and deep lis­ten­ing to the Bea­t­les canon. And cer­tain songs turn out to be worlds of their own: “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er,” for instance, was assem­bled out of two com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent record­ings, then adjust­ed in tem­po and pitch to match in the mid­dle. One of those takes includes the voice of pro­duc­er George Mar­tin count­ing in the orches­tra, the pitch of which sug­gests that its mem­bers had orig­i­nal­ly played in a dif­fer­ent key than the one we hear. As Ben­nett notes, using the then rel­a­tive­ly nov­el tech­nol­o­gy of “vari-speed” had become prac­ti­cal­ly stan­dard in the Bea­t­les’ stu­dio process, as such tech­no­log­i­cal lay­er­ing and adjust­ment itself became a key part of their song­writ­ing process. It con­tributed much to their sig­na­ture “vibey, psy­che­del­ic, uncan­ny sound”: sought after by many bands over the past six decades, but nev­er tru­ly repli­cat­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How John Lennon Wrote the Bea­t­les’ Best Song, “A Day in the Life”

“Tomor­row Nev­er Knows”: How The Bea­t­les Invent­ed the Future With Stu­dio Mag­ic, Tape Loops & LSD

Is “Rain” the Per­fect Bea­t­les Song?: A New Video Explores the Rad­i­cal Inno­va­tions of the 1966 B‑Side

The “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Demos: The Mak­ing of a Bea­t­les Clas­sic (1966)

How the Bea­t­les Exper­i­ment­ed with Indi­an Music & Pio­neered a New Rock and Roll Sound

How George Mar­tin Defined the Sound of the Bea­t­les: From String Quar­tets to Back­wards Gui­tar Solos

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The First American Cookbook: Sample Recipes from American Cookery (1796)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

On the off chance Lin-Manuel Miran­da is cast­ing around for source mate­r­i­al for his next Amer­i­can his­to­ry-based block­buster musi­cal, may we sug­gest Amer­i­can Cook­ery by “poor soli­tary orphan” Amelia Sim­mons?

First pub­lished in 1796, at 47 pages (near­ly three of them are ded­i­cat­ed to dress­ing a tur­tle), it’s a far quick­er read than the fate­ful Ron Cher­now Hamil­ton biog­ra­phy Miran­da impul­sive­ly select­ed for a vaca­tion beach read.

Slen­der as it is, there’s no short­age of meaty mate­r­i­al:

Calves Head dressed Tur­tle Fash­ion

Soup of Lamb’s Head and Pluck

Fowl Smoth­ered in Oys­ters

Tongue Pie

Foot Pie

Mod­ern chefs may find some of the first Amer­i­can cook­book’s meth­ods and mea­sure­ments take some get­ting used to.

We like to cook, but we’re not sure we pos­sess the where­with­al to tack­le a Crook­neck or Win­ter Squash Pud­ding.

We’ve nev­er been called upon to “per­fume” our “whipt cream” with “musk or amber gum tied in a rag.”

And we wouldn’t know a whortle­ber­ry if it bit us in the whit­pot.

The book’s full title is an indi­ca­tion of its mys­te­ri­ous author’s ambi­tions for the new country’s culi­nary future:

Amer­i­can Cook­ery, or the art of dress­ing viands, fish, poul­try, and veg­eta­bles, and the best modes of mak­ing pastes, puffs, pies, tarts, pud­dings, cus­tards, and pre­serves, and all kinds of cakes, from the impe­r­i­al plum to plain cake: Adapt­ed to this coun­try, and all grades of life.

As Kei­th Stave­ly and Kath­leen Fitzger­ald write in an essay for What It Means to Be an Amer­i­can, a “nation­al con­ver­sa­tion host­ed by the Smith­son­ian and Ari­zona State Uni­ver­si­ty,” Amer­i­can Cook­ery man­aged to strad­dle the refined tastes of Fed­er­al­ist elites and the Jef­fer­so­ni­ans who believed “rus­tic sim­plic­i­ty would inoc­u­late their fledg­ling coun­try against the cor­rupt­ing influ­ence of the lux­u­ry to which Britain had suc­cumbed”:

The recipe for “Queen’s Cake” was pure social aspi­ra­tion, in the British mode, with its but­ter whipped to a cream, pound of sug­ar, pound and a quar­ter of flour, 10 eggs, glass of wine, half-teacup of del­i­cate-fla­vored rose­wa­ter, and spices. And “Plumb Cake” offered the striv­ing house­wife a huge 21-egg show­stop­per, full of expen­sive dried and can­died fruit, nuts, spices, wine, and cream.

Then—mere pages away—sat john­ny­cake, fed­er­al pan cake, buck­wheat cake, and Indi­an slap­jack, made of famil­iar ingre­di­ents like corn­meal, flour, milk, water, and a bit of fat, and pre­pared “before the fire” or on a hot grid­dle. They sym­bol­ized the plain, but well-run and boun­ti­ful, Amer­i­can home. A dia­logue on how to bal­ance the sump­tu­ous with the sim­ple in Amer­i­can life had begun.

(Hamil­ton fans will please note that the cake for the 1780 Schuyler-Hamil­ton wed­ding leaned more toward the for­mer than any­thing in the john­ny­cake / slap­jack vein…)

Amer­i­can Cook­ery is one of nine 18th-cen­tu­ry titles to make the Library of Con­gress’ list of 100 Books That Shaped Amer­i­ca:

This cor­ner­stone in Amer­i­can cook­ery is the first cook­book of Amer­i­can author­ship to be print­ed in the Unit­ed States. Numer­ous recipes adapt­ing tra­di­tion­al dish­es by sub­sti­tut­ing native Amer­i­can ingre­di­ents, such as corn, squash and pump­kin, are print­ed here for the first time. Sim­mons’ “Pomp­kin Pud­ding,” baked in a crust, is the basis for the clas­sic Amer­i­can pump­kin pie. Recipes for cake-like gin­ger­bread are the first known to rec­om­mend the use of pearl ash, the fore­run­ner of bak­ing pow­der.

Stu­dents of Women’s His­to­ry will find much to chew on in the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery as well, though they may find a few spoon­fuls of pearl ash dis­solved in water nec­es­sary to set­tle upset stom­achs after read­ing Sim­mons’ intro­duc­tion.

Stave­ly and Fitzger­ald observe how “she thanks the fash­ion­able ladies,” or “respectable char­ac­ters,” as she calls them, who have patron­ized her work, before return­ing to her main theme: the “egre­gious blun­ders” of the first edi­tion, “which were occa­sioned either by the igno­rance, or evil inten­tion of the tran­scriber for the press.”

Ulti­mate­ly, all of her prob­lems stem from her unfor­tu­nate con­di­tion; she is with­out “an edu­ca­tion suf­fi­cient to pre­pare the work for the press.” In an attempt to side­step any crit­i­cism that the sec­ond edi­tion might come in for, she writes: “remem­ber, that it is the per­for­mance of, and effect­ed under all those dis­ad­van­tages, which usu­al­ly attend, an Orphan.”

Read the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here. (If the archa­ic font trou­bles your eyes, a plain­er ver­sion is here.) A fac­sim­i­le edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery can be pur­chased online.

Lis­ten to a Lib­riVox audio record­ing of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Explore an Online Archive of 12,700 Vin­tage Cook­books

The World’s Old­est Cook­book: Dis­cov­er 4,000-Year-Old Recipes from Ancient Baby­lon

Dis­cov­er the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Cook­book, De Re Coquinar­ia, from Ancient Rome

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

A 13th-Cen­tu­ry Cook­book Fea­tur­ing 475 Recipes from Moor­ish Spain Gets Pub­lished in a New Trans­lat­ed Edi­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

The Samurai Who Became A Roman Citizen

Last year, we fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture the sto­ry of how a samu­rai end­ed up in the unlike­ly set­ting of sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry Venice. But as com­pelling­ly told as it was in video essay form by Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer, it end­ed just as things were get­ting inter­est­ing. We last left Haseku­ra Rokue­mon Tsune­na­ga as he was set­ting out on a mis­sion to Europe in order to meet the Pope and facil­i­tate the bro­ker­ing of a deal for his feu­dal lord, Date Masamune. Hav­ing struck up a friend­ship with a Japan­ese-speak­ing Fran­cis­can fri­ar called Luis Sote­lo, whose mis­sion­ary hos­pi­tal had saved the life of one of his con­cu­bines, Date got it in his head that he should estab­lish a direct rela­tion­ship with the mighty Span­ish empire.

Of course, in 1613, it was­n’t quite as easy as catch­ing a flight from Tokyo (or rather, in those days, Edo) to Rome. Mak­ing the long pas­sage by ship were about 180 Japan­ese, Por­tuguese, and Span­ish men, many of whom had nev­er been out on the open ocean before. After two less-than-smooth months, they land­ed 200 miles north of what we now call San Fran­cis­co, then made their way down the coast to Aca­pul­co, then a city in what was known as the colony of New Spain. From there, Date’s embassy went inland to the pow­er cen­ter of Mex­i­co City, then to Ver­acruz on the east coast, from whose port it could take anoth­er ship all the way across the Atlantic from New Spain to old.

The Span­ish king Philip had his reser­va­tions about open­ing trade rela­tion­ships with Japan, as grant­i­ng that dis­tant land “access to the Pacif­ic would risk turn­ing this exclu­sive impe­r­i­al cor­ri­dor into a shared com­mer­cial space.” The prospect of lim­it­ed inte­gra­tion, con­trolled by the hand of Spain, had appealed to him, but the dis­rup­tion caused by the embassy’s arrival soured him on even that idea. To Haseku­ra’s mind, the way for­ward lay in bol­ster­ing Japan­ese Catholi­cism. Though bap­tized in 1615 in Philip’s pres­ence, the samu­rai retain­er found that he could pre­vail upon the king no fur­ther. Onward, then, to the Eter­nal City, where, on the night of Octo­ber 25th, 1615, Haseku­ra man­aged to kiss the feet of the Pope.

A few days there­after, Haseku­ra was offi­cial­ly made a cit­i­zen of Rome. Alas, the Pope proved either unwill­ing or unable to help estab­lish­ing the desired trade links, and mean­while, back in Japan, the new shō­gun Toku­gawa Ieya­su had expelled all mis­sion­ar­ies from Japan and ordered the destruc­tion of all the insti­tu­tions they’d built. Haseku­ra, it turns out, nev­er actu­al­ly made it to Venice; his let­ters, whose dis­cov­ery opened part one of this series, had just been sent there in a futile appeal for funds. After the embassy’s return to Japan, Sote­lo ful­filled his expec­ta­tion of achiev­ing mar­tyr­dom there. How Haseku­ra lived out the rest of his unusu­al life back in his home­land is only sketchi­ly known, but one sus­pects that, what­ev­er hap­pened, he nev­er imag­ined him­self becom­ing an object of world­wide fas­ci­na­tion four cen­turies after his death.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Mys­tery of How a Samu­rai End­ed up in 17th Cen­tu­ry Venice

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Powerful Messages That Woody Guthrie & Pete Seeger Inscribed on Their Guitar & Banjo: “This Machine Kills Fascists” and “This Machine Surrounds Hate and Forces it to Surrender”

Pho­to by Al Aumuller, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Like anoth­er famous Okie from Musko­gee, Woody Guthrie came from a part of Okla­homa that the U.S. gov­ern­ment sold dur­ing the 1889 land rush away from the Qua­paw and Osage nations, as well as the Musco­gee, a peo­ple who had been forcibly relo­cat­ed from the South­east under Andrew Jackson’s Indi­an Removal Act. By the time of Guthrie’s birth in 1912 in Okfus­kee Coun­ty, next to Musko­gee, the region was in the hands of con­ser­v­a­tive Democ­rats like Guthrie’s father Charles, a landown­er and mem­ber of the revived KKK who par­tic­i­pat­ed in a bru­tal lynch­ing the year before Guthrie was born.

Guthrie was named after pres­i­dent Woodrow Wil­son, who was high­ly sym­pa­thet­ic to Jim Crow (but per­haps not, as has been alleged, an admir­er of the Klan). While he inher­it­ed many of his father’s atti­tudes, he recon­sid­ered them to such a degree lat­er in life that he wrote a song denounc­ing the noto­ri­ous­ly racist New York land­lord Fred Trump, father of the cur­rent pres­i­dent. “By the time he moved into his new apart­ment” in Brook­lyn in 1950, writes Will Kauf­man at The Guardian, Guthrie “had trav­eled a long road from the casu­al racism of his Okla­homa youth.”

Guthrie was deeply embed­ded in the for­ma­tive racial pol­i­tics of the coun­try. While some peo­ple may con­vince them­selves that a time in the U.S. past was “great”—unmarred by class con­flict and racist vio­lence and exploita­tion, secure in the hands of a benev­o­lent white majority—Guthrie’s life tells a much more com­plex sto­ry. Many Indige­nous peo­ple feel with good rea­son that Guthrie’s most famous song, “The Land is Your Land,” has con­tributed to nation­al­ist mythol­o­gy. Oth­ers have viewed the song as a Marx­ist anthem. Like much else about Guthrie, and the coun­try, it’s com­pli­cat­ed.

Con­sid­ered by many, Stephen Petrus writes, “to be the alter­na­tive nation­al anthem,” the song “to many peo­ple… rep­re­sents America’s best pro­gres­sive and demo­c­ra­t­ic tra­di­tions.” Guthrie turned the song into a hymn for the strug­gle against fas­cism and for the nascent Civ­il Rights move­ment. Writ­ten in New York in 1940 and first record­ed for Moe Asch’s Folk­ways Records in 1944, “This Land is Your Land” evolved over time, drop­ping vers­es protest­ing pri­vate prop­er­ty and pover­ty after the war in favor of a far more patri­ot­ic tone. It was a long evo­lu­tion from embit­tered par­o­dy of “God Bless Amer­i­ca” to “This land was made for you and me.”

But whether social­ist or pop­ulist in nature, Guthrie’s patri­o­tism was always sub­ver­sive. “By 1940,” writes John Pietaro, he had “joined forces with Pete Seeger in the Almanac Singers,” who “as a group, joined the Com­mu­nist Par­ty. Woody’s gui­tar had, by then, been adorned with the hand-paint­ed epi­taph, THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS.” (Guthrie had at least two gui­tars with the slo­gan scrawled on them, one on a stick­er and one with ragged hand-let­ter­ing.) The phrase, claims music crit­ic Jon­ny White­side, was orig­i­nal­ly “a morale-boost­ing WWII gov­ern­ment slo­gan print­ed on stick­ers that were hand­ed out to defense plant work­ers.” Guthrie reclaimed the pro­pa­gan­da for folk music’s role in the cul­ture. As Pietaro tells it:

In this time he also found­ed an inter-racial quar­tet with Lead­bel­ly, Son­ny Ter­ry and Cis­co Hous­ton, a ver­i­ta­ble super-group he named the Head­line Singers. This group, sad­ly, nev­er record­ed. The mate­r­i­al must have stood as the height of protest song—he’d named it in oppo­si­tion to a pro­duc­er who advised Woody to “stop try­ing to sing the head­lines.” Woody told us that all you can write is what you see.

You can hear The Head­line Singers above, minus Lead Bel­ly and fea­tur­ing Pete Seeger, in the ear­ly 1940’s radio broad­cast of “All You Fas­cists Bound to Lose.” “I’m gonna tell you fas­cists,” sings Woody, “you may be sur­prised, peo­ple in this world are get­ting orga­nized.” Upon join­ing the Mer­chant Marines, Guthrie fought against seg­re­ga­tion in the mil­i­tary. After the war, he “stood shoul­der to shoul­der with Paul Robe­son, Howard Fast, and Pete Seeger” against vio­lent racist mobs in Peek­skill, New York. Both of Guthrie’s anti-fas­cist gui­tars have seem­ing­ly dis­ap­peared. As Robert San­tel­li writes, “Guthrie didn’t care for his instru­ments with much love.” But dur­ing the decade of the 1940’s he was nev­er seen with­out the slo­gan on his pri­ma­ry instru­ment.

“This Machine Kills Fas­cists” has since, writes Moth­er­board, become Guthrie’s “trade­mark slo­gan… still ref­er­enced in pop cul­ture and beyond” and pro­vid­ing an impor­tant point of ref­er­ence for the anti-fas­cist punk move­ment. You can see anoth­er of Guthrie’s anti-fas­cist slo­gans above, which he scrawled on a col­lec­tion of his sheet music: “Fas­cism fought indoors and out, good & bad weath­er.” Guthrie’s long-lived broth­er-in-arms Pete Seeger, car­ried on in the tra­di­tion of anti-fas­cism and anti-racism after Woody suc­cumbed in the last two decades of his life to Huntington’s dis­ease. Like Guthrie, Seeger paint­ed a slo­gan around the rim of his instru­ment of choice, the ban­jo, a mes­sage both play­ful and mil­i­tant: “This machine sur­rounds hate and forces it to sur­ren­der.”

Pho­to by “Jim, the Pho­tog­ra­ph­er

Seeger car­ried the mes­sage from his days play­ing and singing with Guthrie, to his Civ­il Rights and anti-war orga­niz­ing and protest in the 50s and 60s, and all the way into the 21st cen­tu­ry at Occu­py Wall Street in Man­hat­tan in 2011. At the 2009 inau­gu­ra­tion of Barack Oba­ma, Seeger sang “This Land is Your Land” onstage with Bruce Spring­steen and his son, Tao-Rodriquez Singer. In rehearsals, he insist­ed on singing the two vers­es Guthrie had omit­ted from the song after the war. “So it was,” writes John Nichols at The Nation, “that the new­ly elect­ed pres­i­dent of the Unit­ed States began his inau­gur­al cel­e­bra­tion by singing and clap­ping along with an old lefty who remem­bered the Depres­sion-era ref­er­ences of a song that took a class-con­scious swipe at those whose ‘Pri­vate Prop­er­ty’ signs turned away union orga­niz­ers, hobos and ban­jo pick­ers.”

Both Guthrie and Seeger drew direct con­nec­tions between the fas­cism and racism they fought and cap­i­tal­is­m’s out­sized, destruc­tive obses­sion with land and mon­ey. They felt so strong­ly about the bat­tle that they wore their mes­sages fig­u­ra­tive­ly on their sleeves and lit­er­al­ly on their instru­ments. Pete Seeger’s famous ban­jo has out­lived its own­er, and the col­or­ful leg­end around it has been mass-pro­duced by Deer­ing Ban­jos. Where Guthrie’s anti-fas­cist gui­tars went off to is any­one’s guess, but if one of them were ever dis­cov­ered, Robert San­tel­li writes, “it sure­ly would become one of Amer­i­ca’s most val­ued folk instru­ments.” Or one of its most val­ued instru­ments in gen­er­al.

Pho­to by “Jim, the Pho­tog­ra­ph­er

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bruce Spring­steen Won’t Back Down: Per­forms “Streets of Min­neapo­lis” Live in Min­neapo­lis

Hear Two Leg­ends, Lead Bel­ly & Woody Guthrie, Per­form­ing on the Same Radio Show (1940)

The Nazis’ 10 Con­trol-Freak Rules for Jazz Per­form­ers: A Strange List from World War II

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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David Lynch Remembers Attending the Beatles’ First American Concert in 1964

Though his movies may have ben­e­fit­ed great­ly from for­eign audi­ences and back­ers, David Lynch was one of the most thor­ough­ly Amer­i­can of all film­mak­ers. “Born Mis­soula, MT,” declared his Twit­ter bio, yet one nev­er real­ly asso­ciates him with a par­tic­u­lar place in the Unit­ed States (at least no extant one). From Mon­tana, the Lynch fam­i­ly moved to Ida­ho, then Wash­ing­ton, then North Car­oli­na, then Vir­ginia. The tim­ing of that last stint proved cul­tur­al­ly for­tu­itous indeed: liv­ing in the city of Alexan­dria, the eigh­teen-year-old Lynch was close enough to the nation’s cap­i­tal to attend the very first con­cert the Bea­t­les played in North Amer­i­ca, at the Wash­ing­ton Col­i­se­um on Feb­ru­ary 11, 1964.

“I was into rock and roll music, main­ly Elvis Pres­ley.” Lynch recalls this unsur­pris­ing fact in the clip above (which would have been among the last inter­views he gave before his death a year ago) from Bea­t­les ’64, the Mar­tin Scors­ese-pro­duced doc­u­men­tary on the Fab Four’s first U.S. tour.

“I didn’t have any idea how big this event was. And it was in a gigan­tic place where they had box­ing match­es. The Bea­t­les were in the box­ing ring. It was so loud, you can’t believe. Girls shud­der­ing, cry­ing, scream­ing their heart out. It was phe­nom­e­nal.” That deaf­en­ing crowd noise fig­ures into most every account of the group’s Beat­le­ma­nia-era shows — and played a deci­sive role in their per­ma­nent retreat into the stu­dio a cou­ple of years lat­er.

Lynch sure­ly would have under­stood the desire for artis­tic explo­ration and con­trol that drove the Bea­t­les’ con­cen­tra­tion on mak­ing records. Even the sen­si­bil­i­ties of his work and theirs had some­thing in com­mon, exhibit­ing as they both did the unlike­ly com­bi­na­tion of pop­u­lar­i­ty and exper­i­men­ta­tion.  Some­how, David Lynch’s films and the Bea­t­les’ albums could ven­ture into bewil­der­ing obscu­ri­ty and sen­ti­men­tal kitsch with­out los­ing coher­ence or crit­i­cal respect. And dare one imag­ine that the expe­ri­ence of wit­ness­ing the Amer­i­can debut of what would become the most influ­en­tial rock band of all time has giv­en Lynch his appre­ci­a­tion — evi­dent in his movies, but also his own record­ings — for the pow­er of music, which he calls “one of the most fan­tas­tic things”? Even if not, it must have been, well… sur­re­al.

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ange­lo Badala­men­ti Reveals How He and David Lynch Com­posed the Twin Peaks’ “Love Theme”

When the Bea­t­les Refused to Play Before Seg­re­gat­ed Audi­ences on Their First U.S. Tour (1964)

David Lynch Directs a New Music Video for Dono­van

Watch the Bea­t­les Per­form Their Famous Rooftop Con­cert: It Hap­pened 50 Years Ago Today (Jan­u­ary 30, 1969)

David Lynch Talks Med­i­ta­tion with Paul McCart­ney

The Wide-Rang­ing Cre­ative Genius of David Lynch (RIP): Dis­cov­er His Films, Music Videos, Car­toons, Com­mer­cials, Paint­ings, Pho­tog­ra­phy & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Bruce Springsteen Won’t Back Down: Performs “Streets of Minneapolis” Live in Minneapolis

When the his­to­ry books are writ­ten, we’ll remem­ber the politi­cians, law firms, and CEOs who quick­ly bent the knee to Don­ald Trump. We’ll also remem­ber the scant few Amer­i­can fig­ures who refused to back down. Bruce Spring­steen will be high on that short list.

Tour­ing in Europe last sum­mer, Spring­steen warned his audi­ence: “The Amer­i­ca that I love, the Amer­i­ca I have writ­ten about, that has been a bea­con of hope and lib­er­ty for 250 years, is cur­rent­ly in the hands of a cor­rupt, incom­pe­tent and trea­so­nous admin­is­tra­tion.” Those words seem par­tic­u­lar­ly pre­scient giv­en the chaos and vio­lence now unfold­ing in Min­neso­ta.

Fol­low­ing the shoot­ings of Renee Good and Alex Pret­ti, Spring­steen made his voice heard again—this time through music. Last week, he released the protest song “Streets of Min­neapo­lis” and soon after­ward trav­eled to Min­neso­ta to per­form the song live at a ben­e­fit con­cert arranged by Tom Morel­lo. Speak­ing to the crowd, Spring­steen said, “I wrote Streets of Min­neapo­lis and record­ed it the next day.” When he won­dered if the song sound­ed too ‘soap­boxy,’ he turned to Morel­lo, and the Rage Against the Machine gui­tarist replied, “Bruce, nuance is won­der­ful, but some­times you need to kick them in the teeth.” We’ll say amen to that.

After “Streets of Min­neapo­lis,” Spring­steen and Morel­lo per­formed “The Ghost of Tom Joad.” Watch it above. The start of the show began with “Killing In The Name Of.” Catch it below.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Bruce Spring­steen Revives the Protest Song, Con­demns ICE Vio­lence in “Streets of Min­neapo­lis”

Scott Gal­loway Unveils “Resist and Unsub­scribe,” an Action Plan for Con­sumers to Push Back Against Gov­ern­ment Over­reach

Tom Morel­lo Responds to Angry Fans Who Sud­den­ly Real­ize That Rage Against the Machine’s Music Is Polit­i­cal: “What Music of Mine DIDN’T Con­tain Polit­i­cal BS?”

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Scott Galloway Unveils “Resist and Unsubscribe,” an Action Plan for Consumers to Push Back Against Government Overreach

As men­tioned here last week, Scott Gal­loway argued that Amer­i­cans have one way to reverse the vio­lent over­reach of the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment: launch a one-month eco­nom­ic strike aimed at major tech and AI com­pa­nies, with the goal of reduc­ing Amer­i­ca’s GDP and mak­ing the mar­kets wob­ble. When the mar­kets gyrat­ed after “Lib­er­a­tion Day,” Pres­i­dent Trump imme­di­ate­ly rolled back many tar­iffs. Now, if Amer­i­cans can flex their eco­nom­ic mus­cles in Feb­ru­ary, Gal­loway wagers the admin­is­tra­tion will rethink whether it wants to keep arrest­ing jour­nal­ists and let­ting masked ICE agents shoot civil­ians in the streets—with impuni­ty.

Today, Gal­loway has launched a new web­site, Resist and Unsub­scribe, that pro­vides an action plan for a month­long strike. In the “Ground Zero” sec­tion of the site, Gal­loway lists sub­scrip­tion ser­vices from America’s largest tech­nol­o­gy companies—Amazon, Meta, Google, Apple, Net­flix, Ope­nAI, and Microsoft—and pro­vides links that let users unsub­scribe quick­ly. He also sug­gests hold­ing off on buy­ing new hard­ware and prod­ucts from these com­pa­nies (e.g. iPhones). If you use Feb­ru­ary to review your sub­scrip­tions and find ones to cut, you’ll clean up your per­son­al finances. You’ll also get the atten­tion of the major tech­nol­o­gy com­pa­nies that account for one-third of the S&P 500. When the tech CEOs get “yip­py,” so too will Trump.

In the “Blast Zone” sec­tion of Resist and Unsub­scribe, Gal­loway lists consumer‑facing com­pa­nies he has “iden­ti­fied as active enablers of ICE,” nam­ing AT&T, Com­cast, Lowe’s, Mar­riott, and Spo­ti­fy among oth­ers. He explains how these com­pa­nies sup­port ICE and rec­om­mends spe­cif­ic ser­vices you can can­cel or avoid. Scroll down the page to see these sug­ges­tions.

Vis­it Resist and Unsub­scribe, find some ser­vices to can­cel (it’s not a large sac­ri­fice), and spread the word. You can also find more infor­ma­tion about the Resist and Unsub­scribe move­ment on Gal­loway’s blog, “No Mercy/No Mal­ice.”

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Scott Gal­loway Explains How YOU Can Stop Gov­ern­ment Over­reach Using the Pow­er of Your Purse

Bruce Spring­steen Revives the Protest Song, Con­demns ICE Vio­lence in “Streets of Min­neapo­lis”

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How the Incas Performed Skull Surgery More Successfully Than U.S. Civil War Doctors

Grant­ed access to a time machine, few of us would pre­sum­ably opt first for the expe­ri­ence of skull surgery by the Incas. Yet our chances of sur­vival would be bet­ter than if we under­went the same pro­ce­dure 400 years lat­er, at least if it took place on a Civ­il War bat­tle­field. In both fif­teenth-cen­tu­ry Peru and the nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry Unit­ed States, sur­geons were per­form­ing a lot of trepa­na­tion, or removal of a por­tion of the skull. Since the Neolith­ic peri­od, indi­vid­u­als had been trepanned for a vari­ety of rea­sons, some of which now sound more med­ical­ly com­pelling than oth­ers, but the Incan civ­i­liza­tion took it to anoth­er lev­el of fre­quen­cy, and indeed sophis­ti­ca­tion.

Any­one with an inter­est in the his­to­ry of tech­nol­o­gy would do well to study the Incas, who were remark­able in both what they devel­oped and what they did­n’t. Though there was no Incan alpha­bet, there was khipu, (or quipu), pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, a sys­tem of record-keep­ing that used noth­ing but knot­ted cords.

The Incas may not have had wheeled vehi­cles or mechan­i­cal devices as we know them today, but they did have pre­ci­sion mason­ry, an exten­sive road sys­tem, advanced water man­age­ment for agri­cul­tur­al and oth­er uses, high-qual­i­ty tex­tiles, and plant-derived anti­sep­tic — some­thing more than a lit­tle use­ful if you also hap­pen to be cut­ting a lot of holes in peo­ple’s skulls.

Study­ing the his­to­ry of trepa­na­tion, neu­rol­o­gist David Kush­n­er, along with bioar­chae­ol­o­gists John Ver­a­no and Anne Titel­baum, exam­ined more than 600 Peru­vian skulls dat­ing from between 400 BC and the mid-six­teenth-cen­tu­ry, which marked the end of the Incans’ 133-year-long run. As Sci­ence’s Lizzie Wade reports, the old­est evi­dence shows an unen­vi­able 40% sur­vival rate, but the sur­gi­cal tech­nique evolved over time: by the Inca era, the num­ber ris­es to between 75% and 83%, as against 46% to 56% in Civ­il War mil­i­tary hos­pi­tals. Some Incan skulls even show signs of hav­ing under­gone up to sev­en suc­cess­ful trepa­na­tions — or non-fatal ones, at any rate. Though that ven­er­a­ble form of surgery may no longer be prac­ticed, mod­ern neu­ro­sur­geons today use tech­niques based on the same prin­ci­ples. Should we find our­selves in need of their ser­vices, we’ll no doubt pre­fer to keep our dis­tance from the time machine.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Dis­cov­er Khipu, the Ancient Incan Record & Writ­ing Sys­tem Made Entire­ly of Knots

Behold the Medieval Wound Man: The Poor Soul Who Illus­trat­ed the Injuries a Per­son Might Receive Through War, Acci­dent or Dis­ease

Jazz Musi­cian Plays Acoustic Gui­tar While Under­go­ing Brain Surgery, Help­ing Doc­tors Mon­i­tor Their Progress

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence & Drones Uncov­er 303 New Naz­ca Lines in Peru

How the “First Pho­to­jour­nal­ist,” Math­ew Brady, Shocked the Nation with Pho­tos from the Civ­il War

Down­load 100,000+ Images From The His­to­ry of Med­i­cine, All Free Cour­tesy of The Well­come Library

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Bruce Springsteen Revives the Protest Song, Condemns ICE Violence in “Streets of Minneapolis”

If there’s a sil­ver lin­ing to our tumul­tuous times, it’s that musi­cians are reviv­ing the protest song, a tra­di­tion that has with­ered since the end of the Viet­nam War. Cre­dence Clear­wa­ter Revival’s “For­tu­nate Son,” Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restau­rant,” Jimi Hen­drix’s “Machine Gun”—these songs all took aim at the John­son and Nixon admin­is­tra­tions’ increas­ing­ly mis­guid­ed war effort. But it was Neil Young who wrote the most damn­ing protest song. When the Ohio Nation­al Guard shot and killed four stu­dents at Kent State in 1970, Young dis­ap­peared for a few hours and returned with the haunt­ing lyrics of “Ohio.”

Tin sol­diers and Nixon com­ing,
We’re final­ly on our own.
This sum­mer I hear the drum­ming,
Four dead in Ohio.

Got­ta get down to it
Sol­diers are cut­ting us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?

With his new song released this week, Bruce Spring­steen picks up this thread. “Streets Of Min­neapo­lis” doc­u­ments the mur­der of civil­ians in Min­neso­ta’s largest city. On Jan­u­ary 7, ICE agent Jonathan Ross shot Renee Good repeat­ed­ly in the head, leav­ing the moth­er of three dead. On Jan­u­ary 24, two fed­er­al agents fired at least 10 shots at Alex Pret­ti, killing the ICU nurse instant­ly. Days lat­er, the iden­ti­ty of these mur­der­ers remains hidden—something that news orga­ni­za­tions odd­ly don’t seem trou­bled by, almost as if we’re qui­et­ly accept­ing that we’re liv­ing in a police state. When was the last time Amer­i­can agents could wear masks before killing civil­ians, and then hide behind a veil of anonymi­ty after? Yeah, that’s nor­mal.

On social media, Spring­steen wrote: “I wrote this song on Sat­ur­day, record­ed it yes­ter­day and released it to you today in response to the state ter­ror being vis­it­ed on the city of Min­neapo­lis. It’s ded­i­cat­ed to the peo­ple of Min­neapo­lis, our inno­cent immi­grant neigh­bors and in mem­o­ry of Alex Pret­ti and Renee Good.” You can read the lyrics below.

Through the winter’s ice and cold
Down Nicol­let Avenue
A city aflame fought fire and ice
‘Neath an occupier’s boots
King Trump’s pri­vate army from the DHS
Guns belt­ed to their coats
Came to Min­neapo­lis to enforce the law
Or so their sto­ry goes
Against smoke and rub­ber bul­lets
By the dawn’s ear­ly light
Cit­i­zens stood for jus­tice
Their voic­es ring­ing through the night
And there were bloody foot­prints
Where mer­cy should have stood
And two dead left to die on snow-filled streets
Alex Pret­ti and Renee Good

Oh our Min­neapo­lis, I hear your voice
Singing through the bloody mist
We’ll take our stand for this land
And the stranger in our midst
Here in our home they killed and roamed
In the win­ter of ’26
We’ll remem­ber the names of those who died
On the streets of Min­neapo­lis

Trump’s fed­er­al thugs beat up on
His face and his chest
Then we heard the gun­shots
And Alex Pret­ti lay in the snow, dead
Their claim was self defense, sir
Just don’t believe your eyes
It’s our blood and bones
And these whis­tles and phones
Against Miller and Noem’s dirty lies

Oh our Min­neapo­lis, I hear your voice
Cry­ing through the bloody mist
We’ll remem­ber the names of those who died
On the streets of Min­neapo­lis

Now they say they’re here to uphold the law
But they tram­ple on our rights
If your skin is black or brown my friend
You can be ques­tioned or deport­ed on sight

In chants of ICE out now
Our city’s heart and soul per­sists
Through bro­ken glass and bloody tears
On the streets of Min­neapo­lis

Oh our Min­neapo­lis, I hear your voice
Singing through the bloody mist
Here in our home they killed and roamed
In the win­ter of ’26
We’ll take our stand for this land
And the stranger in our midst
We’ll remem­ber the names of those who died
On the streets of Min­neapo­lis
We’ll remem­ber the names of those who died
On the streets of Min­neapo­lis

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Leg­endary Protest Songs from Wood­stock: Hen­drix, Jef­fer­son Air­plane, Coun­try Joe & More Per­form Protest Songs Dur­ing the Music Fes­ti­val That Launched 50 Years Ago This Week

David Byrne Curates a Playlist of Great Protest Songs Writ­ten Over the Past 60 Years: Stream Them Online

The Pow­er­ful Mes­sages That Woody Guthrie & Pete Seeger Inscribed on Their Gui­tar & Ban­jo: “This Machine Kills Fas­cists” and “This Machine Sur­rounds Hate and Forces it to Sur­ren­der”

Nina Simone’s Live Per­for­mances of Her Poignant Civ­il Rights Protest Songs

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