Music Teaching, Mending Walls, And Dismantling Barriers Collenn Sears The College of New Jersey colleen.sears@tcnj.edu
T
his summer, Disney released a new version of 1941 film, Dumbo1. As much as I love the visual candy that is the cinematic world of Tim Burton, there was no way I was going to see that film. You see, it was the original Dumbo that broke my heart when I was a young girl, and in doing so, it taught me the meaning of empathy. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully recover from the “Baby Mine” scene in Dumbo. I remember nothing else from the film, but the image of Dumbo’s jailed mother reaching her trunk from the bars of her “mad elephant” cell to rock her baby tore my child heart to shreds. It was all that I could do to prevent the tight ball of grief and horror that had formed during this scene from escaping into an audible sob as I listened to the “Baby Mine” lullaby, and watched tears drip from Dumbo’s eyes as he relished the feel of his mother’s embrace...even if it was just from her trunk, before having to separate from her again. Even as a young girl, this scene destroyed me. It didn’t matter that I was watching a fictional, animated movie. The very notion of separation from family, connection, and the deepest kind of love was absolutely terrifying. I find myself thinking of that scene often, especially now. Not because of this summer’s remake, but rather because that heart wrenching scene in a fictional, animated film, has become a horrifying reality for many children living in the United States. As the new school year begins, many children entering our classrooms are children who are living the fear and/or traumatic reality of separation and profound loss. When we consider fear and trauma of this scale, the idea of teaching quarter notes, preparing for festivals and competitions, or logging practice minutes seems utterly absurd. How then, can we reconcile what and how we teach, with the trauma filled world that we and our students move through each day? What power do we have as music educators in the midst of such bleak times?
In the “Baby Mine” scene, Dumbo’s mother is walled away from the world and caged in a “mad elephant” cell. Yet the “Baby Mine” lullaby and a tiny opening in the barred window allowed baby Dumbo to be comforted by his mother’s trunk. Though the physical barrier of the cell remained, the lullaby became the vehicle for tenderness and love; a temporary softening of the cruel wall that kept a mother from her baby. The thing about barriers and walls is that they can be dismantled. The thing about music and art is they can help dismantle barriers and walls. Sounds cliche? There are countless examples of the barrier dismantling power of music and art. Check out the video of John Luther Adam’s Inuksuit, performed on both sides of the United States and Mexican border. Despite a towering physical barrier, musicians in the United States and Mexico connect with each other through sound and transcend the wall with music, performing as one ensemble. In another example, artists used the border wall as a fulcrum, installed seesaws that enable children on both sides to play together. In another recent instance, Yo-Yo Ma performed "Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suites" at the border, highlighting the power of music to unite and connect despite physical barriers. After his performance, Yo-Yo Ma stated, “It’s never art just for art’s sake.” It’s never just art for art’s sake. What might this mean for our music classrooms this year? How might we ground our content and our pedagogy in the stark reality of the world around us? How could adopting a “it’s never just art for art’s sake” philosophy help us honor student identities and dismantle barriers by situating what we perform in contemporary cultural context? What could this look like? “It’s never art for art’s sake” looks like having the courage to engage with the messiness of truth in our teaching. We might still play “A Movement for Rosa” or
TEMPO 54
JANUARY 2020
