In My Music, My Plays, My Films,

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.

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 Artist Must Elect To Fight For Freedom Or For Slavery.

Whether I Am Or Am Not A Communist Is Irrelevant. The Question Is Whether American Citizens, Regardless Of Their Political Beliefs Or Sympathies, May Enjoy Their Constitutional Rights.

I've Learned That My People Are Not The Only Ones Oppressed... I Have Sung My Songs All Over The World And Everywhere Found That Some Common Bond Makes The People Of All Lands Take To Negro Songs As Their Own.