Eartha Kitt Couldn’t Compromise Her Voice, Why Should We?

Words: Funmi Olagunju

If I ever met Eartha kitt I’m confident that she would be kind, voraciously funny, exude an otherworldly regality but admittedly be also quite intimidating. Watching rare interviews with the late Actress, Singer, and activist, Eartha, was so hypnotising; I would be laughing along as though I was there with her. However hidden behind her passion was a deep sorrow from the rejection she constantly faced for her identity, artistry and activism. Eartha once said in an interview that she is “mixed with white blood, Indian blood and black blood”, explaining that she can’t be prejudiced to anyone because of this. We can’t begin to fathom what that statement could possibly infer in regards to the struggles she faced as a mixed woman in America.

What we can gather is that she was born on a plantation in 1927, South Carolina, and was the daughter of a white plantation owner’s son and a Cherokee-Black woman. These formative years would be a real test as she would suffer domestic abuse at the hands of several families she was passed along to, amidst poverty in the south. It was only when she was sent for in New York, by the woman who allegedly was her birth mother, that her childhood of torment stopped, easing in a new and positive momentum to become a ‘child of the arts’. The mind of a woman able to withstand so much would have to be strong especially when in pushed against the wall many would crumble.

“Eartha Kitt said Black lives matter in 1968”

At a white house luncheon with the First Lady at the time, “Lady Bird”, wife of President Lyndon B. Johnson, the title of the invitation read “Why is there so much juvenile delinquency in the streets of America”. Initially, Eartha was hesitant to respond to the invitation but the ‘phone kept ringing’ and it seemed her attendance was desired. This was probably due to Eartha’s necessary work with young inner-city kids in the youth group “Rebels With A Cause”. Once in attendance Eartha would repeatedly flail her hands so she could share her voice. Finally, she gave her answer...

““You send the best of this country off to be shot and maimed. They rebel in the street. They will take pot … and they will get high. They don’t want to go to school because they’re going to be snatched off from their mothers to be shot in Vietnam.””

Silence.

Eartha wasn’t one to mince her words and what she articulated so bravely that day would tragically be the catalyst that got her ‘blacklisted’, derailing any work for the next 10 years in America.

I remember my first taste of activism was in school. I was so fed up with the ‘kids can be cruel’ sentiment used to justify toxic adolescence. I couldn’t stay quiet any more watching as innocent students (myself being one of them) became the target of bullies. Enough was enough. I

remember one time yelling at the top of my lungs, “Stop it… Leave him alone!”, in my high-school IT class.

Silence.

Although what occurred in 1968 was probably a more grave situation than what happened in my high-school classroom, when it comes to doing the right thing, there is no compromising. Often as a black woman, I have felt the need to silence myself but that isn’t helpful. Bottling things up isn’t worth it. I have learnt that it’s the deafening silence that comes after what you say that speaks volumes. At that point, it is up to the audience to decide how to react to your voice, positively or negatively. We can create the noise needed to be heard from the mountains, although occasionally a little silence is golden.

Words by Funmi Olagunju