Emmett
Louis “Bobo” Till (Chicago, 25 luglio 1941 – Money, 28 agosto 1955) era un
ragazzo afroamericano brutalmente massacrato e assassinato per motivi razziali
a Money, Mississippi. La sua morte è ricordata come uno degli eventi chiave che
ha rafforzato il nascente movimento per i diritti civili statunitensi. I
principali sospettati, Roy Bryant e il fratellastro W. Milam, vennero assolti.(da qui)
Gli eventi
Till
Il 24 agosto si recò, assieme ad altri ragazzi, al Bryant’s Grocery and Meat
Market per acquistare dolciumi e bibite. Till aveva mostrato loro delle foto
della sua vita a Chicago, compresa una di lui con i suoi amici e la sua
fidanzata, una ragazza bianca: i ragazzi non riuscivano a credere che Emmett
fosse fidanzato con una bianca, e lo sfidarono a rivolgere la parola a una
donna bianca nel negozio. Mentre Till stava lasciando il locale, apparentemente
disse “Bye, baby” a Carolyn Bryant, una donna bianca, sposata. Quando il marito
di Carolyn, Roy, venne a sapere questo fatto al momento del suo ritorno in
città qualche giorno dopo, si infuriò e decise di fargliela pagare.
La madre di Till
pretese per il figlio una cerimonia funebre pubblica, con la bara aperta,
perché tutti potessero vedere come il ragazzo fosse stato torturato e
assassinato: era stato picchiato, gli era stato cavato un occhio, gli avevano
sparato e l’avevano infine gettato nel fiume Tallahatchie con legata al collo
una pala di una ginnatrice (strumento usato per la lavorazione del cotone) come
zavorra con del filo spinato. Il cadavere rimase nel fiume per tre giorni prima
di essere scoperto e recuperato da due pescatori.
Il
23 settembre dello stesso anno la giuria, composta da 12 maschi, tutti bianchi,
assolse gli imputati. Il verdetto fu pronunciato in soli 67 minuti; uno dei
giurati disse che si erano presi una “pausa per prendersi una bibita” per
allungare il tempo fino a un’ora “per farlo sembrare vero”.
Nel
gennaio del 1956, in un articolo sulla rivista Look per il quale vennero pagati
4.000 dollari, J.W. Milam e Roy Bryant ammisero al giornalista William Bradford
Huie di aver ucciso Till: non temevano di venire processati due volte per lo
stesso crimine, in forza del principio del ‘non bis in idem’, sancito
dalla Costituzione americana.
Emmett Till - · David Jackson (1955)
In August 1955, Emmett Till, a black teenager from Chicago, was
visiting relatives in Mississippi when he stopped at Bryant’s Grocery and Meat
Market. There he encountered Carolyn Bryant, a white woman. Whether Till really
flirted with Bryant or whistled at her isn’t known. But what happened four days
later is. Bryant’s husband Roy and his half brother, J.W. Milam, seized the
14-year-old from his great-uncle’s house. The pair then beat Till, shot him,
and strung barbed wire and a 75-pound metal fan around his neck and dumped the
lifeless body in the Tallahatchie River. A white jury quickly acquitted the
men, with one juror saying it had taken so long only because they had to break
to drink some pop. When Till’s mother Mamie came to identify her son, she told
the funeral director, “Let the people see what I’ve seen.” She brought him home
to Chicago and insisted on an open casket. Tens of thousands filed past Till’s
remains, but it was the publication of the searing funeral image in Jet, with a stoic Mamie gazing at her murdered child’s
ravaged body, that forced the world to reckon with the brutality of American
racism. For almost a century, African Americans were lynched with regularity and
impunity. Now, thanks to a mother’s determination to expose the barbarousness
of the crime, the public could no longer pretend to ignore what they couldn’t
see.
da qui"Twas down in Mississippi no so long ago,
When a young boy from Chicago town stepped through a Southern door.
This boy's dreadful tragedy I can still remember well,
The color of his skin was black and his name was Emmett Till.
Some men they dragged him to a barn and there they beat him up.
They said they had a reason, but I can't remember what.
They tortured him and did some evil things too evil to repeat.
There was screaming sounds inside the barn, there was laughing sounds out on the street.
Then they rolled his body down a gulf amidst a bloody red rain
And they threw him in the waters wide to cease his screaming pain.
The reason that they killed him there, and I'm sure it ain't no lie,
Was just for the fun of killin' him and to watch him slowly die.
And then to stop the United States of yelling for a trial,
Two brothers they confessed that they had killed poor Emmett Till.
But on the jury there were men who helped the brothers commit this awful crime,
And so this trial was a mockery, but nobody seemed to mind.
I saw the morning papers but I could not bear to see
The smiling brothers walkin' down the courthouse stairs.
For the jury found them innocent and the brothers they went free,
While Emmett's body floats the foam of a Jim Crow southern sea.
If you can't speak out against this kind of thing, a crime that's so unjust,
Your eyes are filled with dead men's dirt, your mind is filled with dust.
Your arms and legs they must be in shackles and chains, and your blood it must refuse to flow,
For you let this human race fall down so God-awful low!
This song is just a reminder to remind your fellow man
That this kind of thing still lives today in that ghost-robed Ku Klux Klan.
But if all of us folks that thinks alike, if we gave all we could give,
We could make this great land of ours a greater place to live.
I was born a black boy
My name is Emmett Till
Walked this earth for 14 years
One night I was killed
For speaking to a woman
Whose skin was white as dough
That's a sin in Mississippi
But how was I to know?
I'd come down from Chicago
To visit with my kin
Up there I was a cheeky kid
I guess I'd always been
But the harm they put upon me
Was too hard for what I'd done
For I was just a black boy
And never hurt no one
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
They took me from my uncle's house
Mose Wright was his name.
He'd later stand and, without hesitation
Point the blame
At the ones who beat and cut me
And shot me with a gun
And threw me in the river
Like I was trash when they were done
I was sent back to my mother
At least what was left of me
She kept my casket open
For the whole wide world to see
The awful desecration
And the evidence of hate
You could not recognize me
The mutilation was so great
There came a cry for justice
To be finally fulfilled
All because of me, a black boy
My name was Emmett Till
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh, but I'd have rather lived
Till I was too old to die young
Not miss all I left behind
And all that might have come
Summer clouds above my head
The grass beneath my feet
The warmth of a good woman
Her kisses soft and sweet
Perhaps to be a father
With a black boy of my own
Watch him grow into a kinder world
Than I had known
Where no child would be murdered
For the color of his skin
And love would be the only thing
Inside the hearts of men
They say the horror of that night
Is haunting Heaven still
Where I am one more black boy
My name is Emmett Till
My name is Emmett Till
Walked this earth for 14 years
One night I was killed
For speaking to a woman
Whose skin was white as dough
That's a sin in Mississippi
But how was I to know?
I'd come down from Chicago
To visit with my kin
Up there I was a cheeky kid
I guess I'd always been
But the harm they put upon me
Was too hard for what I'd done
For I was just a black boy
And never hurt no one
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
They took me from my uncle's house
Mose Wright was his name.
He'd later stand and, without hesitation
Point the blame
At the ones who beat and cut me
And shot me with a gun
And threw me in the river
Like I was trash when they were done
I was sent back to my mother
At least what was left of me
She kept my casket open
For the whole wide world to see
The awful desecration
And the evidence of hate
You could not recognize me
The mutilation was so great
There came a cry for justice
To be finally fulfilled
All because of me, a black boy
My name was Emmett Till
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh, but I'd have rather lived
Till I was too old to die young
Not miss all I left behind
And all that might have come
Summer clouds above my head
The grass beneath my feet
The warmth of a good woman
Her kisses soft and sweet
Perhaps to be a father
With a black boy of my own
Watch him grow into a kinder world
Than I had known
Where no child would be murdered
For the color of his skin
And love would be the only thing
Inside the hearts of men
They say the horror of that night
Is haunting Heaven still
Where I am one more black boy
My name is Emmett Till
I don’t want to go to Money, honey,
not Money, Mississippi!
no, I wouldn’t go to Money, honey,
down in Mississippi.
There’s pity, sorrow, and pain
in Money, Mississippi.
Tears and blood like rain
in Money, Mississippi,
in Money, Mississippi!
His father died for democracy
fighting in the army over the sea.
His father died for the U. S. A.
Why did they treat his son this a-way?
in Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
His mother worked to raise her child,
dressed him neat, kept him from running wild.
She sent him to the country when vacation came,
but he never got back to Chicago the same.
They sent him back in a wooden box----
from Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Like old boy, just fourteen years old,
shot, kicked, and beaten ‘cause he was so bold
to whistle at a woman who was white.
He was throwed in the river in the dead of night
In Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
I don’t want to go to Money, honey,
not Money, Mississippi.
No, I wouldn’t want to go to Money, honey,
down in Mississippi.
There’s pity, sorrow, and pain
in Money, Mississippi!
Tears and blood like rain
in Money, Mississippi,
in Money, Mississippi!
No, I wouldn’t want to go—
for no kind o’ money—
to Money, Mississippi,
not Money, Mississippi!
Money, Mississippi!
not Money, Mississippi!
no, I wouldn’t go to Money, honey,
down in Mississippi.
There’s pity, sorrow, and pain
in Money, Mississippi.
Tears and blood like rain
in Money, Mississippi,
in Money, Mississippi!
His father died for democracy
fighting in the army over the sea.
His father died for the U. S. A.
Why did they treat his son this a-way?
in Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
His mother worked to raise her child,
dressed him neat, kept him from running wild.
She sent him to the country when vacation came,
but he never got back to Chicago the same.
They sent him back in a wooden box----
from Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Like old boy, just fourteen years old,
shot, kicked, and beaten ‘cause he was so bold
to whistle at a woman who was white.
He was throwed in the river in the dead of night
In Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
I don’t want to go to Money, honey,
not Money, Mississippi.
No, I wouldn’t want to go to Money, honey,
down in Mississippi.
There’s pity, sorrow, and pain
in Money, Mississippi!
Tears and blood like rain
in Money, Mississippi,
in Money, Mississippi!
No, I wouldn’t want to go—
for no kind o’ money—
to Money, Mississippi,
not Money, Mississippi!
Money, Mississippi!
traduzione italiana di Bartleby
BLUES DI MONEY MISSISSIPPI
Non voglio andare a Money, dolcezza,
non a Money, Mississippi!
no, io non ci andrei a Money, dolcezza,
giù nel Mississippi.
Ci sono compassione, pena, e dolore
a Money, Mississippi.
Lacrime e sangue come pioggia
a Money, Mississippi,
a Money, Mississippi!
Suo padre morì per la democrazia
Soldato dall’altra parte del mare.
Suo padre morì per gli USA
Perché hanno trattato suo figlio a questo un modo?
a Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Sua madre ha lavorato per crescere il suo bambino,
lo ha vestito per bene, lo ha tenuto lontano dalle cattive compagnie.
Lei lo mandò al paese quando venne il tempo delle vacanze,
ma non è mai tornato a Chicago come era prima.
Lo hanno rimandato in una scatola di legno -
da Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Mostrava più dei suoi appena quattordici anni,
Gli hanno sparato, preso a calci e picchiato perche era stato così audace
da fischiare ad una donna bianca.
Fu gettato nel fiume nel cuore della notte
a Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Non voglio andare a Money, dolcezza,
non a Money, Mississippi.
No, non vorrei andare a Money, dolcezza,
giù nel Mississippi.
Ci sono compassione, pena, e dolore
a Money, Mississippi!
Lacrime e sangue come pioggia
a Money, Mississippi,
a Money, Mississippi!
No, non ci andrei -
per nessuna cifra -
a Money, Mississippi,
non a Money, Mississippi!
Money, Mississippi!
Non voglio andare a Money, dolcezza,
non a Money, Mississippi!
no, io non ci andrei a Money, dolcezza,
giù nel Mississippi.
Ci sono compassione, pena, e dolore
a Money, Mississippi.
Lacrime e sangue come pioggia
a Money, Mississippi,
a Money, Mississippi!
Suo padre morì per la democrazia
Soldato dall’altra parte del mare.
Suo padre morì per gli USA
Perché hanno trattato suo figlio a questo un modo?
a Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Sua madre ha lavorato per crescere il suo bambino,
lo ha vestito per bene, lo ha tenuto lontano dalle cattive compagnie.
Lei lo mandò al paese quando venne il tempo delle vacanze,
ma non è mai tornato a Chicago come era prima.
Lo hanno rimandato in una scatola di legno -
da Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Mostrava più dei suoi appena quattordici anni,
Gli hanno sparato, preso a calci e picchiato perche era stato così audace
da fischiare ad una donna bianca.
Fu gettato nel fiume nel cuore della notte
a Money, Money, Mississippi,
Money, Mississippi.
Non voglio andare a Money, dolcezza,
non a Money, Mississippi.
No, non vorrei andare a Money, dolcezza,
giù nel Mississippi.
Ci sono compassione, pena, e dolore
a Money, Mississippi!
Lacrime e sangue come pioggia
a Money, Mississippi,
a Money, Mississippi!
No, non ci andrei -
per nessuna cifra -
a Money, Mississippi,
non a Money, Mississippi!
Money, Mississippi!
Un’altra poesia di Langston Hugues dedicata ad Emmett Till.
Per questa non fu scritta una musica ma potrebbe trattarsi forse di una composizione preparatoria per “The Money Mississippi Blues”
MISSISSIPPI (1955) – Langston Hugues
Per questa non fu scritta una musica ma potrebbe trattarsi forse di una composizione preparatoria per “The Money Mississippi Blues”
MISSISSIPPI (1955) – Langston Hugues
(To the Memory of Emmett Till)
Oh what sorrow!
oh, what pity!
Oh, what pain
That tears and blood
Should mix like rain
And terror come again
To Mississippi.
Come again?
Where has terror been?
On vacation? Up North?
In some other section
Of the nation,
Lying low, unpublicized?
Masked—with only
Jaundiced eyes
Showing through the mask?
Oh, what sorrow,
Pity, pain,
That tears and blood
Should mix like rain
In Mississippi!
And terror, fetid hot,
Yet clammy cold
Remain.
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