SATYAGRAHA (Stubborn truth)

We went to the Phillip Glass opera "Satyagraha" yesterday. This is not a review. I lack the musical knowledge to write with any authority on opera. Call it an appreciation.

The Sanskrit word of the title is often translated as "the force of truth." I like "stubborn." The opera is based on the early years of Gandhi's life in South Africa--a time at which he discovered his calling as a leader of non-violence in political action, and first put it into practice. And Gandhi was nothing if not stubborn. "Insistent" if you like--as insistent, it occurs to me as I write, as the music of Phillip Glass.

Divided into three acts, the opera imagines scenes from Gandhi's life, its structure following the growing power of the philosophy and practice of satyagraha rather than the chronology of events. The opening scene is a kind of awakening, with Gandhi lying prone beside the railroad from which, despite his possession of a first-class ticket--having recently arrived in South Africa as a well-paid lawyer--he had been thrown for his audacity in violating race laws.

The opera is multi-layered in its theme--the assertion of human dignity and human rights over exploitation and injustice. The libretto is taken from the text of the Bhagavad Gita, and its historical events take place in the context of the higher--perhaps nobler--truths of ancient mythology and abstract philosophical discourse. The staging of this performance took full advantage of those distinctions: mere mortals were dwarfed by giant articulated puppets...

... monsters and angels whose presence would at times dominate the action. The quotidian materiality of newspaper and corrugated iron--ubiquitous symbols of earthly concerns--were displaced by the ethereality of light, space, and the distant figures of spirit guides: Tolstoy, Tagore, and Martin Luther King Jr.

The eternal struggle of humanity toward equality and justice found its embodiment in the restless, repetitive music and the insistent voices of the chorus; the noble aspirations of the best of humans in the at times powerful, at times lyrical voices of the soloists. In the context of a historical moment in which our country is dominated by intimidation and crassly materialistic motivation, the soaring, simple, repeated notes of Gandhi's "Evening Song" at the end of Act III--part plea, part yearning for serenity and peace, part release from endless suffering, part ode to joy--was not only passionately rendered by the tenor, Sean Pannikkar, it was also truly heartbreaking. I now understand the meaning of that old cliché "achingly beautiful." I have to say, I wept.

(If you can spare 15 minutes to hear an alternative version of this lovely music, try this URL. Or search "Evening Song" on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHKUt5fDbH0)