For all his extraordinary track record (movies, record albums, live performances, political interventions that have placed him centre stage in a number of extraordinary debates and confrontations) Harry Belafonte at the age of 77 remains his tall, handsome, gracious self.
It is lunchtime, and I am feeling guilty about hanging out at one of those predictable spots on 7th Street in Melville, wondering whether an intense conversation with a collaborator on an album of poetry and music is really the most useful way of spending this part of the working day. Well, of course it is. This is the kind of work I do.
And then some hectic character who has been far more guilty of wasting time in the bars of Mellville comes running up the street and asks me if that really is Harry Belafonte standing on the corner by the fruit shop, surrounded by an anxious, nervous camera crew.
It is their first day in South Africa. They have just crossed the Atlantic the wrong way round and are not just nervous about getting things right around their eminent subject—namely Belafonte himself — they are shattered and somewhat discombobulated by jet lag.
But Belafonte stands calmly in their midst, smiling warmly at all around him, dressed in black, and effortlessly forces everyone just to get on with the job.
The job at hand is a documentary film of the man’s life, commissioned by himself. While continuing with his extraordinary performing career (although he says he is not recording anything at the moment — just looking around for inspiration) he leads a busy life, among other things, as a goodwill ambassador for the United Nations Children’s Fund (Unicef), in which capacity he gets to see a good deal of the world, and give encouragement to children suffering the most challenging of circumstances.
It is one of the rare moments when you feel the top-heavy, cumbersome UN is getting it right. Belafonte is not a token figure jetting into refugee camps with a big smile on his face to indulge in photo opportunities with the wretched of the earth. Sure, the smile is in place. But it is a sincere smile, backed up by decades of equally sincere political engagement. Belafonte is not into gestures. He is into action.
The local line producer beckons me over to conduct an impromptu interview with Belafonte for the camera right there on the sidewalk. What a privilege. Belafonte makes me feel small — not just because of his height and bearing, but because of his unquestionable moral stature after more than 50 active years in the field.
He leans over, his face close to mine, and talks directly into my eyes. Every word he says bears weight, and he listens to every word I say as if I, too, have something important to offer. He has no time for aloof superstardom. Every moment with everyone he meets must be made to count.
So we start off by talking about South Africa. Yes, he says, there is still a long way to go. ‘The momentum of freedom is not as rapid as we would like it to be — But one of the miracles is the ending of apartheid itself.” And we agree that this is certainly a milestone on our collective long walk to freedom.
I ask him if there is another phase of revolution still to come — both in his native United States of America, and in South Africa. ‘It’s inevitable,” he replies, without missing a beat. ‘How’s it going to happen?” ‘The same way it’s always happened,” he responds. ‘People take a stand. People decide. People organise. People say, ‘No more.’”
I try to stand back to take all of him in, but he won’t let me get too far from his compassionate, probing gaze. ‘Hasn’t being such a dedicated revolutionary affected you?” I ask, conscious of the way in which Paul Robeson’s magnificent career was destroyed by the machinations of the FBI — not to mention Miriam Makeba’s ostracism at the hands of the American recording industry when she married Stokely Carmichael. ‘Has it not affected your professional life?”
‘Yes,” he responds. ‘It’s made me strong. It’s given me incredible rewards. I’m the most successful man I know. Because my investment is in people!”
He describes Paul Robeson as ‘a hero without compare. He was a giant.” He was also Belafonte’s primary role model. ‘He told me, ‘Harry, get them to sing your song, and they will want to know who you are.’” And get them to sing his song across the world Belafonte certainly did. As a result, we are left in absolutely no doubt as to who he is.
‘On his deathbed, I asked Robeson whether the loneliness he experienced, and the amount of loss he suffered for the struggle — was worth it. He said, ‘Absolutely. We may not have won all the victories, but more important than victory was the journey itself.’ And it’s a wonderful journey,” Belafonte continues, speaking for Robeson, for Bessie Smith, for Billie Holliday, for Martin Luther King, for Nelson Mandela, and of course for himself. ‘The pain of the journey is there. What we do about it makes it extraordinary. And we are unconquerable.”
I am surrounded by the man’s warmth. That friendly voice has been with me for the whole of my life, always somewhere in the background, husky, island-in-the-sun-ish, the tough chain gang songs of Alabama, the witty duets with Makeba, the gladiator in Carmen Jones, the lover, the gangster, the schoolteacher, the cowboy.
Now, in the latter part of life’s extraordinary journey, he is reflecting on it all, and putting it down on film so that he, and everyone else, can remember. Tomorrow he is off to see Madiba, the next day to sing with Makeba at the Five Roses Bowl in Soweto —
You get the sense that his life has been full and fulfilling. Free of inflicting meaningless harm, but never afraid of facing challenges head on. A beautiful man, inside and out.