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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

The Word Gets Around

An Interview With Pete Seeger

One reason racism seems to be more of a problem is at last it’s out in the open. Racism has been there all along. It’s an old, old human problem, that’s been with us for thousands of years, and it’s in every country of the world in one form or another. Some have solved it in one way and not solved it in other ways. The French used to insult the Spaniards by saying Africa begins at the Pyrenees. And the English would insult the French by saying Africa begins at the English Channel. As though there’s something bad about being African. Language is full of words that are racist in origin. Black is bad. Black-hearted. Blacklist. And these are in all European languages, and you don’t get rid of these words quickly.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Excerpts From The Incompleat Folksinger

I have sung for Americans of every political persuasion, and I am proud that I never refuse to sing to an audience, no matter what religion or color of their skin, or situation of life. I have sung in hobo jungles, and I have sung for the Rockefellers, and I am proud that I have never refused to sing for anybody . . . because I disagreed with their political opinion, and I am proud of the fact that my songs seem to cut across and find perhaps a unifying thing, basic humanity.

Fiction

Thursday

Tonight I heard a man sing the most beautiful song I ever heard. At first I thought it was a fight, so I crossed over to the Post Office side of the street just to get out of the way. But even from a block away, I’d never heard such a voice coming from a grown man — so full and rich and so hurt way down inside like a tender child. For some reason I didn’t look at his face even when I passed him by, because it was too intimate.

Photography
Readers Write

Death Of A Loved One

“Am I still alive?”

Those were my father’s last words. Pretty good, as last words go.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

Once, in the Orient, I talked of suicide with a sage whose clear and gentle eyes seemed forever to be gazing at a never-ending sunset. “Dying is no solution,” he affirmed. “And living?” I asked. “Nor living either,” he conceded. “But, who tells you there is a solution?”

Elie Wiesel

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