Sasha Callahan- Freelance violinist

I will never forget a conversation I had back in the summer of 2000 with an old European teacher of mine. That evening after he’d had a fair amount of wine, he confided in me about the tremendous guilt he felt having personally benefitted from the holocaust — so many incredible Jewish violinists had been taken away or had fled Europe, and his career took off as a result. He knew he should have done more, stood up and said he wouldn’t perform, said that what was happening was wrong. While he would never have done anything to personally harm anyone, and he was genuinely broken hearted for his friends and colleagues, there was a festering secret corner of his heart that remembered an ambivalence — the advantage he gained was helpful. He was deserving too, and people were noticing his worth as the field became less crowded… He walked around with this guilt for the rest of his life. 

To be sure, ours are also difficult times. I had originally envisioned this post as a kind of journal entry about what it is like to be a musician right now, and there’s a lot to say there. We have all experienced loss and fear and the anxiety of so much uncertainty. We become musicians in order to connect with people. To have such an important means of connection cease so abruptly is painful; the interactions with live audiences give our work meaning and purpose. To stem the tide of financial insecurity and vulnerability we face, we try to salvage what we can teaching zoom lessons and familiarizing ourselves with more and more technology in the hope that we can make virtual concerts feel like a decent substitute until it’s safe to come back together. Yet all the while there’s the lingering fear that things will never really go back… lots to think about and lots to say about all of this.

Sobering as these past days have been, in sitting down to write this post, the more difficult but necessary work lies in reflecting on privilege and freedom, both of which I enjoy even during these challenging times. 

In order to become a professional violinist, I have enjoyed tremendous privilege — parents who had the time and means to acquire instruments, to drive me 45 minutes away for lessons with a teacher I loved, to take me to concerts and pay for my education, and to tell me to pursue whatever I was most interested in. I had an Austrian grandmother who had grown up living and breathing the classical music tradition and playing several instruments since childhood. Everyone “of a certain class” did. We were by no means well-off, but my college professor parents found a way to pursue higher education themselves, so whatever resources our family had always went to education first. 

And then there’s no escaping the privilege that comes from growing up a little blond haired, blue eyed, rosy cheeked white girl. When I went to concerts and looked at the faces of orchestras and soloists and string quartets, sure there weren’t as many women, but there were some, and I didn’t notice the sea of white faces. I didn’t notice because people looked like me. 

Whatever challenges I’ve faced, whatever assumptions people have made about me, however I’ve felt misunderstood at times, there’s no getting around the fact that my skin color and appearance have given me a free pass to choose what I focus my energies on. Very few people are afraid of me, or look at me with suspicion, or think I must be up to no good… I didn’t have to constantly prove that I could be trusted, and I didn’t stand out amongst all the other white classical musicians… Most of my limitations are self inflicted. What a luxury that is.

I don’t mean to suggest that there are quick and easy solutions, or that I have the answers, but I do think it’s time to push ourselves and each other to do some soul searching and figure out how we can make real change. Particularly in a field that requires decades of training to become proficient in an instrument, there’s no time to waste. I am determined to examine how I can make a difference as a teacher and as a performer. 

For years presenting works by diverse voices has been an interest, but I need to do more. The only way this tradition that I love so much (flaws and all) can stay relevant is if the masterpieces of the classical canon are in conversation with music that expresses the broadest human experience possible. This includes dusting off forgotten composers of the past who never got their due because of discrimination, as well as performing and commissioning works that reflect the world we live in today. It can’t be about ticking a box, it is about assuming responsibility for discovering powerful, masterful repertoire that we just don’t know about yet. It’s out there. 

We have to address the lack of continued ongoing support for musicians of color who need instruments and mentorship and opportunities so they don’t fall through the cracks in the process of transitioning from student into professional. These are small pieces in a complex puzzle, and just first steps, but critical ones. I will continue to examine my own actions to think about how I can use my training and love of classical music, and yes, even my privilege to bring this tradition into a more inclusive, more representational future.

This is our moment to stand up and take a different path than my teacher did. We have to tackle the horrifying physical brutality in our society first, but that’s not the only violence being done. It is past time to acknowledge that the world, and yes, certainly the classical music world, is incredibly stacked in favor of an awfully small group of people, and horribly stacked against people of color, particularly black people.

Beth Beauchamp