The Baldwin-Buckley debate took center stage as New York City's Town Hall became a stage for history, music, and moral reckoning with The Tongue & The Lash, a chamber opera reimagining James Baldwin's iconic 1965 Cambridge Union debate with William F. Buckley Jr. Conceived by composer Damien Sneed and librettist Karen Chilton, the performance underscored Baldwin's enduring relevance and the urgency of his message. Directed by mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves-Montgomery in her Town Hall directorial debut, the opera blended vocal artistry and orchestration to bring Baldwin's and Buckley's words to life. A post-show panel discussion extended the evening's reflection, tracing the enduring consequences of the Baldwin-Buckley debate and drawing connections between Baldwin's arguments and today's ongoing battles over race, justice, and power.
By 1965, Baldwin was a towering figure in American literature and civil rights activism. The Fire Next Time had already cemented his reputation as one of the nation's most incisive thinkers, its searing critique of racial injustice leaving an indelible mark. That February, his debate with Buckley at the Cambridge Union became a defining moment. With intellectual rigor and moral conviction, Baldwin dismantled the American Dream's mythos, exposing its foundation in Black subjugation. His opening statement earned a standing ovation, while Buckley's elitist conservatism fell flat. Baldwin's argument confronted the past while pressing toward the future, insisting that America's racial contradictions were fundamental to the country's survival and demanding the intellectual honesty and moral courage to address them. His words remain strikingly relevant as the nation continues to grapple with systemic racism and inequality.
"The harmed cannot continue to be the help, cleaning up messes that are not of our making."
The opera reimagines that historic confrontation, marking the 60th anniversary of the Baldwin-Buckley debate with a performance in New York City on the exact date, February 18; as it strips away the debate's formality, it exposes profound ideological tensions, laying bare the clash between Baldwin's moral clarity and Buckley's calculated deflections; what once played out within the rigid decorum of a university debate hall now unfolds in a theatrical space, Baldwin's words carrying the same urgency, their force undiminished by time. Baritone Joseph Parrish delivered a commanding performance as Baldwin, his voice capturing the writer's unwavering conviction. Andrew Morstein's Buckley embodied a self-assured elitism, treating individualism as a convenient shield against structural accountability and framing personal responsibility as an excuse to ignore systemic oppression. This stance remains central to contemporary debates on race and privilege.
The libretto, drawn from Baldwin's words, resonated with haunting power. Is there a balm in Gilead? Baldwin (Parrish) sang—a plea for justice and healing. The harmed cannot continue to be the help, cleaning up messes that are not of our making. Lines like these underscored the unrelenting burden of systemic oppression and the demand for accountability.
The audience was treated to a special introduction as Trevor Baldwin, James Baldwin's nephew, took the stage ahead of the performance to share personal reflections. Reading from No Name in the Street, he voiced his uncle's words. He recalled Baldwin dining in a London restaurant with his Aunt Gloria when his Uncle Jimmy got a phone call. The news was that Malcolm X had been murdered, a particularly striking moment that revealed how abruptly the violence of the era intruded on Baldwin's life. Trevor's account made the past feel immediate, carrying its weight into the room.
Following the performance, a panel featuring Dr. Frank Leon Roberts, Matt Brim, Dr. Brenda M. Greene, and Nicholas Buccola brought Baldwin's voice into contemporary discourse.
Dr. Roberts spoke of Baldwin's ability to see through America's lies, noting that he would have recognized the "liar-in-chief" as a reflection of the nation's more profound truths. "Baldwin would see a kind of dark hope in that truth—the nation revealing what it had always believed about Black people, LGBTQ people, women, Hispanic people, and the marginalized," Roberts said. The discussion also touched on Baldwin's admiration for Dostoevsky, whose words—"The darker the night, the brighter the stars"—resonated with Baldwin's concept of dark hope.
Matt Brim challenged the idea of integration, suggesting Baldwin would have questioned the push to join systems that perpetuate injustice. "He would not have wanted us to not integrate with the killers of Sam Nordquist," Brim said, referring to the 24-year-old transgender man who was tortured and murdered in upstate New York just four days earlier, "but he would have urged the painful work of engaging with those who continue to vote against justice."
Nicholas Buccola underscored Buckley's ability to "perform" intellectualism, pointing out how conservatives once positioned him as a more palatable alternative to open racists. "He had blood on his hands," Buccola noted. "He resented being placed in the camp with the rabid racists, but Baldwin made clear—he was no better." He also referenced a moment from the original debate when someone in the audience directly challenged Buckley, demanding, Why don't you give the Mississippians the right to vote?
Dr. Roberts emphasized that Buckley was a familiar archetype. "Baldwin would have called him Mr. Charlie," he said, invoking Baldwin's famous statement: "It's innocence itself that constitutes the crime." He also pointed out that Baldwin dismissed Buckley in the debate, calling him "not a serious man."
The conversation also explored Baldwin's belief that fear is a reflection of power. "They're afraid because they see our power," someone observed. Baldwin would ask, "Why don't we?"
Baldwin's vision of a "New Jerusalem" was framed as a call for true liberation, not tied to Israel but drawn from the Book of Revelation, where justice reigns and oppression collapses under its weight.
Roberts highlighted the importance of preserving radical spaces, citing the role of the arts, community theaters, and basements as places where resistance can flourish. "The fire next time is here," he declared, reinforcing Baldwin's urgent warning.
The evening also referenced Baldwin's essay The Creative Process, in which he argues that an artist's responsibility is to expose hidden truths, often through deep self-examination and solitude—a painful but necessary act for genuine artistic creation. The discussion reflected that spirit, bringing Baldwin's words into sharp focus for a modern audience.
Throughout the night, Baldwin's words echoed: If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you cannot see. Social justice is what love looks like in the public square. These lines encapsulate the essence of his work—a commitment to truth, accountability, and transformative love.
The Tongue & The Lash is more than an opera; it is a call to action, a testament to Baldwin's enduring power, and a reminder that the work of justice remains unfinished. Last night, his brilliance shone forth once more, challenging us to confront the truths of our time with the same courage and clarity he embodied.
The Baldwin-Buckley Debate
Derrick Hemphill covers art and culture and resides in Harlem, New York.
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