![]() ![]() If anyone in the house has never heard “Lift Every Voice and Sing”-affectionately referred to as “the Black National Anthem”-hers is the perfect introduction to it. Weston clutches the microphone, her cappuccino-colored skin glazed by the midday sunlight. ![]() Jackson capitalizes on the euphoria of the moment to take the people even higher: “Sister Kim Weston,” he announces, “The Black National Anthem.” Jesse Jackson ignites the crowd with his signature call-and-response recitation of “I Am Somebody.” By its final lines, thousands of fists are raised in the air in a solidarity salute to Black power. On the stage, erected in the center of the field just hours after a home game between the Los Angeles Rams and the Oakland Raiders the night before, Rev. It is reportedly the largest gathering of African Americans since the 1963 March on Washington and even before the music performances begin, it is living art. By the time everyone is seated, more than 112,000 spectators, most of them African American Los Angeleans-dancing teenagers, multi-generational families, gang members, blue-collar workers anticipating a day of fun before the start of a new work week-people the rows with a range of brown complexions. It is Sunday, August 20, 1972, the afternoon of the storied Wattstax concert, a seven-year community commemoration following the 1965 Watts neighborhood uprising against police brutality and systemic discrimination.Īttendees laugh, joke and jostle through the stadium’s classically domed entryways, some with $1 tickets in hand, others admitted for free depending on what they can afford. The air inside the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum is electric with collective Black joy. ![]()
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