The Tiananmen Square protests and simplistic lamentation: Joan Baez’s “stark” attempt at putting history to music
In 1989, Joan Baez faced a new kind of heartbreak. Always a fighter amid political unrest, Baez felt the unravelling of the protests at Tiananmen Square and how it began with those fighting for better, more just civilisation. The tragic events that followed, however, flooded into her heart like a “black sun rising”, the inconsequential nature of military action weighing on her as profoundly as the famous image of the Tank Man.
The image is seared into history books forever—condensed in a spectacle of an unnamed subject known only as ‘Tank Man’ facing down a lineup of military tanks holding only two bags of shopping. As we now know, this image has become one of the most politically iconic ones of all time, which is easily understood considering the stark contrast it presents with a harmless civilian facing up to corporate violence with a deeply normalised and self-contained aura.
The massacre at Tiananmen Square not only diminished the thousands of people fighting to voice their desires for freedom but also demonstrated the government’s ongoing plight for violence and societal oppression. Tank Man represented this injustice by showcasing the everyday nature of the common civilian in the face of overwhelming power, opening Baez’s eyes to the insidiousness of elitist force.
She refers to Tank Man in ‘China’, singing, “You remember him / All alone he stood before the tanks / A shadow of forgotten ancestors”. Baez also captures the poignancy of the transformation of events from peaceful protest and communities vying for liberation to the “satanic shower” that unfolded at the hands of the Chinese government. Her tone takes on a more heartfelt one than is usually associated with protest songs, but in doing so, she channels the tragedy with contemplative defeat.
“Even the moon on the fourth day of June / Hid her face and did not see,” Baez sings, her simplistic lyricism holding solidity as she laments the unfortunate destructiveness of unrelenting authoritarian violence. According to Charles Fuss, who wrote Joan Baez: A Bio-Bibliography, ‘China’ is “easily one of Baez’s finest original songs; her stark lyrics evoke a quiet strength in their simplicity.”
Although a political song, ‘China’ demonstrates Baez’s natural ability to submerge musical art in broader commentary, even when her execution feels less confrontational. Baez achieved this many times during her career and often involved herself in political causes, including her trip to Vietnam amid the Hanoi bombing raids in 1972. She possessed first-hand experience of such devastation, which qualified her to inject desolate emotions into her work, unlike those who write from a bystander’s perspective, capturing the ripples of tragedy from afar.
Baez’s approach to ‘China’ was unique not just because she knew what it was like to be caught up in the middle of catastrophe but because her opt for overt delicacy meant she understood the emotional context of this specific historical event. Just as she witnessed Vietnamese women crying in the aftermath of war-torn Hanoi, she knew what real, government-caused heartbreak felt like and mirrored this in the poignancy of the song’s musical arrangements.
To some, the song might appear passive, but Baez’s purposeful gentleness only proves her positioning as one of the most talented political songwriters of all time. While others may appear avoidant in their submissive delivery, Baez appears with a strong sense of determination, allowing simplicity to breathe and wallow in tragedy, just as all those who loved and lost in the face of brutality experienced a newfound whirlwind of quiet suffering after the protests at Tiananmen Square.
