This is it. It’s really happening. 

The never-before-accomplished 
think piece about the massive 
impact 
the 
“Harry 
Potter” 

series has had on basically every 
millennial to ever pick up a book 
— with the exception of the 
middle schoolers “too cool for 
magic.”

Jokes aside, “Harry Potter”’s 

cultural impact is essentially 
unparalleled in today’s world; 
millions 
upon 
millions 
of 

children have had the same exact 
experience I did, falling madly 
in love with the boy wizard’s 
story, feeling the excitement of 
midnight releases and growing 
up with him and his friends. I 
wish I were kidding when I say 
that I have been Harry Potter for 
Halloween (in multiple different 
iterations, including Quidditch 
attire) going on 12 years this 
season. The bottom line is that I 
would be a drastically different 
human had it not been for J.K. 
Rowling’s brilliant mind.

For the sake of brevity (I 

once wrote a full research 
paper about the impact of J.K. 
Rowling’s literature / charity 
work when I was 14, and I’ll be 
sure to publish it if I ever find it), 
I’m going to focus on the impact 
of Rowling’s very first novel 
“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s 
Stone,” and why I can’t get 
through the first few sentences 
without tearing up: “Mr. and 
Mrs. Dursley, of number four, 

Privet Drive, were proud to say 
that they were perfectly normal, 
thank you very much. They were 
the last people you’d expect to 
be involved in anything strange 
or mysterious, because they just 
didn’t hold with such nonsense.”

Normalcy, 
as 
a 
social 

construct, 
has 
plagued 
my 

existence from a very young 
age — not that I even began 
to understand why I deviated 
from the norm until I was about 
17, but the fact of the matter is 
that I am very, very gay, and the 
signs were very, very obvious 
from as far back as I remember. 
Internalized homophobia was 
so deeply ingrained in me by my 
family and school that I refused 
to fully face this truth until I had 
moved away from home. Which, 
frankly, is really fucked up. But 
I digress.

Anyway, I wasn’t “normal,” 

and everyone knew it but refused 
to understand. And because I, 
too, refused to understand, I 
lashed out by being “different” 
in other ways: I listened to pop 
punk and screamo, made short 
films with friends, did a little 
acting in middle school and, of 
course, read too many books. 
My mother often reminded me 
that I was “too contrarian” and 
even went so far as to say I “have 
issues with authority” when I 
was kicked off my high school 
tennis team.

Now at 21, I think this opening 

paragraph is exactly why I have 
always clung to the “Harry 
Potter” novels like my Catholic 
family has clung to their Bibles. 
From 
the 
very 
beginning, 

Rowling makes it clear our 
protagonist isn’t normal. He’s 
quiet, he doesn’t have friends, 
weird things happen around 
him, hell, his own foster family 
hated him for the very fact that 
they know he isn’t a regular 
boy. And Harry’s otherness, his 
mistreatment, his invisibility 
echoed in my empty little frame 
(and still does if we’re being 
honest). Then he’s whisked away 
from his torturous existence 
with four simple words spoken 
by 
a 
giant 
groundskeeper: 

“You’re a wizard, Harry.”

I quite literally got on my 

knees and prayed to God every 
night leading up to my 11th 
birthday that my Hogwarts 
acceptance letter would arrive. 

Obviously this never happened, 
but I never stopped holding 
on to Harry’s story. Harry 
learned how to be a real wizard, 
adjusting to a new culture and 
way of life at only 11-years-old by 
making friends and forming his 
own family at Hogwarts. “Harry 
Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” 
helped me understand that it’s 
OK to choose your family, to 
start over and find happiness 
outside the nuclear family unit, 
and it’s even better when that 
family is comprised of those who 
are othered like you: a famous 
orphan, a genius with muggle 
parents and a loyal friend whose 
large family has to spread their 
earnings thin.

This isn’t to say that my family 

is evil; far from it, actually, 
when compared to Voldemort’s 
burning hatred for the minority 
groups 
of 
the 
wizarding 

world. Despite a slightly rough 
upbringing, 
they’ve 
been 

almost entirely supportive of 
everything I’ve attempted to 
accomplish. Yet, I do feel less 
suffocated since I’ve moved 
away. I think of all the smiles 
Harry flashes, the amazement he 
expresses with each discovery 
of his new life, and I think about 
how closely it has paralleled my 
own experiences flying away 
from my nest of white suburbia. 
I also think about how badly 
I wanted to feel the same way 
at 11, at 14 and especially at 17, 
when the real me wasn’t having 

the best time being tucked away 
for so long.

“Harry Potter” shaped me 

in ways that are often hard to 
put into words, and while gays 
might not have magic powers 
(or do we?), I can say for certain 
that I’m a braver person for the 
lessons I’ve learned — someone 
more 
comfortable 
with 
my 

place in this world and more 
empathetic for those who have 
felt the same. I could write a 
whole other article on Hermione 
Granger alone, but for now, I’m 
going to thank “the boy who 
lived” for helping me cope with 
being different, and for taking 
Dumbledore’s advice to heart: 
“It does not do to dwell on 
dreams and forget to live.”

BTBU: ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’

A sense of rebellion is woven 

deeply into the American identity. 
While the last 250 years have 
proven that the people of the United 
States and their government have 
become experts at maintaining the 
status quo, there is still a part of our 
national identity that celebrates 
the notion that to be “American” 
is to react against something, 
sometimes against the institution of 
America itself. This was especially 
prevalent during the 20 years of 
the Vietnam War, a period during 
which political turmoil directly 
danced 
with 
massive 
cultural 

upheaval and rebirth. The center 
of this change rested squarely 
in the hands of varied social and 
political movements of the time, 
which leaned heavily on artistic 
expression and colored the Vietnam 
era with poignant commentary on 
its realities. In the face of death, 
confusion and the stagnant trudge 
of war, American counterculture 
paved a path through the muck by 
creating music that would last the 
test of time.

The political background of the 

Vietnam War was complicated 
and messy, the combination of 
a society entrenched in anti-
Communist rhetoric and the need 
to display American strength on an 
international scale. Lasting from 
1955 to 1975, the period during 

which Vietnam affected U.S. society 
spanned two decades and resulted 
in tens of thousands of American 
and Vietnamese casualties, leaving 
the nation at a loss for what the war 
truly meant in a historical context. 
To some, it was to establish stable 
democracy and eliminate Chinese 
influence in a new and warring 
nation. To others, the reason for 
conflict in Vietnam was obscure, 
a long-lasting fight that had no 
clear goal or end in sight. Though 
the older and more conservative 
generations maintained their belief 
in the war’s necessity, their voices 
were largely unrepresented in the 
artistic movements of the time. 
Country music artists like Merle 
Haggard remained supportive of 
the government throughout much 
of the war, but in comparison to 
the popularity of countercultural 
anthems, its pro-America messages 
were overshadowed.

Initially, the war gained support 

from a majority of Americans, but as 
time went on and deaths mounted, 
the national perspective began to 
shift toward ambivalence, while 
the massive population of nearly 80 
million young Baby Boomers kicked 
an anti-war effort into gear. The 
impetus of anguish for this youth 
movement was only exacerbated by 
the military draft, sending college 
campuses and urban centers across 
the country into action. With this 
action, the American tradition 
of rebellion was represented in 
their music, a medium by which 
communication 
was 
possible 

through the visceral power of song. 
These tunes would become the face 
of a generation and a period of time 
alike, framing the unrest of an era 
with songs heavy with soul and a 
timeless message of change against 
all odds. The spirit of freedom to 
fight for one’s beliefs continued in 
the hearts of musicians and fans 
alike during the Vietnam era, a 
protest for peace that continues to 
affect the country’s music today.

Before 
the 
Vietnam 
War’s 

influence truly reached American 
society, protest music was already 
in full force in response to the Civil 
Rights movement of the late ’50s 
and early ’60s. Artists like Joan 
Baez, Bob Dylan and Simon & 
Garfunkel stood at the forefront of 
the early folk music revival scene, 
which grew out of New York City’s 
Greenwich Village and into the 
ears of listeners across the country. 
Baez’s song “Birmingham Sunday,” 
among 
others, 
displayed 
the 

struggles of the battle for civil rights 
in America, while outstretching a 
hand for others to join the cause 
through the simplicity and bare-
bones style of folk music itself. 
The genre at its root was forged 
in the working man’s toils, so it 
was only natural for its sound to 
carry a message of empowerment 
and social awareness in a time of 
political uneasiness. When the 
war’s effects became more and 
more apparent in folk’s strongholds, 
the music began to reflect anti-
war sentiment and a painfully true 
commentary on the war’s effects on 

both soldiers and those still at home. 
From this, music like Dylan’s iconic 
song “Blowin’ in the Wind” was 
born, stamping a permanent mark 
in U.S. music history while fueling 
the debate around the war’s obtuse 
purpose and seemingly senseless 
violence. The message of folk 
music from that time was a clear 
analysis of what the international 
destruction of Vietnam meant in the 
context of already existing domestic 
turmoil, calling the listener to look 
deeper into the superficial peace of 
daily life to see a system in need of 
change.

While folk music colored much 

of the early ’60s protest songs, 
the anti-war message began to 
shift into rock and psychedelia as 
counterculture merged with many 
of the time’s youth movements. 
Protests 
erupted 
across 
the 

country in areas with high youth 
populations, only heightened by the 
massive scale of the Baby Boomer 
generation. 
Buffalo 
Springfield, 

then Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young 
and Creedence Clearwater Revival 
merged rock with the organic 
sound of folk, creating music with 
a direct and piercingly honest core. 
They highlighted the realities of 
government oppression in songs like 
“Ohio,” which commented on the 
Kent State Massacre of four student 
protesters in 1970, and “Fortunate 
Son,” a meditation on the inherent 
inequalities of the war’s draft lottery 
system that became the unofficial 
anthem of the anti-war effort. The 
pop rock ‘n’ roll of the ’60s shifted 

CLARA SCOTT
Daily Arts Writer

WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

Stop! What’s that sound?: How the 
Vietnam War changed music forever

B-SIDE SECONDARY

into a darker, grittier version of 
itself in response to the political and 
social conflict of popular culture, 
with bands like The Beatles and the 
Rolling Stones moving into more 
experimental territory with albums 
such as Revolver and Let it Bleed. 
This edgier side to rock has stayed 
put since, becoming the standard 
for the genre as time has gone on.

But the image most have of 

the Vietnam era is of the hippie 
counterculture, 
of 
Woodstock 

’69 and Jimi Hendrix smashing 
guitars. This too was a response 
to the period’s social discord, as 
thousands of young, largely white 
and middle-class Americans joined 
the movement to embrace free 
love. They gathered at festivals 
like Monterey Pop to communally 
celebrate their music while joining 
hands 
against 
the 
negativity 

and confusion of wartime. The 
hippies were the face of that 
counterculture, especially in light 
of the drug culture that wove its 
way into their art and practices. 
They were not protesters, but rather 
purveyors of a peaceful mentality 
supported by pacifism and a kernel 
of ignorance. Psychedelic drugs like 
LSD influenced both the spiritual 
aspects and creative approach of 
the hippie movement, producing 
bands like Jefferson Airplane and 
the Grateful Dead’s whimsical 
sound. As the war reached its peak 
in the early ’70s and devolved, so 
did the hippie counterculture and 
its popularity, leaving its style and 
music behind as many devotees 
descended into drug abuse or left 
the movement altogether. The 
“Summer of Love” in 1967 was 
arguably the climax of “free love” 
culture, a community assemblage 
that 
celebrated 
their 
customs 

and ideology. From there, hippie 
neighborhoods like San Francisco’s 
Haight-Ashbury district lost their 
glory quickly, leaving their music 
and aesthetic appeal as a lasting 
token of the movement’s ideals and 
highest achievements. 

While folk, rock and psychedelia 

created the sound of an era for 
white America, Black soul and blues 
artists also continued their own 
path against the social tumult of the 
’60s and ’70s. Artists such as Marvin 
Gaye brought Motown and other 
R&B labels into the political sphere 
with records like 1971 release What’s 
Going On, the title track of which 
became a timeless representation of 
that era and others like it. “Father, 
father,” Gaye sings, “We don’t need 
to escalate / You see, war is not the 
answer / For only love can conquer 
hate.” These lyrics, among others 
from the period across every genre, 
show the universal application of 
protest and politically conscious 
art throughout time. “What’s Going 
On” could easily have been written 
today, or post-9/11, or during the 
HIV / AIDS epidemic in the ’90s. 

The political tenor of the Vietnam 
War’s music remains a large part 
of American pop music today, 
specifically in the darker, more 
direct themes seen in rock and 
folk music of the modern age. The 
generation that popularized this 
time’s most lasting music was huge, 
millions and millions of people born 
after WWII that brought the spirit 
of protest from their youth into the 
future and passed it along to their 
children. Overall, the themes of 
Vietnam era music are relevant in 
any time period, and a combination 
of poignant messages, truly great 
arrangement and the commitment 
of those who loved it to keep the 
melody in the public eye for decades.

It could be argued that the 

political turmoil of today’s Trump 
administration could offer the 
same fodder for musical and artistic 
development that the Vietnam 
War did, but the issue is slightly 
more complex. In the Vietnam 
era, the anti-war effort was easy 
to understand even if the purpose 
of the war wasn’t, and it gave the 
counterculture 
the 
opportunity 

to unite against a clear force. The 
Civil Rights Movement and Second-
Wave Feminism intermingled with 
this counterculture, but the goal of 
counterculture’s music was more 
crystalline than it is today. In 2018’s 
political climate, the issues with 
American government and society 
are 
increasingly 
complex 
and 

abstract. Activism has burst into the 
mainstream in response to this, and 
with it the message of “sticking it 
to the man” that much of Vietnam-
age music carried is almost not 
enough. The messages of that time 
have become commonplace in 
rock and folk, an expected edge to 
each genre that originated in the 
protests and festivals of the ’60s 
and ’70s. In its place, the protest 
music of today looks different, 
and elicits a different feeling than 
those songs: artists like Beyoncé, 
Childish Gambino and Kendrick 
Lamar have taken political action 
into rap and pop music, creating a 
new generation of activists that will 
hopefully continue the message just 
as those in the Vietnam era did. But 
the real question lies in whether 
the widespread political agendas 
of today’s musicians will become 
diluted in their commonality, or 
present a real chance to make 
change in America. If the effect of 
Vietnam’s music is any indication, 
connecting via art may hold the 
key to forming a community to flip 
the script of modern politics. But it 
is up to the listeners to take it into 
their own hands: Vietnam changed 
American music forever. Could the 
modern struggles of today’s political 
landscape change it for the better 
again?

The original verion of this article 

ran on Oct. 25. An updated and 
corrected version is printed here.

DOMINIC POLSINELLI

Senior Arts Editor

BOOKS THAT BUILT US

WARNER BROS.

 Friday, October 26, 2018 — 5
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

