By WILLIAM HARVEY

After 9/11, I played for members of the Fighting 69th Regiment after they returned from working at Ground Zero. The experience inspired me to found an organization called Music for the People, whose aim is to send young classical musicians on missions of cultural diplomacy. For the organization's first project, Dr. Everold Hosein of the World Health Organization helped me design a solo violin concert tour of Moldova, where I collaborated with Unicef, and Tunisia, where I teamed up with a local music association. The Juilliard Summer Grant Committee kindly awarded me a grant to help fund this venture, which lasted from June 14 through July 11. While space constraints in The Journal allow me to share only a couple of anecdotes from the tour, a more detailed description of my adventures may be found online at my Web site.


The Beautiful Things In Life
June 29, 2005, Causeni County, Moldova

William Harvey playing for campers at Camp Ghiocel in Moldova. With him is a counselor who served as a translator.

The stories—that's what I remember about the concert I gave at Camp Ghiocel, a girls' camp run by the U.S. Peace Corps. I asked the girls to make up stories to accompany a partita by the Lithuanian composer Vytautas Barkauskas. As a counselor whispered translations, their stories amazed me: evil bears, doomed lovers, birds that fly too close to the sun. I expected depressing stories for the Ysaÿe "Obsession" Sonata, and sure enough, I heard about fathers beating and killing mothers, a small boy trying to escape from a labyrinth, terrified horses and valiant warriors dying. One story I'll never forget: I heard the beautiful things in life. Life is filled with so many beautiful things, and sometimes it's so beautiful you can't bear it. You don't realize how beautiful it is until it is too late, and you want to die. At this point, the girl burst into tears. After a long silence, I bowed to her, saying, "Multumesc." Thank you.

In the car, I enthused to Nicoleta Bodrug, Unicef's communication consultant in Moldova: "Wasn't that great? Weren't their imaginations astounding?" She looked back at me, saying sadly: "Those weren't their imaginations. That's their reality." I struggled to accept her point: I was used to dark stories at children's concerts back home, and when concerned adults ask me about them, I'd say that kids have darker imaginations than adults want to believe. But here, I realized Nicoleta was right. The girls had listened to my playing and heard war, hopelessness, fathers beating children and killing mothers. Violence rages in Transnistria, not far from Causeni. Unicef would not be so active in Moldova if the children here had model parents. This was their reality.

How lucky I am. I can come up with as sad a story as I like, and it will always come from my imagination, never my experience. I do not know the experiences of the girl who broke down while telling her story about the Ysaÿe, but I can imagine. They are experiences that make it very difficult to see the beautiful things in life. Yet after today, I believe she will.


To the Victims of Terrorism
July 7, 2005, Gamart, Tunisia.

At a recital in Gamart, Tunisia, Harvey performed with oud player Foued Rafrafi. The concert, which took place on the day of the London subway and bus bombings in July, was dedicated to all the victims of terrorism.

"Did you hear about the terrorist attacks in London?" Lotfi M'raihi, my host in Tunisia, asked. I froze, mentally returning to 9/11, as he told me the details of what had happened in London. I was still numb as Dr. M'raihi, who heads the organization that provided two of my concerts and arranged for me to teach in local workshops, and his wife Noura drove me to L'Espace Sadika, tonight's concert venue. Sensing my sadness, Dr. M'raihi let me call my brother Theodore in the United States. By this point, I had reached a decision that I knew would be controversial and provocative. I told Theodore my plan.

After I hung up, Dr. M'raihi said carefully: "I would advise you not to play the British national anthem." When he translated my decision to his wife, her reaction was more emphatic. "Non! It would be seen as an insult!" she exclaimed. "They will think you are against them. You are a musician, not a politician." Glumly, I realized they were right. Noura suggested an alternative, a single sentence I could offer the audience in French and Arabic.

I raced into L'Espace Sadika, scrambling to get my violin out since we were late. I strode onto the stage, announced the Bach in French, and began. When I finished, I took a deep breath. "Ce concert est dédié a toutes les victimes de terrorisme dans le monde. Odi hethl el Hafl lithahiya el Erheb fi collelalem," I announced. "This concert is dedicated to all the victims of terrorism."

Technically the performance was not my best, but I've never played with more commitment. The Bach D-Minor Sarabande became an elegiac dance in honor of today's victims. I played the Dies Irae, threaded throughout the Ysaÿe, as a requiem for all who died in New York, London, Iraq, and Afghanistan. In the Arabic music, my pianissimos blended with the intimate oud playing of my Tunisian friend Foued. How could this be happening the same day as the horror in London? Was friendship between Islam and the West that difficult?

After the Paganini, I received a standing ovation, and at the reception, many people thanked me. One man said, "What happened today in London is normal. This happens all the time, and always will happen." I thanked him, though I disagreed. He can choose to live in a world where hope is dead, but I refuse to make that choice. I cannot listen to or play Bach, nor can I receive the smiles, thanks, and applause of an Arab audience, without believing in a light that will pierce the clouds of suspicion and hatred, no matter how dark they seem today.

William Harvey is a master's degree student in violin. Music for the People's Web site is www.musicforthepeople.org.