holocaust

A chapbook by Henry Opeyemi 

Publisher: Felis Catus Press

“The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”

T.S. Eliot

Henry Opeyemi is an oracle, and this chapbook is a miracle of sorts; it is a prayer of consolation, a hymn, a psalm, a song that gives birth to awakening after awakening, enlightenment after enlightenment. It starts with conscientising and ends by raising a phoenix-like awareness of boyhood and its challenges on the African continent. Where Rumi, Khalil Gibran, Weldon Kees, Mzi Mahola, and Ken Saro-Wiwa walked, where Rethabile Masilo walks, now Henry Opeyemi walks alongside these giants. There was Derek Walcott, Langston Hughes, those constellations feeding galaxies, and now there is Henry Opeyemi.

Perhaps all poets have an innate sense of clairvoyance. They can recognise the pains of the land, the masculine and feminine pains of the vessel of an African body, the psychological torment, the mental despair, the stigmatized struggle, the social alienation, the estrangement from the land of our ancestors, and the unbearable loneliness that every waking moment a poet experiences, lives with, suffers from, and the devastation of the internal landscape of the wounded children of Africa. Yes, yes, yes. Henry Opeyemi has turned blood into ink, and the veins are enriched with shelter.

These poems, each one “peeling itself into joy” (from the poem, Wanderers on pg.5).

This manuscript cleanses like the sea. Writing is a spiritual act, a spiritual dance. It is meditative and comes with instructions. It is sacred. When the hand of God moves through the pen, the poet must obey, and Henry Opeyemi has obeyed. The title of this chapbook speaks about black vulnerability, black stigma, the rallying cry of injustice and inequality, systemic racism, the undertow of the vision of poverty-stricken, disenfranchised and marginalised Africa. Henry Opeyemi writes about miracles in the same breath that he confronts suicide ideation, and when he writes, as he does in his dedication, “of the land of his youth”, he is addressing the social ills of the day, he is speaking to every man, woman, youth and child on the African continent. 

The dedication is a searing polemic, a testimony to a time that came before, and that sadly, heartwrenchingly still exists. The bittersweet river of the sands of time through the hourglass, the tapestry of exile, the memory of the silent witness, the memory of the historian and recorder and poet, the novel dispensation that we are living and co-existing in with the pains of a wandering soul, and history, have not erased anything. We, as African poets, living on the African continent beset with problems of despair and conflict, a continent ravaged by “hungry bowls” as the poet writes, we are the angry souls, the grief, heartbreak and emptiness of our rages.

There is beauty in the poetic sense and sensibility of Henry Opeyemi, and a sense of isolation. Every poet from this continent writes about what we have faced, endured, survived (colonialism, liberation, independence, civil war), and the terrible price we have had to pay, the debts of love of our mothers, the considerable debts of love of the maternal figures in our lives. There is the moral distress, the psychiatric distress, and cry of the poet, the language of moral decay in these verses, and the injury, the sickness, the mental tension, the utter mental turmoil and devastation, and the moral distress of the decay of the mind, of the psychological framework, of the alienation, the social ineptitude and isolation, the rejection from the church, from the community, from society who has labeled the citizens and inhabitants of African descent as interlopers, from the immediate and maternal and paternal family of the individual, of the poet.

Henry Opeyemi is the poetic version of Moses Molelekwa, and in his verses abound “genes and spirits”, ancestral kingdoms and bloodlines.

Every African writer, every African novelist and African poet who lives on the continent and finds themselves elsewhere in the world, writes about stigma, whether they acknowledge this consciously or subconsciously. It is written on the blueprint of our consciousness. Henry Opeyemi (remember this name) writes about the wounded child, the boy, the youth’s fractured sense of self and the youth’s spoiled identity, marginalised identity, wanting to seek validation and approval from the powers that be, from the same gender parent, from adult supervision, from their contemporaries, from leaders, from mentors. Every poet is a wanderer, a directionless nomad, a seeker, a believer if he has found the certainty of faith, of religious instructions and meditative practices. When I write, I write as an African, who lives on the African continent first and foremost; secondly, I write as a woman.

On these pages, a particular tenderness is personified in the writing. The wound is sacred and as omnipresent as the omega, and the grief our mothers have carried is a sacred kind of grief that their cells carried when they were in the womb of the maternal grandmother. The mother-figure is the portal, the origin of humanity. It is where the tension and spark of history coincide with the psychological repair, release and repair of life. 

The poet serves grief, heartbreak, their loneliness on a silver platter to humanity, like a beacon, an anchor, a lighthouse in the storm, like the being of light, like daybreak, like an oyster it is consumed, eaten, studied, investigated, and it is this noble endeavour, the practice of writing poetry about grief, heartbreak, and loneliness, that serves us, our collective humanity, exile and history, that is a remainder of colonialism that will last the test of time, that will serve as proof of evidence that we existed, that we were here, that this was our collective emotional pain on the face of the African continent.

The grief of Africa is, unfortunately, not bloodless. Even her tears are, in fact, tears of blood, of war, of strife, of conflict, of genocide. Poetry is our only method of self-defence. It is the survival, coping and defence mechanism of the novelist, the journalist, the filmmaker, the editor, most of all, the poet. It always has been since the onset of slavery and colonialism and independence. Henry Opeyemi does what poets have done before and after colonialism, he discusses emancipation, personal freedom, personal growth, missionary education, liberation, self-improvement, his youth, his Africa, he addresses the ritual of bone, blood, bowl, the question of God and religion, yes, how immortal religion defies and defines us, guides and interrogates us, he mentions the roles of Big Pharma, and the use of pharmaceuticals in society, are they of help or hindrance? He speaks about the mother-figure, the abandonment of Eve, the resurrection of Lady Macbeth on these pages. The mosque becomes an education, the mind of the young intellectual like a feverish young tree, eager for verdant-green growth, branches like limbs, eager to be acknowledged in a garden of other poets, all vying for attention and literary prizes, or, or, humility, imaginative grace, which is, to all intents and purposes more powerful than attention and literary prizes. 

Creative writing, the practice of writing poetry, is an intellectual pursuit. It is the cultural endeavour of the modern-day philosopher, and all poets are wanderers for an eternity of time.

Sidenote: Henry Opeyemi, welcome to the African Renaissance. May you mentor other poets, you, young poet, young leader, young intellectual. Africa is in good hands. Be, go forth, onwards and upwards; be as all princes from this continent who write poetry; be King of the World. Take the empire back. Build your own empires of gold from the dust of the colonial masters, from the powers that be.

Béla Guttmann may be the most consequential soccer coach you’ve never heard of. But if it weren’t for Guttmann, you may never have heard of Pelé.

And Brazil may never have become the greatest soccer-playing country on Earth.

That’s because Guttmann changed the shape of modern Brazilian soccer — and changed the sport forever — when he imported the revolutionary 4-2-4 system from Hungary to Sao Paulo in 1957. A year later, Brazil won the first of five World Cups and the joga bonito was born.

But what Guttmann brought to Brazil isn’t nearly as interesting as how he got it there. That’s just one of the fascinating stories in “The Beautiful Game … The Untold Story,” the exhibit that will open the Holocaust Museum LA on Sunday at the Goldrich Cultural Center, a $70-million expansion that will double the size of the Pan Pacific Park museum’s campus to 70,000 square feet.

A soccer ball from the holocaust is among the items on display in the exhibit “The Beautiful Game … The Untold Story” at the Holocaust Museum LA.

(Eric Thayer/Los Angeles Times)

The exhibit was unveiled during a private reception on Saturday followed by a free preview day open to the public from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. The grand public opening will take place in August.

The show’s launch coincides with eight local World Cup matches, which kicked off with the United States’ 4-1 win over Paraguay on Friday at SoFi Stadium, and it shines a light on the important but largely overlooked relationship between Jewish life and the global game, as well as how Jewish innovators like Guttmann shaped the modern rhythm, style and culture of the sport.

“It was in the same intellectual level as jazz, as art and everything modern and progressive,” journalist Allon Sander, who helped curate the exhibit, said of Jewish participation in European soccer in the years before World War II.

“The origin of the game and how it intersects with Jews and the Holocaust and the impact that these Jewish footballers and coaches had to shape the game and help popularize the sport is so fascinating,” added Beth Kean, the museum’s CEO. “And it’s an unknown history.”

Much of that story can be told through Guttmann, who was born in Budapest in the final year of the 19th century and developed into one of the sport’s first Jewish stars, representing Hungary in the 1924 Olympics and playing for nine teams in two countries before retiring to become a coach.

But none of that success mattered when the Hungarian government began introducing anti-Jewish laws in 1938, costing Guttmann his job and nearly his life when he was sent to a Nazi forced-labor camp, where he was tortured. Just days before he believed he would be shipped to Auschwitz, which meant certain death, he escaped alongside Erno Erbstein, another Jewish coach.

Erbstein revolutionized soccer in Italy before dying in 1949, along with the entire Torino team, when their plane crashed into a hilltop outside Turin. Four years ago, he was inducted into the Italian soccer hall of fame. Guttmann, meanwhile, who lost much of his family in the Nazi death camps, would go on to coach for 42 years in 14 countries, winning championships in six of them yet only staying in a single place for more than two years just once.

“He’s running away from his demons,” said Ronen Dorfan, a journalist and sports historian based in Budapest whose research was instrumental in putting the exhibit together. “His father was murdered, his sister was murdered. You never know how you survived in Budapest during the war so he had guilt feelings.”

A jersey worn by player Max Wozniak and a jersey from the 1930s are displayed in an exhibit called “The Beautiful Game … The Untold Story.”

(Eric Thayer/Los Angeles Times)

The exhibit was designed in three sections, the first devoted to the years before World War II, the second is about the Holocaust and the third is the postwar years. And while it details Jewish participation in, and influence on, global soccer, it also challenges the cliché that Jews were intellectuals, artists and laborers but not athletes.

“We are always trying to challenge stereotypes. Stereotypes that we might have about ourselves and even stereotypes that we believe about others,” said Jordanna Gessler, the museum’s vice president of education and exhibits who helped curate the show. “It’s crucial to help people find their place and their voice and really see the unity, the similarities between people.

“This is a story that was lost in time and we’re really bringing it out,” Gessler added. “To really have this conversation and encourage people to explore stories that they might not know.”

One thing people might not know is that in the 1920s and ‘30s, Europe’s best teams weren’t in England, Germany or France, but in Austria and Hungary, where they were led by Jewish players and coaches such as Hugo Meisl, Jozsef Braun, Arpad Weisz, Marton Bukovi, Gusztav Sebes and Gyula Mandi. Weisz and Braun were both killed by the Nazis.

A soccer ball from the 1974 World Cup is displayed at an exhibit called “The Beautiful Game … The Untold Story.”

(Eric Thayer/Los Angeles Times)

The surge of antisemitism and fascism in Germany, Italy and Eastern Europe helped spread the influence of those revolutionary players and coaches around the world.

“With the rise of the Reich and the Holocaust, the coaches ran away,” Dorfan said. “And they ran to every corner of the world, to Brazil, to Argentina, to Portugal [and] provided coaches to Real Madrid, to Barcelona, to Benfica, to Flamengo.

“There isn’t one of these clubs that doesn’t owe its tactical development in the ‘40s and ‘50s to the Jewish coaches, which came primarily from Hungary.”

The primary tactical development was the shift from the popular but rigid 2-3-5 formation, which required immense physical endurance and tactical discipline, to the fluid 4-2-4, which spread the wingers to the touch line and allowed for improvisation and creativity on the attacking end, a formation pioneered in Budapest in the 1920s.

“They developed a more refined game of passing the ball, keeping it on the carpet rather than the English kick and run, and really put thought into tactical thinking,” Dorfan said.

Guttmann, who played or coached for more than two dozen teams in his career — including one, in Romania, that paid him in vegetables during the postwar period — brought the Hungarian approach to Brazil in 1957 when he coached Sao Paulo to a championship. After Vicente Feola, the manager Guttmann replaced at Sao Paulo, took over the national team a year later, he brought the formation with him, popularizing many of the tactics still used in modern soccer, such as fluid defensive wingers, overlapping full backs, the use of a withdrawn striker and an attacking midfield.

The soccer team at the Theresienstadt concentration camp’s flag is displayed in a Holocaust Museum LA exhibit called “The Beautiful Game … The Untold Story.”

(Eric Thayer/Los Angeles Times)

“He is the whole exhibition in one man,” Dorfan said of Guttmann.

“Obviously if we wouldn’t have had the Holocaust, those [coaches] wouldn’t be kept out of Europe, Europe would be much stronger, much more developed. [And] then the development of Brazil or the success of Brazil would be coming much later,” Sander said.

Dorfan spent the better part of two years tracking down many of the more than 100 trophies, uniforms, photos and trinkets that make up “The Beautiful Game” exhibit, a search that required determination, perseverance and more than a little luck. Many of the items, because of their ties to Jewish athletes and teams, were hidden during the war and presumed lost. Others resurfaced only through detective work that sent Dorfan following leads that spanned decades and crossed more than a dozen borders.

That also cost money. So Alan Rothenberg, the man who, as president of the U.S. Soccer Federation, first brought the World Cup to Los Angeles 32 years ago, stepped up to lead an effort that raised more than $1 million to fund the exhibit.

“The story really needs to be told, particularly with what’s going on right now with respect to antisemitism,” Rothenberg said. “It’s really important for people to realize what can happen. And soccer is a great vehicle to draw them in. The one main thing in the museum is bringing schoolkids in.”

The Nazis and their collaborators failed in their attempt to erase the history of Jewish soccer pioneers; in fact, they inadvertently popularized both the men — and women — and their ideas. But the sport also helped other Jews survive a dark period and Kean said that may be the most beautiful and uplifting part of “The Beautiful Game.”

“The main reason we decided to do this exhibition in the first place is because for years so many survivors, when they talk about their life before the war, so many of them talk about soccer. So many of them were passionate and fond of the sport,” she said.

“We knew the exhibit opening was going to coincide with the World Cup. L.A. is going to be on the world stage. This is a great opportunity for the museum to get these stories out.”