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University of Texas Defied Trends by Stepping Back to Consider Merits in "Eyes of Texas" Controversy


The main campus at the University of Texas at Austin.

By Mark Schipper


The Eyes of Texas song, a pillar of identity at the University of Texas with a tangential connection to a racist past, appears to have survived a recent campaign to relegate its central position at the school to the dustbin of history.


But the nature of that battle over the old song, and the forces aligned for and against it, are a nearly perfect microcosm of the historical moment playing out in uniform fashion across the United States. The measured response from the state's flagship university in stepping back from the fog of war to contemplate the merits before taking any drastic action, has been unique.

“Step one is to get the truth out. That I think is largely our starting point,” said University of Texas President Jay Hartzell about a twenty-four person committee empaneled by the university to investigate the sources of the song.

“I think we’ve taken an interesting, I think, visionary approach, which is to sort of grapple with the difficulty,” said Doctor Richard Reddick, a Texas alumnus and associate dean at the university, who chaired the committee. “These are complexities that don’t really lend themselves to a simple, binary, yes-no, for-against kind of thing. It’s circumstantial, it depends on the context.”

The primary driver in this fight is the growing influence amongst political activists and their media amplifiers of a secular, but religious-like belief in a poisoned-roots concept, an original sin built into a thing’s DNA. The heart of these fights is over who gets to decide whether or not something is irrevocably corrupted, and who then has prerogative to order it to the execution chamber for a quick dispatch, or to decree a reversal if the charges are disproven or thrown into serious doubt.


Over the years multiple groups have attempted to kick out the pedestal beneath the song, as activist networks and individuals have labored to shift the context back to its creation in 1903. The earlier movements generated little more than a low-wattage news piece or segment, followed by a short, generally hostile dialogue over the case that circled back always to the status quo ante.


But after an extended period of quiet the controversy was super-heated back to critical mass in the early summer of 2020 by a new wave of activists operating in a hyper-partisan media atmosphere that largely took up the cause as its own. As protests, marches, and riots went off one by one and all at once in cities across the United States following the death of George Floyd in custody of Minneapolis police, the effort to retire The Eyes of Texas rose to a new peak of intensity.

During those intensely emotional, sometimes dangerous and destructive months, a reserve defensive lineman at the University of Texas named Marquez Bimage, who claimed to be speaking for student-athletes at the school, posted a list of demands on Twitter for the university administration to satisfy, including that The Eyes of Texas be scrapped. Attached to the ultimatums was a threat claiming Longhorns football players would refuse to participate in any recruiting or alumni activities until redress had been made.


Several Longhorns’ athletes across multiple sports re-tweeted Bimage’s platform in the days following its publication, and a group of football players walked off the field without singing the song after the first two home football games of the season. But as of March 2021, nine months after the demands were introduced, the tweet’s statistics show some 300 re-tweets and around 1,200 total likes, a small fraction of the university's student body and an infinitesimal percentage of the state's total population.

Despite the light support outside of a small core of protestors, the university was compelled to stop sending the marching band to football games after an internal survey revealed “an insufficient amount of instrumentation” would be available to play the school's songs. According to the report, an unspecified but substantial number of band members had claimed they would refuse to play The Eyes of Texas. In place of the live band, an integral part of any college-football Saturday, a recording of the track was played over the stadium’s speaker system.

A second petition to abolish the song, organized and published by an independent group of Texas students, did not fair much better. Nearly a year after blasting a notice to the entire university community, state of Texas, and the country at large, the petition shows around 1,600 signatories in favor of destroying the song. Assuming every signature was made by a Texas student, a highly unlikely scenario at best, the number would comprise around three percent of the school’s current enrollment and far less of the university’s nearly five-hundred thousand active alumni.

The student population at the University of Texas, for perspective on both the demands and the petition, is more than 50,000—while the population in the state is fast approaching thirty-million people. It is fair to say that Bimage’s message, and the students’ follow up, were highly un-popular on both the campus and in the state, generally.


News media, on the other hand, hid that important context with dozens of pieces and mentions in national articles, and many more local stories, that positioned the group calling for the abolishment of the song as the dominant force both on campus and across the country. Bimage’s list quickly became part of a much larger conversation about the past and future going on across the United States, and became a situation the university was compelled to address as emails to the school’s administration and chatter across social media went berserk.

After posting his list of demands, Bimage opted out of the 2020 football season because of Covid-19 concerns, and then transferred out of the program this spring to play his final year of eligibility elsewhere. He has not offered his reasons for transferring out of Texas but lack of playing time was likely near the top. Bimage's usage, both before and after dropping his ultimatum, was minimal.

The well-known song, which has been engrained deeply into the social and athletic pageantry at the school, was written in 1903 by student John Sinclair, who edited The Cactus yearbook at a time when Texas was a segregated, all-white university. The school would not integrate until it was forced to in 1950—like so many schools across the South—by order of the Supreme Court of the United States. The football team would not dress its first black varsity athlete until 1970, six years after the all-white Southwestern Conference was integrated against its will by Southern Methodist University.

It should be noted that work is underway on a permanent on-campus tribute to that man, Heman Sweatt, who carried his challenge to Texas’s admission policies all the way to the nation’s top court. Sweatt had done it not just for himself and his fellow black Americans, but for the United States itself as he forced open a more equal access to higher education for citizens of a republic that claimed to believe all men were created equal. The move to honor Sweatt has come as part of a bigger redress package from the university following the battle over the school’s song.

Heman Sweatt forced the University of Texas to integrate its campus in 1950.

The Eyes of Texas

The song itself, which we have only alluded to but not examined, is being engaged and attacked by its detractors on essentially every front. The cancellation calls begin with the melody and go on from there.


In creating the tune Sinclair had done what musicians all over the world do with folk-style music, which is to repurpose it to fit a new situation. He had uncoupled the famous melody from I’ve Been Working on the Railroad, also known as the Levee Song, and hitched it to new lyrics lampooning the university's turn-of-the-century president, William Lambdin Prather.

What most people do not know, and therefore never consider when listening to the original song, is that I’ve Been Working on the Railroad was originally a minstrel song penned by white students at Princeton University in 1894. The song’s lyrics described the rough lives of paid black laborers at the Southern railroad and levee camps in the late 1800s, and was sung in a regional dialect.

The Minstrel Show, banished now seven decades, was a unique-American form of mass entertainment that became hugely popular in the 1840s. The shows often featured white performers got up in the infamous “Black Face” costume, performing degrading skits in a satirical fashion after the manner of black Americans.


While they were considered an acceptable part of the entertainment industry then, with troops of black minstrels touring and performing for money—they are rightly looked back on as monstrosities of the past. To see a historical representation of minstrelsy in the context of the twenty-first century is to be shocked by the open and flagrant racism embodied in the form. They are dehumanizing, morally unjustifiable entertainments, and rightly consigned to places like museums where they can be used to teach people what not to do, and how not to be.

The group’s opening salvo against the song can be boiled down to this stock point: The melody of the Eyes of Texas is forever racist because of its minstrel beginnings at Princeton, despite the new lyrics and the unrelated context. Whether or not people know the history of the original or ever think of it is not the point. The tune, they say, cannot be salvaged.

The second attack also is in the nature of a tangential connection, this time to a disgraced historical figure in former Confederate maximum-General Robert E. Lee. Texas President Prather was famous for firing off the phrase, “The eyes of Texas are upon you,” particularly when he had occasion to address convocations of students. It was his customized admonition to do good in the world and make Texas proud, because as the state’s flagship university the tax payers funding the institution expected important things to germinate from its campus. The modest slogan of the true Longhorn has it that, “What starts here changes the world,” and Prather’s phrase is in the family of that tradition.

But there are multiple competing origin stories attached to the expression. Prather had spread the original and his daughter, Mary Lee Prather, had codified it in a piece run at the Dallas Morning News in 1926. According to the daughter, her father had debuted it in 1899, the very first time he addressed Texas students as their president.


In President Prather’s telling, General Lee had been in Virginia in 1864 inspecting a body of Texas soldiery picked to fight in what’s now called the Battle of the Wilderness against the Union forces of Generals Ulysses S. Grant and Robert Meade. As Lee prepared to inspect the troops, the officer in charge of the unit had called out: “Forward, men of Texas, the eyes of general Lee are upon you.” The stylish euphonics of the expression had caught the ear of Prather, and he modified it to fit his command.

But several other well-established stories tell it another way. Prather had attended college at Washington University in Virginia—known today as Washington and Lee—where the disgraced general somehow landed after his defeat during the Civil War. There, Prather heard Lee employing a similar phrase to admonish students at university assemblies. “The eyes of the South” were on them, Lee would say, so go forth and do good in the wake of the calamitous defeat and destruction wrought by the terrible war.

Former Texas president, William Lambdin Prather.

Given the ensuing decades of Ku Klux Klan violence, legalized segregation across the South, brutally enforced Jim Crow Laws (named after another minstrel song of the ante-bellum period), and the ugly, bitter fight to prevent the integration and extension of full rights to black Southerners—a battle that compelled American presidents to send federal troops back into the South to protect black children from violence as they entered white schools for the first time—some argue that Lee’s words were more sinister than inspirational; though it cannot be known what he meant by them.

But in a provocative twist, when that twenty-four person committee empaneled by the university returned with the results of their investigation, the group reported they had not been able to pin down historical evidence that Lee had uttered the phrase during the Civil War, or been fond of it at Washington University. While always a secondary connection, because Prather would have altered either version to change the context, it could have been an apocryphal connection all along, which certainly would make less thorny part of the issue at hand.

The second charge can be boiled down to this: Robert E. Lee was an unrepentant, slave-owning racist who, rather than renounce the old ways in the South (which he had admitted in private letters he knew must end) and lead the Union Army during the Civil War, Lee abandoned his country to join the cause of secession and fight for the preservation of the Slave Republic. He was a traitor to his country, where he had trained at her top military academy at West Point, and a villain, and therefore any utterance he made—even one later modified by a future user—is permanently stained by the reality of his existence and rendered unusable in any form.


The third problem makes the most direct connection to an uncomfortable historical reality, which the university committee acknowledged in their report. The tune itself debuted in 1903 at the Hancock Opera House in Austin during the Varsity Minstrel Show, with the house rake being used to fund athletics. White students, being educated on a segregated campus, and costumed in black face for the show, sung the song for a full house and almost immediately afterward it became a major hit across the campus—though it was no longer performed in black face.


The show that night had not had any cruel intentions beyond those contained in minstrelsy itself, meaning the costumes were worn as a matter of form; and the song’s lyrics do not contain or allude to any explicit race or racial connection. To claim a racial connotation to the lyrics, as some have, is to move beyond the range of hard fact and into the realm of abstract metaphorical meaning.

The Hancock Opera House in 1910, when it became a movie theater.

While the minstrel performance in 1903 appears to be a fairly direct connection to a racially uncomfortable genesis, the song sung today is at least one step removed from the piece that debuted that night at the Hancock Opera House. And this brings us back to Texas President Prather and the satire he was being subjected to with that showing.


Again, Prather’s daughter gave the play by play in her Dallas Morning News piece. The scene at the Varsity show had opened with a tattered man decked out in the attire of Texas A&M University—(the Longhorn’s forever-war rival). He carried a beat up old grip and was waiting for transportation. When asked what he was doing, the tattered man explained he had a Boll Weevil, a local insect, tucked into his grip and was taking it to see the president of Texas.


Why take it to the president, he is asked? Because, he says, he wants the president to tell the bug that the eyes of Texas were on him, believing as a result he would be encouraged to be a better Boll Weevil.


The joke is not bad. The president is so fond of his pet phrase he would literally remind an insect belonging to the school’s hated rival that he was being watched and expected to do better. The fact that an Aggie would be dumb enough to want this for an insect is, for a Longhorn, another part of the joke.


But the main point is more important. The song had been satirical when it was written, mocking a president with his own overused slogan—but was changed almost immediately into a serious call to the Longhorns’ congregation to be better, to do better, and as a warning to athletic opponents that they had been targeted for defeat on the fields of friendly strife.


The third objection can be whittled down to one sharp point: The song debuted at a degrading, black-face minstrel performance and never can be separated from that origin story. It makes no difference that minstrelsy is long gone, or that people would not know its first appearance unless they looked into the historical record, or finally that the lyrics do not have any racial connotation. The song is poisoned at the roots, they say, and must be torn up root and branch.

Former Texas linebacker Brian Jones, an All-Southwest Conference player in 1990 and now a well-known college football television analyst, addressed this point when he proposed a compromise based on re-purposing the song again, or kind of amplifying part of a meaning that had always been there.

Jones, writing at CBS Sports, spoke of his love for the alma mater, the singing of it, and the feeling it gave him of unity with teammates and the University of Texas family around the world—which matches the description given by nearly every Longhorns’ partisan when describing the significance of the song in their lives. When Jones found out there was an old connection to black face—something he had not known for the first nearly five decades of his life—he too felt for a moment that the song had been blighted.

Former Longhorns' great Brian Jones.

“But upon further reflection, I am not convinced that the lyrics are essentially racist,” wrote Jones. “Therefore, I propose an enhancement to their request [to abolish the song] and encourage them to call, instead, for a transformation.”

Jones elaborated on his suggestion.

“Traditionally, the lyric, ‘The eyes of Texas are upon you, you cannot get away,’ has been a warning to athletic opponents who will not escape the relentless attention of Longhorns athletes in their pursuit of victory. Going forward, I invite these athletes and challenge my fellow UT alumni to reconsider this fight song as an anthem of accountability. With a unified call for justice, we can change the message so that Longhorns the world over will now be pledging their eternal vigilance on issues of equality.”

Jones concluded his piece by clarifying he was not proposing the Burnt Orange crowd become some sort of racism police, but instead advocates for the right social values, and inspirational role models based on their conduct advocating justice and equality for all. Citing the song’s final lines, when the archangel Gabriel blows his horn, Jones said an old struggle could be brought to a heavenly conclusion on earth if everyone refused to let injustice go unchallenged.

The mass of humanity against the forced retirement of the school’s famous song, on the other side, appears to be an overwhelming majority of both the university’s student population, and its colossal fan base, a community so large and loyal to Longhorns’ athletics, in particular the football program, that Texas annually is the highest earning and wealthiest athletic department in the country, raking in almost two-hundred-twenty-four million dollars every fiscal year.

Based on the many available reports, which continue to go live as national media outlets demand public records and publish the personal identities of those fighting to preserve the song—whether to publicly shame these people and potentially harm them, or for more benign reasons, cannot be said for certain—it appears that most of the university’s administration, its board of regents, alumni and, perhaps most importantly, big-money boosters and donors, are fervently in favor of keeping the alma mater.


A growing list of heavy-hitting boosters and well-heeled donors has in fact threatened to stop pouring cash into the athletic department’s accounts, or supporting its teams through season tickets, if the university backs down and submits to the intense, but small-scale activist and media pressure over the song.

"My wife and I have given an endowment in excess of $1 million to athletics. This could very easily be rescinded if things don’t drastically change around here," one typical donor e-mail to the university read. "Has everyone become oblivious of who supports athletics??"

The chairman of the university’s Board of Regents, Kevin P. Eltife, published a statement in support of the alma mater, presumably with the weight of the board behind him.

"The Eyes of Texas has been UT Austin’s official school song for almost 120 years. It has been performed at most official events —celebratory or solemn—and sung by proud alumni and students for generations as a common bond of the UT family. It is a longstanding symbol of The University’s academic and athletic achievements in its pursuit of excellence,” wrote Eltife.

But assembled well clear of the campus and media battleground sites the university itself impaneled a twenty-four person committee, as diverse in race, gender, and occupation as could be hoped for, and set off on a five-months investigation into the song and its origins. Several weeks ago they returned from their long inquiry and pronounced the alma mater, as far as their group was concerned, fit for public use.


While the committee frankly acknowledged a racist setting at the turn of the twentieth century in ante-bellum Texas, they found no racist intentions or even racial considerations were built into that particular song.

Following the publication of the committee’s findings and the university’s decision to keep the song front and center in the repertoire, a group of black political leaders in Texas has expressed their objection to the rulings and pledged to stay in the fight.

“Removing the song is not too much to ask. If the song is changed, no one is harmed,” said Ron Reynolds, a representative from Texas's twenty-seventh district. “We, as the Texas Legislative Black Caucus, are against the continuation of The Eyes of Texas song. We're unequivocal about that.”


But beyond their small group, and the unpopular petition calling for the song’s removal, the matter appears resolved to the satisfaction of a large mixed majority, at least for the moment. The university has, in continuing its efforts toward a satisfying compromise, renamed its football field after two Longhorns’ legends in Earl Campbell and Ricky Williams, black running backs who won Heisman Trophies two decades apart and brought great national honor and glory to the university.


Outside the north end-zone section at Darrel K. Royal Memorial Stadium a large statue of Julius Whittier, the Longhorns' first black letterman, went up last November near the end of the 2020 season. These moves were greeted with widespread approval throughout the Longhorns’ community.

Alongside the new additions of fresh icons, several statues on campus dedicated to men with connections to the disgraced Confederacy have been subtracted from the scene, and several buildings renamed as part of the compromise deal attached to the retention of the song. The university has pledged more outreach to black students and to engender multiple programs meant to actively recruit more black Americans into the University of Texas experience.

The Eyes of Texas, in its current form, will continue to be our alma mater,” president Hartzell wrote to the Texas community. “Aspects of its origin, whether previously widely known or unknown, have created a rift in how the song is understood and celebrated, and that must be fixed. It is my belief that we can effectively reclaim and redefine what this song stands for by first owning and acknowledging its history in a way that is open and transparent.

“Together, we have the power to define what The Eyes of Texas expect of us, what they demand of us, and what standard they hold us to now. The Eyes of Texas should not only unite us, but hold all of us accountable to our institution’s core values. But we first must own the history.”

Texas is taking the approach of simply building on top of the old and ugly with the new and improved, a powerful symbolic action deployed throughout human history to great effect. Many things that once belonged to an old ruling class, religion, or oligarchy, have simply been built over or re-appropriated by the new sheriff in town. From the Romans replacing the Greeks and their pantheon in the ancient days, to the Germans reclaiming their country after the United States and Russia bombed the Nazi state out of existence in more recent times.

Savonarola was a puritanical Dominican Friar who believed in the cleansing possibilities of a fanatical cancel culture.

In critical ways that approach makes far more rational sense than the contemporary, Savonarola-like fanaticism for cancelling, destroying, and outlawing everything that does not test out at a one-hundred percent purity. If the rationale behind the destruction of the song was carried to its logical conclusion, the entire campus at Austin would have to be razed and re-built as a consequence of those ugly eras that came before and all those imperfect people who spent some ancient moment on her grounds.


When looked at from that perspective, it makes more sense to reclaim what no longer belongs to the dusty past, and make them part of a better future. The best anyone can do with an immutable past is to learn the right lessons from it, while declaring an open-ended war on invisible links to bygone days leads only to more strife, and less understanding, in the present.

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