On December 13th of 1963, at a dinner event in New York, the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee awarded its annual Tom Paine Award to Bob Dylan, for his contribution to the fight for civil liberties. Despite not having prepared one, a nervous and slightly drunk Dylan gave a speech that evening — a controversial speech in which he expressed sympathy for Lee Harvey Oswald, the man who, just three weeks previous, had killed John F. Kennedy.

The backlash was immediate, and prompted a fascinating explanatory letter from Dylan to the committee in the days that followed. Transcripts of both the speech and letter can be found below.

(Source: No Direction Home: The Life And Music Of Bob Dylan and Corliss Lamont; Image: Bob Dylan in 1963, via The Guardian.)

Bob Dylan’s speech:

I want to accept this award, the Tom Paine Award, from the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee. I want to accept it in my name but I’m not really accepting it in my name and I’m not accepting it in any kind of group’s name, any Negro group or any other kind of group. There are Negroes — I was on the march on Washington up on the platform and I looked around at all the Negroes there and I didn’t see any Negroes that looked like none of my friends. My friends don’t wear suits. My friends don’t have to wear suits. My friends don’t have to wear any kind of thing to prove that they’re respectable Negroes. My friends are my friends, and they’re kind, gentle people if they’re my friends. And I’m not going to try to push nothing over. So, I accept this reward — not reward [Laughter] — award on behalf of Phillip Luce who led the group to Cuba which all people should go down to Cuba. I don’t see why anybody can’t go to Cuba. I don’t see what’s going to hurt by going any place. I don’t know what’s going to hurt anybody’s eyes to see anything. On the other hand, Phillip is a friend of mine who went to Cuba. I’ll stand up and to get uncompromisable about it, which I have to be to be honest, I just got to be, as I got to admit that the man who shot President Kennedy, Lee Oswald, I don’t know exactly where — what he thought he was doing, but I got to admit honestly that I too — I saw some of myself in him. I don’t think it would have gone — I don’t think it could go that far. But I got to stand up and say I saw things that he felt, in me — not to go that far and shoot. [Boos and hisses] You can boo but booing’s got nothing to do with it. It’s a — I just a — I’ve got to tell you, man, its Bill of Rights is free speech and I just want to admit that I accept this Tom Paine Award in behalf of James Forman of the Students Non-Violent Coordinating Committee and on behalf of the people who went to Cuba. [Boos and Applause]

I get different presents from people that I play for and they bring presents to me backstage — very weird, weird presents; presents that I couldn’t buy. They buy — they bring me presents that… I’ve got George Lincoln Rockwell’s tie clip that somebody robbed for me. [Laughter] I have General Walker’s car trunk keys — keys to his trunk that somebody robbed for me. Now these are my presents. I have fallout shelter signs that people robbed for me from Philadelphia and these are the little signs. There’s no black and white, left and right to me anymore; there’s only up and down and down is very close to the ground. And I’m trying to go up without thinking about anything trivial such as politics. They has got nothing to do with it. I’m thinking about the general people and when they get hurt.

I wish sometimes I could have come in here in the 1930’s like my first idol — used to have an idol, Woody Guthrie, who came in the 1930’s [Applause]. But it has sure changed in the time Woody’s been here and the time I’ve been here. It’s not that easy any more. People seem to have more fears.

And they talk about Negroes, and they talk about black and white. And they talk about colors of red and blue and yellow. Man, I just don’t see any colors at all when I look out. I don’t see any colors at all and if people have taught through the years to look at colors — I’ve read history books, I’ve never seen one history book that tells how anybody feels. I’ve found facts about our history, I’ve found out what people know about what goes on but I never found anything about anybody feels about anything happens. It’s all just plain facts. And it don’t help me one little bit to look back.

I haven’t got any guitar, I can talk though. I want to thank you for the Tom Paine award in behalf everybody that went down to Cuba. First of all because they’re all young and it’s took me a long time to get young and now I consider myself young. And I’m proud of it. I’m proud that I’m young. And I only wish that all you people who are sitting out here today or tonight weren’t here and I could see all kinds of faces with hair on their head, and everything like that, everything leading to youngness, celebrating the anniversary when we overthrew the House Un-American Activities just yesterday. Because you people should be at the beach. You should be out there and you should be swimming and you should be just relaxing in the time you have to relax. [Laughter] It is not an old peoples’ world. It is not an old peoples’ world. It has nothing to do with old people. Old people when their hair grows out, they should go out. [Laughter] And I look down to see the people that are governing me and making my rules, and they haven’t got any hair on their head — I get very uptight about it. [Laughter]

Bob Dylan’s letter:

to anybody it may concern…

clark?

mairi?

phillip?

edith?

mr lamont?

countless faces I do not know

an all fighters for good things that I can not see

when I speak of bald heads, I mean bald minds

when I speak of the seashore, I mean the restin shore

I dont know why I mentioned either of them

my life runs in a series of moods

in private an in personal ways, sometimes,

I, myself, can change the mood I’m in t the

mood I’d like t be in. when I walked thru the

doors of the americana hotel, I needed to change

my mood… for reasons inside myself.

I am a restless soul

hungry

perhaps wretched

it is hard to hear someone you dont know, say

“this is what he meant t say” about something

you just said

for no one can say what I meant t say

absolutely no one

at times I even cant

that was one of those times

my life is lived out daily in the places I feel

most confortable in. these places are places where

I am unknown an unstared at. I perform rarely, an

when I do, there is a constant commotion burnin

at my body an at my mind because of the attention

aimed at me. instincts fight my emotions an fears

fight my instincts…

I do not claim t be smart by the standards set up

I dont even claim to be normal by the standards

set up

an I do not claim to know any kind of truth

but like an artist who puts his painting (after

he’s painted it) in front of thousands of unknown

eyes, I also put my song there that way

(after I’ve made it)

it is as easy an as simple as that

I can not speak. I can not talk

I can only write an I can only sing

perhaps I should’ve sung a song

but that wouldn’t a been right either

for I was given an award not to sing

but rather on what I have sung

no what I should’ve said was

“thank you very much ladies an gentlemen”

yes that is what I should’ve said

but unfortunatly… I didn’t

an I didn’t because I did not know

I thought something else was expected of me

other than just sayin “thank you”

an I did not know what it was

it is a fierce heavy feeling

thinkin something is expected of you

but you dont know what exactly it is…

it brings forth a wierd form of guilt

I should’ve remembered

“I am BOB DYLAN an I dont have t speak

I dont have t say nothin if I dont wanna”

but

I didn’t remember

I constantly asked myself while eatin supper

“what should I say? what should I tell ‘m?

everybody else is gonna tell ‘m something”

but I could not answer myself

I even asked someone who was sittin nex t me

an he couldn’t tell me neither. my mind blew

up an needless t say I had t get it back in its

rightful shape (whatever that might be) an so

I escaped from the big room… only t hear my

name being shouted an the words “git in here

git in here” overlappin with the findin of my

hand being pulled across hundreds of tables

with the lights turned on strong… guidin me

back t where I tried t escape from

“what should I say? what should I say?”

over an over again

oh God, I’d a given anything not t be there

“shut the lights off at least”

people were coughin an my head was poundin

an the sounds of mumble jumble sank deep in

my skull from all sides of the room

until I tore everything loose from my mind

an said “just be honest, dylan, just be honest”

an so I found myself in front of the plank

like I found myself once in the path of a car

an I jumped…

jumped with all my bloody might

just tryin t get out a the way

but first screamin one last song

when I spoke of Lee Oswald, I was speakin of the times

I was not speakin of his deed if it was his deed.

the deed speaks for itself

but I am sick

so sick

at hearin “we all share the blame” for every

church bombing, gun battle, mine disaster,

poverty explosion, an president killing that

comes about.

it is so easy t say “we” an bow our heads together

I must say “I” alone an bow my head alone

for it is I alone who is livin my life

I have beloved companions but they do not

eat nor sleep for me

an even they must say “I”

yes if there’s violence in the times then

there must be violence in me

I am not a perfect mute.

I hear the thunder an I cant avoid hearin it

once this is straight between us, it’s then an

only then that we can say “we” an really mean

it… an go on from there t do something about

it

When I spoke of Negroes

I was speakin of my Negro friends

from harlem

an Jackson

selma an birmingham

atlanta pittsburg, an all points east

west, north, south an wherever else they

might happen t be.

in rat filled rooms

an dirt land farms

schools, dimestores, factories

pool halls an street corners

the ones that dont own ties

but know proudly they dont have to

not one little bit

they dont have t be like they naturally aint

t get what they naturally own no more ‘n anybody

else does

it only gets things complicated

an leads people into thinkin the wrong things

black skin is black skin

It cant be covered by clothes an made t seem

acceptable, well liked an respectable…

t teach that or t think that just tends the

flames of another monster myth…

it is naked black skin an nothin else

if a Negro has t wear a tie t be a Negro

then I must cut off all ties with who he has

t do it for.

I do not know why I wanted t say this that

nite.

perhaps it was just one of the many things

in my mind

born from the confusion of my times

when I spoke about the people that went t Cuba

I was speakin of the free right t travel

I am not afraid t see things

I challenge seein things

I am insulted t the depths of my soul

when someone I dont know commands that I

cant see this an gives me mysterious reasons

why I’ll get hurt if I do see it… tellin me

at the same time about goodness an badness in

people that again I dont know…

I’ve been told about people all my life

about niggers, kikes, wops, bohunks, spicks, chinks,

an I been told how they eat, dress, walk, talk,

steal, rob, an kill but nobody tells me how any

of ‘m feels… nobody tells me how any of ‘m cries

or laughs or kisses. I’m fed up with most newspapers,

radios, tv an movies an the like t tell me. I want

now t see an know for myself…

an I accepted that award for all others like me

who want t see for themselves… an who dont want

that God-given right taken away

stolen away

or snuck out from beneath them

yes a travel ban in the south would protect

Americans more, I’m sure, than the one t Cuba

but in all honesty I would want t crash that

one too

do you understand?

do you really understand?

I mean I want t see. I want t see all I can

everyplace there is t see it

my life carries eyes

an they’re there for one reason

the reason t see thru them

my country is the Minnesota-North Dakota territory

that’s where I was born an learned how t walk an

it’s where I was raised an went t school… my

youth was spent wildly among the snowy hills an

sky blue lakes, willow fields an abandoned open

pit mines. contrary t rumors, I am very proud of

where I’m from an also of the many blood streams that

run in my roots. but I would not be doing what

I’m doing today if I hadn’t come t New York. I was

given my direction from new york. I was fed in

new york. I was beaten down by new york an I was

picked up by new york. I was made t keep going on

by new york. I’m speakin now of the people I’ve met

who were strugglin for their lives an other peoples’

lives in the thirties an forties an the fifties

an I look t their times

I reach out t their times

an, in a sense, am jealous of their times

t think I have no use for “old” people is a betrayin thought

those that know me know otherwise

those that dont, probably’re baffled

like a friend of mine, jack elliott, who says he

was reborn in Oklahoma, I say I was reborn in

New York…

there is no age limit stuck on it

an no one is more conscious of it than I

yes it is a fierce feeling, knowin something you

dont know about’s expected of you. but it’s worse

if you blindly try t follow with explodin words

(for that’s all they can do is explode)

an the explodin words’re misunderstood

I’ve heard I was misunderstood

I do not apologize for myself nor my fears

I do not apologize for any statement which led

some t believe “oh my God! I think he’s the one

that really shot the president”

I am a writer an a singer of the words I write

I am no speaker nor any politician

an my songs speak for me because I write them

in the confinement of my own mind an have t cope

with no one except my own self. I dont have t face

anyone with them until long after they’re done

no I do not apologize for being me nor any part of me

but I can return what is rightfully yours at any

given time. I have stared at it for a long while

now. it is a beautiful award. there is a kindness

t Mr Paine’s face an there is almost a sadness in

his smile. his trials show thru his eyes. I know

really not much about him but somehow I would like

t sing for him. there is a gentleness t his way.

yes thru all my flounderin wildness, I am, when it

comes down to it, very proud that you have given this

t me. I would hang it high, an let my friends see in

it what I see, but I also would give it back if

you wish. There is no sense in keepin it if you’ve

made a mistake in givin it. for it means more’n any

store bought thing an it’d only be cheatin t keep it

also I did not know that the dinner was a donation

dinner. I did not know you were gonna ask anyone

for money. an I understand you lost money on the

masterful way I expressed myself… then I am in debt t you

not a money debt but rather a moral debt

if you’d a sold me something, then it’d be a money debt

but you sold nothin, so it is a moral debt

an moral debts’re worse ‘n money debts

for they have t be paid back in whatever is missin

an in this case, it’s money

please send me my bill

an I shall pay it

no matter what the sum

I have a hatred of debts an want t be even in

the best way I can

you needn’t think about this, for money means

very little t me

so then

I’ll return once again t the road

I cant tell you why other people write, but I

write in order to keep from going insane.

my head, I expect’d turn inside out if my hands

were t leave me.

but I hardly ever talk about why I write. an I

scarcely ever think about it. the thought of it is

too alarmin

an I never ever talk about why I speak

but that’s because I never do it. this is the

first time I am talkin about it… an I pray

the last

the thought of doing it again is too scary

ha! it’s a scary world

but only once in a while huh?

I love you all up there an the ones I dont love,

it’s only because I do not know them an have not

seen them… God it’s so hard hatin. it’s so

tiresome… an after hatin something to death,

it’s never worth the bother an trouble

out! out! brief candle

life’s but an open window

an I must jump back thru it now

see yuh

respectfully an unrespectfully

(signed, ‘bob dylan’)