The racial level is the most historically uncomfortable to describe, but Baker herself understood it and deployed it. The specific racial framework that European officials operated within in 1940 — frameworks in which Black women occupied a position of social marginality, in which they were associated with entertainment and performance rather than with political or military activity, in which their presence at a border crossing was categorized as a curiosity rather than a threat — was an operational asset. The same ideological framework that had limited Baker’s opportunities in America, that had placed her in the specific social position of “exotic entertainer” rather than “citizen with full standing,” now made her invisible in the specific sense that intelligence operatives require.
She was not invisible at all, of course. She was extremely visible — the most recognizable person at every border crossing she made. But visible and surveilled are not the same thing, and what Baker understood was that being highly visible in one register (celebrity, spectacle, entertainment) could function as protection against being visible in another register (threat, operative, courier of classified materials).
The sheet music pages were not the only vehicle for the intelligence she carried. Documents were pinned to her undergarments. Photographs were hidden beneath her clothing. The sheet music was the specific element that has attached to the story because it encapsulates the paradox most elegantly: music that you actually use to perform, that you carry for legitimate professional reasons, that any customs official would expect to find in a touring musician’s luggage, containing information that the casual examiner would have no way to detect.