“How could we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” (Psalms 137:4 KJV)

“O sing unto the LORD a new song; for he hath done marvelous things…Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.” (Psalms 98a KJV)

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Songs are a central part of the Black religious experience. Ancestral singing in Africa is well documented. Enslaved Africans in the Diaspora sang spirituals to remind them of their value and connection to God, as well as to send clandestine messages during the Underground Railroad. It was common to sing a song and pray during the Civil Rights Movement before engaging in community action. And Sunday morning remains a time when spirituals, hymns, and gospel music are intermeshed with prayer, sermons, and call-and-response during corporate worship. Singing is also a community-building endeavor in the Black Church as we communicate with God and each other.

Yet given the challenges we as a people have faced over the past few years, particularly since 2020, how can we continue to sing? Police brutality against Black bodies with little accountability, the disproportionate impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on the Black community, and racism by Karen’s and their significant others might suggest that the land in which we now live has become so strange that a song can no longer come forth. Has the land become so unsafe, dangers so common, and fear and hatred so prevalent that singing is pointless for people who have historically found safety, solitude, and solace in God-given melodies and lyrics?

Our songs and singing are rich! “Take My Hand, Precious Lord”  by Thomas Dorsey, Charles Tindley’s hymn, “Leave It There,” Mahalia Jackson’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” map songs like “Wade in the Water” and “Steal Away” sung by Harriet Tubman, Edwin Hawkins’ “Oh, Happy Day,” a Dr. Watts of your choosing, “There Is a Balm in Gilead,” by The Clark Sisters, Tye Tribbett’s “Work It Out,” reminders that “I Never Would’ve Made It” by Marvin Sapp and “Faithful is Our God” by Hezekiah Walker, as well as James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Every Voice and Sing” are examples of the legacy of songs in the Black Church tradition. This shortlist does not do justice to the musical expressions that emerged based on both our trials and triumphs.

We are reminded in scripture that, as God’s people, we can still sing. We must sing. And we sing because of whose we are and not because of where we are. We must sing because of who God is and what God has done in our lives! The land is strange, but we are still the salt. Moreover, our songs will serve as examples of godly beliefs and behavior to help heal the land. We can’t ignore that part of history in this land was designed to diminish us. Nor can we ignore the rich dimensions of our time and contributions to this same terrain. Unlike the Israelites who lamented over the destruction of Jerusalem, there are still many songs for us to sing! We have too much skin in the game not to continue to let our voices ring out as the world and country begins to rediscover its best self.

In many ways, our voices and songs are part of the consciousness and touchtone in the land that cannot be underestimated or ignored. So, we must continue to sing. And even when we sing songs from our past, moving forward, they will now have added relevance as we understand and re-interpret them through the lens of this past year. As we reflect back, our historic hymns, spirituals, and gospel music will continue to sustain us -  and many new songs will emerge as we continue to reflect on God’s goodness.

Sandra L. Barnes

I’ve grown weary of prayer vigils. It seems that after every murder, malfeasance, or mishap in our country against a Black person, Whites scurry and find obliging Blacks to hold a prayer vigil. Smoldering candles, hand holding, and somber songs are usually central to the experience. This tactic has gotten old and cliché. Don’t get me wrong. I know that prayer changes things, just a little talk with Jesus makes it right, and that we should pray without ceasing. Prayer has been a constant in my life for over 50 years. But what should be a powerful moment of communication with God and a time for community-building and reflection, followed by thoughtful action, has become no more than a strategy to placate Blacks and assuage White guilt such that the event is quickly forgotten and the status quo quickly restored. In these instances, prayer vigils become no more than spectacles of the moment that do a disservice to hurting people and to a holy ritual central to the Black Church tradition, in particular, and the Christian faith, in general.

No more. Stick a fork in me because I am done. Black Christians must be more discerning. When someone approaches us about participating in a prayer vigil, we should ask questions. Are their ulterior motives? Is there an agenda that does not forward redress and healing in a tangible way? If a plan for redress is proposed, what is it, and what are short- and long-term goals and milestones for accountability? Without specific, measurable outcomes, these events become largely ineffective - though they may still make a few people feel better, as they willingly go back into a society filled with structural forces designed to marginalize minorities and empower their counterparts. I believe that this is one of the reasons the Black Church has lost its relevance to so many members of younger generations.

If a prayer vigil is designed for collective prayer to fortify us spiritually, that is fine. Then call it just that. However, if local leaders and supposed political, community, and/or religious allies are present, we must have greater expectations. They should be held accountable and be prepared to articulate tangible and intangible objectives and partnership aims. And it wouldn’t hurt to bring some big checks. In the absence of these measures, prayer vigils become no more than a means to manipulate the marginalized in unethical, opportunistic ways. Christians who are activist, activist Christians, or just folks who truly care about addressing injustices must be more discerning. Yes, there is power in prayer. And the effectual, fervent prayers of the righteous availeth much. We should expect prayer to be followed by actions that bring about systemic change. Prayer vigils should be followed by transformative plans. Otherwise, I’ll pray at home.

Sandra L. Barnes 6/4/2020

The reality show Naked and Afraid is one of my guilty pleasures. In each episode a man and woman called survivalists are dropped off in a remote region without a stitch of clothing. Each person is able to bring one item to survive the rugged terrane. A fire starter and a machete are common choices. The pair must survive 21 days so they must work together to secure water, food, shelter, and typically fire. Although a camera crew is nearby to tape their experiences, no one can intervene to help the pair unless there is a medical emergency. Persons can “tap out” or elect to leave the challenge prior to the 21-day conclusion. Each person is given a Primitive Survival Rating (PSR) at the start of the show that gauges their survival aptitude which is reevaluated at the end of their time there. One’s PSR can increase or decrease based on their performance, and it drops dramatically if they leave early. The title of the show reflects the fact that the pair enters the contest with no clothes (hence “naked”). In addition, they often become “afraid” given the dangerous, seemingly brutal national and sometimes international locales in which they are placed where animals such as snakes, jaguars, puma, monkeys, and bears roam, as well as a variety of insects that usually do more damage than the larger predators. The show has aired on the Discovery Channel since 2013. Its 11th season premieres January 5, 2020. Part of me enjoys Naked in Afraid for several reasons. I posit that this is one of those rare occurrences - when a show is so bad that it’s good! The premise is so outrageous that it almost compels you to watch with your hands in front of your eyes due to the sheer outlandishness of two naked (private parts except their derrieres are blurred) adults attempting to survive with no creature comforts. Rough terrane, unpredictable weather, unexpected occurrences, and sometimes conflicting personalities, all make for entertainment as you root for the two often hapless adventurers. In some instances, expert survivalists almost become “one” with nature in exciting ways. Moreover, team dynamics and the emotional, psychological, and physical travail that individuals attempt to overcome can be intriguing. Additionally, the power of the lens and strategic footage increase tensions for the two people who are often over their head as they confront Mother Nature.

Yet there are certain dynamics that are extremely disconcerting about this show. According to the World Bank, in 2015, 10% of the world’s population lived on less than $1.90 a day; over 50% of the extreme poor live in Sub-Saharan Africa (about 413 million people). Access to safe water, health care, and electricity are often elusive for such people. Moreover, according to a July 2017 news release by the World Health Organization, about 3 in 10 people worldwide (2.1 billion), lack access to safe, readily available water in their homes. And Habitat for Humanity estimates that, in 2015, 1.6 billion people worldwide have “inadequate” shelter. In 2015, about 554,000 people were homeless in the U.S. each night. These sobering figures illustrate that for swaths of people worldwide, being naked and afraid is a reality rather than a reality show. It is troubling that given the global effects of poverty persons would intentionally choose to place themselves in predicaments without food and water for sport. Secondly, this show and others like it illustrate the subtle effects of privilege. Only in a nation where food, clothing, housing, and other material possessions are taken for granted can we celebrate situations when people purposely place themselves in situations of want. People who participate on this reality show can do so because worst case, in only 21 days, they will transition back to their normal lifestyles - unlike people for whom such challenges are an everyday occurrence their entire lives. No matter our circumstances or struggles, in the U.S., most of us are fortunate to have food, water, shelter, and clothing. Most of us are blessed to have the basic necessities – and more. Reality shows like Naked and Afraid should be stark reminders that there are many people worldwide who do not. And each of us is charged to, in our own way, help change this reality.

1/5/2020

Much of my research focuses on people who make great sacrifices on behalf of others - usually their families and the community. They are often everyday people engaged in everyday forms of resistance who go ignored or dismissed in a society often impressed by individuals with power, fortune, and fame. Yet history, experiences, and research are replete with thick descriptions about grandparents, parents, fictive kin, and community servants who willingly and continually provide time, energy, and resources for the betterment of others. I contend that such persons are grassroots role models to be emulated.

Who should be a role model? To whom should we listen? Who should lead us? Consider the following four traits.

1. Someone who knows you. It is important that someone who wishes to provide advice and leadership has taken the time to get to know you as well as your beliefs, concerns, challenges, and strengths. This helps them build empathy and sympathy and – it’s just plain logical. It is astounding how many individuals readily take advice from people who barely know them and have not taken the time to do so. This doesn’t mean that your role model needs to be cognizant of every detail about you, only that she should be invested in understanding key dimensions of your life. Someone who knows your past is best suited to help you chart your present and future.

2. Someone who loves you. Why take potentially life-changing advice from someone without evidence that they really care about you? Yet many people do so daily. A role model should be someone who loves and cares for you unconditionally. No strings attached. No ulterior motives. Many faith traditions and cultures refer to this type of devotion as agape love. It means that this person is looking out for you - many times even more than they are looking out for themselves. This is considered the highest form of love. However, agape love doesn’t mean that your role model will always support you unconditionally (sometimes “no” is the best advice). It means that a person is committed to you and your well-being for the long haul.

3. Someone who is willing to sacrifice for you. Talk is cheap and a poor role model can be costly. Why have a role model who tells you what to do, but is unwilling to do anything for you? This third expectation is an extension of agape love and means that a role model should be willing to give up certain things on your behalf. Although this type of person is charitable, they will not enable you or support you in poor decision-making. Moreover, a great role model shouldn’t necessarily be expected to give money and/or material possessions, but rather to make herself available for advice, ideas, strategies, and sometimes, just a listening ear.

4. Someone who is willing to critique you. This is often the most difficult trait to exhibit for a mentor - and the most challenging for a mentee to accept. A great mentor is someone who is wise and thoughtful. Life has taught him about the dangers of false praise and mediocrity. He is willing and able to provide honest, candid, and critical feedback and advice. Being critical does not mean negative, but rather refers to the ability to be objective and insightful. I would question a role model who has difficulty advising you how to be better and do better. Also, a great mentor should be transparent about his own growth areas.

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The above four characteristics have benefitted me; I hope they help you. People may sincerely want to be role models, but don’t have the wisdom and wherewithal to fully take on this mantle. Society seems to think that wealthy and/or powerful people automatically make good role mentors. I contend that the best role models are everyday people who exhibit the prudence that comes from: overcoming challenges through hard work; successfully navigating negative situations and social forces; realizing the benefits of kindness and hopefulness, even in the face of problems; leading by example; and, ultimately, understanding and living by the Golden Rule. It is crucial to be discerning about who you choose. Following an inappropriate role model can lead to disaster, but a great one will help educate, equip, and empower you for wisdom, peace, and success!

Redacted from the book, Subverting the Power of Prejudice (2006) by Sandra L. Barnes.

sandra.l.barnes@vanderbilt.edu
7/31/19

I recently saw the movie Us. I’m a huge sci-fi/horror buff and so I was excited about this film for various reasons. In addition to being scary as heck, Us was quirky in the best ways (spoiler alert). The overall premise - a family being terrorized by their doppelgängers - was both sobering and terrifying. I saw the cliffhanger coming a mile away, but that did not minimize the movie’s intensity. Us is definitely the kind of movie that had me thinking days later. This was an accomplishment because, although I watch lots of movies, most are usually forgotten in a few hours. Of course my sociological lens was in full effect while viewing Us. Despite several troubling dynamics (i.e., the stark violence perpetrated by a black female or the docile black male who seems to abandon the fight for his family’s lives to his wife), the strengths of Us outweigh its weaknesses. In addition to the singular, thought-provoking writing and directing of Jordan Peele, this movie is groundbreaking for the following reasons.

It was great to see a horror movie focused on a black family. Many movies include a black family “next door” or the proverbial black “sidekick” who is often killed off in an early scene or retained for comic relief. By centering a black family, Peele normalizes them. Although black, this family experiences challenges like any other family - teens tethered to cell phones, older siblings who show disdain toward younger ones, concerns about keeping up with the Joneses, and tensions while making time for family vacations. Most importantly, the terror the Wilson’s experience could have befallen any family regardless of race or ethnicity. Moreover, I was excited by the way blackness was depicted. When blacks are included in many movies they are often light-skinned or mixed-race persons with flowing hair and phenotypically white features. It was refreshing to see black characters of darker hues and natural hair on the big screen. The Wilson’s were clearly middle-class, which added another nuanced dimension to the story by presenting the intersection of race, class, and gender in a pronounced way.

Next, although some viewers may have been troubled by the violence met out by the female lead, Adelaide, for me she harkened to the reality of the many black women who are required to “handle their business” to protect their families, especially their children, from interlopers. These same women make great sacrifices to this end. Even if you disagree with the way the black female lead was presented, I enjoyed seeing a black female lead, in general, as well as witnessing yet another example of the exceptional acting acumen of Lupita Nyong’o. Additionally, the film reminded me of the vulnerability of children. Much of my research focuses on marginalized groups, yet society often forgets that children, regardless of their demographic profile, are the most vulnerable population in the world. Even the pluckiest child is still dependent on adults and is thus susceptible to the foils and foibles of persons responsible for their care. The message was clear that a few moments outside vigilant parental eyes can irrevocably alter the life of a child.

Lastly, the “Us versus Them” dichotomy was not lost on me. When I partner with poor and working-class people during research, their challenges are usually tethered to those of their more economically stable peers. Similar statements can be made about minority groups such as women, racial, ethnic and immigrant groups, the LGBTQIA community, and the physically and mentally challenged. I wonder how often the “Us” in the world concertedly think about the “Them” and, more importantly, commit to the work of dismantling negative structural forces that perpetuate such dichotomies. In so many instances in our history, the successes of Us were built on the backs of Them. It is a difficult and complex conversation to have, but one that is required if we ever hope to make significant strides in illuminating and undoing the dynamics that create and perpetuate marginalization and oppression. This reality is further complicated because so many individuals can be part of multiple Us and Them groups simultaneously based on our varied profiles! But our diverse experiences can make it easier for us to empathize with other diverse groups and commit ourselves to helping make change. I remind my students that as a society and world, we have the resources and mechanisms to eliminate social problems like poverty and “isms.” Yet we don’t, partly because it takes time and energy to understand such problems as well as cause systemic change - and because these fractures benefit certain groups.

The movie Us presented other important themes and narratives that I’m sure many people will be discussing for a long time to come - including myself. The best movies do. More importantly, I hope that this movie encourages more people to think about the experiences of swaths of society that have been ignored, left out, or forgotten and to begin to actively do their part to foster equity and inclusion in tangible, permanent ways.

sandra.l.barnes@vanderbilt.edu
5/1/19

Few days go by without reading or hearing advice about how we should live our lives. You can throw a proverbial rock and hit someone with an opinion about what we should believe and how we should behave. Social media has made it even easier to give and get unsolicited advice and, just as often, recriminations. To whom should we listen? What information can inform and/or enhance our lives? Decades ago, a mentor in seminary shared an acronym to respond to this potential dilemma that I still apply today in my life’s work to advance social justice. The advice was simple. Listen to HER. This counsel may prove beneficial to readers here.

H stands for history. The past is full of examples and knowledge, both positive and negative, from which we can learn. Trials and triumphs alike can be instructive. The Holocaust, slavery in America, the genocide of the Moriori in New Zealand and the Tutsi in Rwanda, gendercide during periods of war and conquest, The Trail of Tears, the Tulsa race riot, as well as Jim and Juan Crow laws - are just a few historical examples of systematic oppression and disenfranchisement. However, the Red and Black Power Movements, Stonewall activists, and the Gray Panthers pushed to empower the marginalized. Other counter-narratives include: Mississippi domestic and philanthropist, Oseola McCarty; Oskar Schindler; Cesar Chavez; Grace Lee Boggs; Judy Wood; and, Bayard Rustin who all illustrate how ordinary people can do extraordinary things. And Freedom Summer martyrs James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Mickey Schwerner remind us that many have died in the pursuit of justice. A plethora of lesser-known episodes, groups, and individuals from the past challenge us to remember tragedies as well as instances when our best selves were evident and prevailed. Yet history is often framed by the powerful. And there are still historical events to be unearthed. However, the past provides evidence for guidance, retrospection, and action to do and be better. And to quote philosopher George Santayana, “Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.”

E stands for experiences. In today's age of mansplaining, racesplaining, and “fill in the blank”-splaining, each of us has our own unique experiences from which to draw. Even if we understand and describe them in varied ways, they happen. They are real. They should be acknowledged. And we can learn from them. No one knows your experiences better than you. This is an endless source of knowledge and, if used properly, wisdom and guidance. I also believe that we are destined to repeat certain experiences until we learn and grow from them. Other people’s experiences are also invaluable. Listening to the experiences of others can help avoid that slippery slope of “my pain is greater than yours.” Even if we haven’t walked in their shoes, an empathetic ear can build genuine relationships and provide insights to navigate life’s quagmires and challenges. Equally important, sharing our stories gives us voice and can empower us to move forward in positive ways. In this way, acknowledging and honoring our experiences and those of others can build community and reduce divisiveness.

R stands for research. This third source of information and potential knowledge and wisdom may be unexpected, but is crucial. Research helps minimize the tendency to assume that our experience is the experience. It can foster objectivity as we learn about other people. Moreover, research can reduce the tendency to use our own standards to evaluate other people, as we are exposed to diverse values, beliefs, cultures, and traditions. Sound scholarship documents trends and patterns across time, groups, and settings. For example, work by W.E.B. DuBois, Patricia Hill Collins, Joe Feagin, and Donna Haraway illumined issues of oppression and resistance that inform my attitudes and actions about equity, diversity, and inclusion. The more I read, the more I learn, question, and grow. When used prudently, research can open our eyes to facets of the human experience that we might miss otherwise. However, we must consider who is performing the research and be comfortable questioning results, especially unsubstantiated anecdotes and theories that seem logical, but fly in the face of multiple, replicated studies by diverse scholars. Equally important, scholarship can inform policies, community action, and how we live our daily lives. But this means that more research must be shared outside the ivory tower in a way that is relevant to the broader society.

Times may change, but to me, there is nothing new under the sun. Taken together, history, experiences, and research can be transformative, as society, people, and we each unfold in new and exciting ways. So many years ago, I was challenged to Listen to HER. Doing so has enhanced multiple facets of my life. May it do the same for you.

It was reported that at least 45 million people watched the 2018 Netflix movie “Bird Box” in its first week. I was one of them (spoiler alert). The film focuses on a dystopian society in which a woman (played by Sandra Bullock) attempts to travel down a river and through a forest with two young children (simply called, Boy and Girl) in tow. No problem. Right? Wrong. They must make the trek blindfolded lest they glimpse an invisible force that causes insanity and suicide. Bullock’s character has watched a motley group of survivors dwindle to three. She is now the sole protector/provider. I liked this film. It had a good mix of suspense, horror, science fiction, and romance and justified eating a bag of buttered popcorn.

But I am a sociologist, so a movie is never just a movie. Moreover, I had just submitted the page proofs for my upcoming book, The Kings of Mississippi: Race, Religious Education, and the Making of a Middle-Class Black Family in the Segregated South about a rural, black farming family, so my thoughts about dystopian spaces were fresh. By definition, a dystopia is a society or community characterized by negative, violent, frightening situations that tend to dehumanize people. “Bird Box” is a movie, but the parallels between it and The Kings of Mississippi are stark.

The Kings of Mississippi documents the experiences and challenges of a black family navigating segregation. Most dystopian stories are set in the future. In contrast, the King’s story takes place in the past. Jim Crow laws were passed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and were enforced until about 1965. And its specter loomed large, resulting in the systematic political, economic, and social oppression of blacks. Like the Kings and the people in the movie, how do you fight something you can’t see, but that can cause your death? How do you maintain your sanity and some semblance of normalcy in a society largely devoid of these features for you and yours? Paralleling the movie, the apocalyptic effects of Jim Crow meant watching people you love die literally and figuratively, others go insane, some sacrifice themselves for you, and still others steer you to safety.

For the Kings and many blacks like them, daily life in the South meant symbolically “blindfolding” themselves to avoid the direct onslaught of Jim Crow – and adaptively living through the fallout. The enemy wasn’t an invisible force, but flesh and blood people and processes linked to racial stratification. Boys or girls – regardless of their names – were often nurtured by mothers, fathers, Other Mothers, and other fictive kin based on a village mentality. And just as chirps unexpectedly provided safeguard in the film, an unassuming matriarch, Irma, fostered the King’s successes. My research across seven generations, including family narratives and census data, show how the Kings parlayed religion, education, ties to a homestead, strategic migrations, a linked fate mentality, and faith in God and themselves, into the middle class. They, like the movie’s family, were fighting for security, stability, and safety.

“Bird Box” is just entertainment. Alien invasions are not real. Similarly, Jim Crowism as it played out in the U.S. South no longer exists. Yet art often imitates life. Movies can serve as escapism. The Kings and Jim Crow were real and serve as a source of education about trials and triumphs that are an indelible part of our history.