[*This year marks the 100th anniversary since Carter G. Woodson, the “Father of Black History” founded Negro History Week in February 1926. Fifty years after that, President Gerald Ford officially recognized Black History Month. In 1986, Congress passed a law officially designating February as Black History Month.]
“Sick and tired of being sick and tired” in the 1960s, Mississippi plantation worker Fannie Lou Hamer was fired, threatened by white supremacists, and beaten in police custody when she tried to vote and register others to do the same.
Fannie Lou Hamer (photo via PICRYL Creative Commons)
But Hamer would not be silenced. She worked with other activists in her church and volunteers from the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) to travel county to county to register other Black people to vote.
Hamer then formed the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party and demanded to represent her state at the 1964 Democratic Convention. Hamer fought for voting rights, education rights, and economic rights (she formed the Freedom Farm Collective to fight for redistribution of wealth from usurious sharecropping) and even ran for Senate.
Although she wasn’t rich, traditionally educated or well-connected, Hamer was a grassroots leader who got involved – and stayed involved – because she believed to her core “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
Hamer passed in 1977 after years of dealing with serious health issues, but her legacy as an outspoken and effective champion for equal rights will never be forgotten.
Happy Music Monday! It’s your monthly Groove Agent back with another playlist on this Reverend Martin Luther King Holiday. Today we are celebrating the life and music of the legendary Fela Kuti.
He famously asserted “Music is the weapon. Music is the weapon of the future.” and some nearly 30 years after his death in 1997, his music is still inspiring generations.
Fela Kuti has been described as Malcolm X, James Brown, Bob Marley, Muhammad Ali, and Dr. King all rolled into one defiant package. All contemporary forms of Black music, from funk to hiphop, owe debt to the driving grooves of the Afrobeat genre that he created.
Fela recorded more than 60 albums and spent a lifetime fighting against political corruption in his homeland of Nigeria. He was in a decades-long cycle of recording music, being arrested and beaten for it, making a song about that – REPEAT. In his homeland and around the world he was affectionately called “Black President.”
This collection was inspired by Jad Abumrad’s “Fela Kuti: Fear No Man” podcast. It’s a twelve- episode exploration of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti and an amazing deep dive into the life and legacy of the multi-instrumentalist, sociopolitical powerhouse, and father of Afrobeat.
Kuti endures as one of the most important musical figures of the 20th century.
Happy Music Monday! I hope this missive finds you smiling and well. It’s your musical motorist back again with a new collection to enjoy today and all week long.
Here’s over ten hours of duets and collaborations between artists of many styles. From the rock and soul collabs of Mary J. Blige and U2 “One” and Jack White and Beyoncé’s “Don’t Hurt Yourself” to love ballads of Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell’s “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and Rick James and Teena Marie’s “Fire and Desire”, there are duets of all ilk.
There’s new tracks from Burna Boy and Shaboozey’s “Change Your Mind”, Alice Smith and Miles Caton’s “Last Time I Seen The Sun” and many more.
There are songs included like “Stand Back” by Stevie Nicks and “Why Should I Love You” by Kate Bush that have shadow arrangements and backing vocals by Prince.
The Roots have longstanding collaborators like Jill Scott and Bilal and they are represented on this playlist too.
There are so many wonderful duets out there I didn’t even get around to Jazz duets. So stay tuned for another playlist of Jazz collaborators coming to another Music Monday near you.
For now, please enjoy this collection of soul and rockin’ duets.
Happy Music Monday, you all. And welcome to this second week of Black Music Month.
Back in April, PBS dropped Independent Lens: We Want the Funk! Director Stanley Nelson and producer Nicole London’s documentary features the history, stars, themes and theory behind this most Blackest and inclusive style of music.
Everyone can shake a tail feather on “The One”. It is a celebratory film looking at one of history’s most important musical genres. It offers dazzling archival performances from James Brown, Sly & the Family Stone, Parliament Funkadelic, Labelle, Fela Kuti, and others.
This “Great Moments in Funk aka Funk 101” playlist offers the classic funk songs featured in the film and includes many hip hop tracks that sample them. I’ve also added modern funk disciples like Silk Sonic, Sam Pounds, Big Joanie and others.
Starting in the 1960s, through the Vietnam War, the struggle for civil rights, the rise of the Black Power movement, and right up to the current Black Lives Matter movement, there is no bolder and joyful celebration of Black identity than Funk. Please enjoy this hours-long celebration of decades of funky music.
See you all next month! And as always, stay sane, safe and kind!
Happy Music Monday, you all. It’s your pal and musician marshal is back with another dose of fine tunes.
After Fruitvale Station, Rocky spin-off/reboot Creed, Black Panther and its sequel, Wakanda Forever, Ryan Coogler has proven himself one of the most masterful filmmakers working today.
Though Sinners, which arrived in theaters three weeks ago, is his first film not derived from real life or other properties.
Michael B. Jordan in the dual role of 1930s gangster twins Smoke and Stack, leads a charming ensemble of characters in a blistering, sexy southern gothic horror. It is a blues-infused vampire flick in which the music flows as freely as R-rated gore.
This month’s offering celebrates Sinners’ soundtrack featuring Miles Caton, Alice Smith, Rod Wave, co-star Hailee Steinfeld and others.
There are also offerings from Alabama Shakes’ Brittany Howard, Raphael Saadiq, Bobby Rush and the legendary Buddy Guy, who also appears in the film. (If you haven’t seen the film yet, stay put for the poignant mid-credits sequence.) There are passages of the original score, from Coogler’s frequent collaborator, Ludwig Göransson.
Of course, I have included songs and performances that surely inspired Coogler and his creative team. There are songs by Robert Johnson, Charley Patton, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Koko Taylor and so many others.
The gospel blues track “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground” by Blind Willie Johnson is one of 27 pieces of music sent to space in 1977 on the “Voyager Golden Record” to represent the rich diversity of life on Earth. I can’t think of a better example of the cultural import of the blues.
I’m thrilled to offer this playlist celebrating the blues’ enduring impact, and the film that celebrates Black community, tenacity, and ownership.
See you all next month, and as always: Stay safe, sane, and kind.
Born in 1875 in Virginia to formerly enslaved parents who were never taught to read and write, Carter G. Woodson often had to forgo school for farm or mining work to make ends meet, but was encouraged to learn independently and eventually earned advanced degrees from the University of Chicago and Harvard.
It was at these lauded institutions of higher education where Dr. Woodson began to realize these new educational opportunities for Negroes were potentially as damaging as they were helpful, if not more so, as much of the curriculum was biased and steeped in white supremacy.
In 1916, Dr. Woodson helped found the Journal of Negro History with Jesse E. Moreland, intent on providing scholarly records and analysis of all aspects of the African-American experience that were lacking in his collegiate studies.
As Dr. Woodson researched and chronicled civilizations in Africa and their historical advancements in mathematics, science, language and literature that were rarely discussed in academic circles, he also criticized the systematic ways Black people post-Civil War were being “educated” into subjugation and self-oppression:
“The same educational process which inspires and stimulates the oppressor with the thought that he is everything and has accomplished everything worthwhile, depresses and crushes at the same time the spark of genius in the Negro by making him feel that his race does not amount to much and never will measure up to the standards of other peoples. The Negro thus educated is a hopeless liability of the race.”
In 1926, Dr. Woodson began promoting the second week of February as Negro History Week. He chose this week in February intentionally, as it overlapped the birthdays of abolitionist activist Frederick Douglass (February 14) and President Abraham Lincoln (February 12) aka “The Great Emancipator.”
Lori Lakin Hutcherson, Good Black News Editor-in-Chief
Whelp, I feel like I need to start this post with a re-boot. When I first wrote “Dear Lori” in September 2020, the idea was to make it a semi-regular feature where I answered some of the myriad questions I’ve received over the years about race and systemic racism. (If inclined, you can read details of this column’s genesis here.)
But two “Dear Lori”s in I paused… then stopped. One reason was lack of time: I returned full-time to my TV writing gig while also dealing with my two school-aged children who were adjusting to distance learning, in addition to some other challenging personal matters.
The other reason was the nasty political landscape. The level of divisiveness, purposeful misinformation, vitriol and literal insurrection on January 6, 2021 made me feel like this column was pointless.
And now it’s February 2022. As voting rights continue to be under attack and fears and misinformation around Critical Race Theory have emboldened several states to legalize suppression of education about America’s history of racism, I once more feel like I need to do something, anything that might help. Especially as I witness even more organized attempts to undermine understanding, change, democracy and equity.
So… I’m back. And I’m committing to the mental and emotional labor that answering some of these questions takes.
That all said now, I’m ready to address a question asked of me a few days ago on Facebook (excuse me, Meta). Which I find ironic and fitting, because that’s the very platform where this whole me answering people’s questions about race thing began in the first place…
[All letters/queries are published verbatim and without corrections. Only the names have been changed.]
On February 5th, I published a GBN post on how Dr. Jessica Watkins will become the first Black woman astronaut to spend months in space when she heads to the International Space Station in April. Below is one of the comments/questions the post received.
Dear Lori:
Who cares??? Why does it always have to be first black this and first black that??? –Robert
Dear Robert:
Thank you for your question. Although its intent feels snarky and dismissive instead of genuinely curious, I’m answering. Because, intentions aside, I don’t think you are alone in this query.
In fact I know you’re not, because as Editor-in-Chief of Good Black News and when authoring the “A Year of Good Black News” Page-A-Day® Calendarfor 2022, I actually have asked it of myself (albeit in a much kinder, pensive tone) — why are Black firsts still a thing? And should I keep shining a light on them?
The answers I came up with for why there’s a need for “first Black this and first Black that,” are pretty simple:
1) “Firsts” inspire. Those who think something might be impossible for them based on race, gender, disability or economic status — whatever factor – seeing someone who looks like them or with a similar background doing that very thing helps dissolve both real and perceived barriers to that achievement.
People derive hope from hearing about “firsts.” So I share them whenever I can, because perhaps some young Black girl who has fantasized about traveling into and spending time in space now sees a path to make that dream a reality because she saw Dr. Watkins’ story.
2) “Firsts” highlight inequities. If someone sees a “first” and reacts by saying “What took so damn long? It’s 2022!” — that’s a good reason to share it, too. Sharing “firsts” can provoke much-needed and deeper questionings into why it has taken so much time to make these strides and inroads. Like, what possible historic or systemic reasons could there be within organizations or institutions — educational, governmental — that it’s taken until this year for a Black woman to spend a few months on the International Space Station?
By the way, I’m not picking on NASA here — NASA has done active recruiting to diversify its astronaut training programs (cool documentary about that here) — I’m saying if you react to a “first” by wondering what’s taken so long, follow that wonder and most likely the answer you find will hip you to some inequities that are causing the dearth of Black people in certain positions or fields.
3) Celebrating “firsts” is human nature. No matter when or where firsts happen, human beings love to exalt firsts, as firsts at their essence signify when the impossible has become possible for us. It’s why we are all still taught Magellan was the first explorer to circumnavigate the globe, Neil Armstrong was the first human being to walk on the moon or Kamala Harris is the first Black East Indian Woman Vice President of the United States of America (she packed in A LOT of firsts there!). I mean, this right here is the whole ass reason the Guinness Book of World Records is still even a thing!
I hope my answer helps, Robert, I truly do. Now I have a question for you – have you ever bothered to ask why anybody cares about any of the “firsts” we all know about (eg. man on moon, female Supreme Court justice, airplane flight) or why you were taught them? What’s the intent behind that? Could maybe it be to give people a sense of their abilities, possibilities, worthiness? Maybe? And if so, why is it bothersome to you when Black people engage in this type of celebration?
If you choose to answer me, trust me, you will be the first.
Each time my white privilege piece circulates, I get a rush of emails, posts, messages, comments, tweets and DMs from new readers. Most are positive, some negative, some hilarious (between “laugh or cry,” I choose “laugh”) and inevitably, some questioning. I try my best to respond individually, but sometimes it’s way too overwhelming a task. Like during the last rush right after Christian Cooper, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and the nationwide protests.
I did find the energy in late May to write “A Letter to Friends Who Really Want to End Racism” on my personal Facebook page in an attempt to share my thoughts on how to move forward pro-actively. My sister (and GBN co-editor) Lesa encouraged me to publish it on GBN as well. I did, and that piece had its own extra flutter of internet life, too.
I texted Lesa to say her instincts were right again (in 2016 she predicted “What I Said…” would go viral before I posted it) and she responded in spotty text talk: You speak super Black pride and really wanna be woke white — needs to be shared!
Her words gave me a much-needed chuckle during a fraught pandemic shopping trip in a bare-shelved Whole Foods. They also helped crystallize my thoughts on what I might be able to uniquely contribute to the movement for equity and justice.
Yesterday I was tagged in a post by an old high school friend, asking me and a few others a very public, direct question about white privilege and racism. I feel compelled not only to publish his query but also my response to it, as it may be a helpful discourse for more than just a handful of folks on Facebook. Here’s his post:
“To all of my Black or mixed race FB friends, I must profess a blissful ignorance of this “White Privilege” of which I’m apparently guilty of possessing. By not being able to fully put myself in the shoes of someone from a background/race/religion/gender/nationality/body type that differs from my own makes me part of the problem, according to what I’m now hearing. Despite my treating everyone with respect and humor my entire life (as far as I know), I’m somehow complicit in the misfortune of others. I’m not saying I’m colorblind, but whatever racism/sexism/other-ism my life experience has instilled in me stays within me, and is not manifested in the way I treat others (which is not the case with far too many, I know).
So that I may be enlightened, can you please share with me some examples of institutional racism that have made an indelible mark upon you? If I am to understand this, I need people I know personally to show me how I’m missing what’s going on. Personal examples only. I’m not trying to be insensitive, I only want to understand (but not from the media). I apologize if this comes off as crass or offends anyone.”
Here’s my response:
Hi, Jason. First off, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve quoted your post and made it part of mine. I think the heart of what you’ve asked of your friends of color is extremely important and I think my response needs much more space than as a reply on your feed. I truly thank you for wanting to understand what you are having a hard time understanding.
Coincidentally, over the last few days I have been thinking about sharing some of the incidents of prejudice/racism I’ve experienced in my lifetime – in fact I just spoke with my sister Lesa about how to best do this yesterday – because I realized many of my friends – especially the white ones – have no idea what I’ve experienced/dealt with unless they were present (and aware) when it happened. There are two reasons for this : 1) because not only as a human being do I suppress the painful and uncomfortable in an effort to make it go away, I was also taught within my community (I was raised in the ‘70s & ‘80s – it’s shifted somewhat now) and by society at large NOT to make a fuss, speak out, or rock the boat. To just “deal with it,” lest more trouble follow (which sadly, it often does). 2) Fear of being questioned or dismissed with “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” or “Are you sure that’s what they meant?” and being angered and upset all over again by well-meaning-but-hurtful and essentially unsupportive responses.
So, again, I’m glad you asked, because I really want to answer. But as I do, please know a few things first: 1) This is not even close to the whole list. I’m cherrypicking because none of us have all day. 2) I’ve been really lucky. Most of what I share below is mild compared to what others in my family and community have endured. 3) I’m going to go in chronological order so you might begin to glimpse the tonnage and why what many white folks might feel is a “Where did all of this come from?” moment in society has been festering individually and collectively for the LIFETIME of pretty much every black or brown person living in America today regardless of wealth or opportunity. 4)Some of what I share covers sexism, too – intersectionality is another term I’m sure you’ve heard and want to put quotes around, but it’s a real thing, too, just like white privilege. But you’ve requested a focus on personal experiences with racism, so here it goes:
1. When I was 3, my family moved into an upper-middle class, all-white neighborhood. We had a big backyard, so my parents built a pool. Not the only pool on the block, but the only one neighborhood boys started throwing rocks into. White boys. One day my mom ID’d one as the boy from across the street, went to his house, told his mother and fortunately, his mother believed mine. My mom not only got an apology, but also had that boy jump in our pool and retrieve every single rock. No more rocks after that. Then Mom even invited him to come over to swim sometime if he asked permission. Everyone became friends. This one has a happy ending because my mom was and is badass about matters like these, but I hope you can see that the white privilege in this situation isbeing able to move into a “nice” neighborhood and be accepted not harassed, made to feel unwelcome, or prone to acts of vandalism and hostility.
2. When my older sister was 5, a white boy named Mark called her a “nigger” after she beat him in a race at school. She didn’t know what it meant but in her gut, she knew it was bad. This was the first time I’d seen my father the kind of angry that has nowhere to go. I somehow understood it was because not only had some boy verbally assaulted his daughter and had gotten away with it, it had way too early introduced her (and me) to that term and the reality of what it meant – that some white people would be cruel and careless with black people’s feelings just because of our skin color. Or our achievement. If it’s unclear in any way, the point here is if you’ve NEVER had a defining moment in your childhood or your life, where you realize your skin color alone makes other people hate you, you have white privilege.
3. Sophomore year of high school. I had Mr. Melrose for Algebra 2. Some time within the first few weeks of class, he points out that I’m “the only spook” in the class. This was meant to be funny. It wasn’t. So, I doubt it will surprise you I was relieved when he took medical leave after suffering a heart attack and was replaced by a sub for the rest of the semester. The point here is if you’ve never been ‘the only one’ of your race in a class, at a party, on a job, etc. and/or it’s been pointed out in a “playful” fashion by the authority figure in said situation – you have white privilege.
4. When we started getting our college acceptances senior year, I remember some white male classmates pissed that another black classmate had gotten into UCLA while they didn’t. They said that affirmative action had given him “their spot” and it wasn’t fair. An actual friend of theirs. Who’d worked his ass off. The point here is if you’ve never been on the receiving end of the assumption that when you’veachieved something it’s only because it was taken away from a white person who “deserved it” – that is white privilege.
5. When I got accepted to Harvard (as a fellow AP student you were witness to what an academic beast I was in high school, yes?), three separate times I encountered white strangers as I prepped for my maiden trip to Cambridge that rankle to this day. The first was the white doctor giving me a physical at Kaiser: Me: “I need to send an immunization report to my college so I can matriculate.” Doctor: “Where are you going?” Me: “Harvard.” Doctor: “You mean the one in Massachusetts?” The second was in a store, looking for supplies I needed from Harvard’s suggested “what to bring with you” list. Store employee: “Where are you going?” Me: “Harvard.” Store employee: “You mean the one in Massachusetts?” The third was at UPS, shipping off boxes of said “what to bring” to Harvard. I was in line behind a white boy mailing boxes to Princeton, and in front of a white woman sending her child’s boxes to wherever. Woman, to the boy: “What college are you going to?” Boy: “Princeton.” Woman: “Congratulations!” Woman, to me: “Where are you sending your boxes?” Me: “Harvard.” Woman: “You mean the one in Massachusetts?” I think: “No bitch, the one downtown next to the liquor store.” But I say, gesturing to my LABELED boxes: “Yes, the one in Massachusetts.” Then she says congratulations but it’s too fucking late. The point here is if no one has ever questioned your intellectual capabilities or attendance at an elite institution based solely on your skin color, that is white privilege.
