Tobe Nwigwe: Bearing Witness to the Black Experience
Dear readers,
I apologize about the “fluke” email sent out yesterday. This is the real thing!
Happy Black History Month!
At the beginning of every one of my general education classes, I discuss the relationship between imagination, empathy and spiritual formation, challenging all of my students to remember that the authors of the texts they will read are humans made in God’s image. When making this point, I often share the following quote from author Michael Chabon’s address at Calvin University’s Festival of Faith and Music: “To me, Imagination is key to morality. If you can't imagine what it is to live in someone else's head, then you're more likely to hurt them.” Chabon reminds us that we must slow down and take the time to imagine our neighbors as ourselves, an often difficult task when we are surrounded by “neighbors” that look, speak, and act in ways that feel like home. I then talk about examples of art that invite us into this sacred practice of imagining the other, including film Lars and the Real Girl and novels What is the What by Dave Eggers, and The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (all three of these are discussed in my forthcoming book on the topic).
These conversations prepare the students to begin reading Othello in the fall semester and Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass in the Spring semester. Both books are eye-opening for the students in my (predominantly white) classes. Before reading both books, we discuss the long history of racial profiling in America (rooted in the false constructs of race erected in order to justify slavery and grow power and capital). As I ask my students to think very intentionally about the relationship between imaginative identification and the development of empathy, I play this beautiful, hopeful, and harrowing video from Tobe Nwigwe, one of my favorite recent artists:
The gentle rhythms and soothing harmonies of this powerful song contain both lament and hope, a common characteristic of music made in the tradition of the African American spirituals. In A Change is Gonna Come, Craig Werner traces the roots of African American soul, blues, and hp hop back to these songs sung by a people in captivity, striving for deliverance while they sing heart-songs full of both lament and joy. Werner argues that in much soul-filled African American music, we find what he calls the “gospel impulse”.
The “Gospel Impulse” consists of a three step process:
1) Acknowledging the burden
2) Bearing Witness
3) Finding Redemption
In Nwigwe’s “Make it Home” he “acknowledges the burden” of being a Black man in America:
“Cause the world can be toxic
Especially when your skin looked like chocolate
At one point they sold us for profit
But we made it out of the gauntlet we chosen
Yeah oh my mama the south side still holding
Yeah go for broke for the ones that are broken
Yeah please don't make me no hashtag or slogan.”
He then proceeds to “bear witness” to the many unjust killings of those who look and live like him:
“Cause they riding with choppas
And might turn you taper to pasta
Don't hardly see daughters at alters
Probably cause there ain't no more
Fathers they stole them
Yeah
Put in cages by racists patrolling
Yeah the hood is a lane to the pins
Like we bowling
Yeah
Please don't make me no hashtags or slogan
Black people are golden.”
The last line of the above verse also testifies to the existence of the imago Dei in “Black People,” their “golden” sacred existences. And in the midst of bearing witness to the pain, injustice, and dehumanization, he believes in and seeks redemption.:
“Aye look I pray you catch a wave
That doesn't subside
This for the nappy heads in heaven
With a nappy head Christ by they side
Yeah, may your streets be paved with gold
Yeah, hope my whole hood make it home
Yeah, may your streets be paved with gold
Yeah
Hope my whole hood make it home.”
Nwigwe sees his people as a royal people, a people made in God’s image, trusting in the same God, a “nappy head Christ” to sustain them. The haunting cry, “Hope my whole hood makes it home” refers both to their arriving to their earthly homes safely and to their eternal future next to the one whose image they bear.
When I play this unsettling yet glorious song in my classes, the responses are somber, rich, and heartfelt. Every once in a while, I receive a defensive response—but this is rare. The luminous, lived truths of these lyrics, coupled with the images of embodied human beings singing of their real-life experiences, are deeply moving. Here are a few of the student responses I received the last time I played “Make it Home” in class:
From student one:
“Being a black woman in America, this topic hits home. When I think of what that brings, what our biological being brings upon us, I think of oppression. I think of the desire to be seen as equals, not more than, but just like our other brothers and sisters who don't look like us. I think of, not only oppression, but depression. The struggle to see our worth, to express our worth and even showcase all that we think is beautiful about us. The song, depicts just a few of those feelings and struggles, but expresses the need to reach a sense of peace for who we are here on Earth and to receive and give peace in Heaven to those before us who had these same thoughts and feelings. A sense of hope, even, at the end that one day we too will be able to feel liberate and free and valued like everyone else - one day.”
From student two:
“I think that a lot of the racism we have faced in history (and unfortunately currently) is due to the lack of empathy people exercise. If we could all lay our pride down and recognize that each one of us was created in God's image, our actions and words would hold more weight. Like Michael Chabon said, "imagination is key to morality." My heart is always heavy when I imagine being in the shoes of specifically, a black male in our society today.”
From student three:
“I believe this song is a prayer for black men and women in America and the rest of the world. It's sad how there is fear of walking home without being shot halfway. Seems like it's a never-ending cycle of tears for black people. I feel the pain in Nwigwe's voice. As a black woman, I do fear too for my life and my brother's life as well. I hope for us to really get home safe without having eyes full of hatred staring at us and meeting people who are ready to end our lives without remorse and an ounce of care.”
These students’ words are powerful testimonies, so I am going to end my commentary here. I also want to share another of Tobe Nwigwe’s sobering and beautiful musical poems, this one based directly off of a traditional spiritual:
“The world is not my home—I’m jut passing through.”
I encourage you to listen, to lament, to pray, and to work towards hope.
As always, thanks for reading. If you would like to read more about the ways in which classroom experiences, readings, and discussions can impact students’ capacity for empathy, then please read my new article up today in The Other Journal: REIMAGINING RACIAL JUSTICE: SHAKESPEARE, DOUGLASS, AND THE VISIBILITY OF THE IMAGO DEI
See you next time! And if you like this newsletter, please share with friends, on social media, etc.
God bless you all.
Mary