Dear Soulful Revolutionary,
A dear friend and mentor of mine recently remarked on the intensity of the work I do: “Of all of Christian ministry, justice work is the heaviest of all.” She’s right, and her caring wisdom has me reflecting this week on what sustains me in this work for soulful social change. Music (and dancing to it!) has always been balm for my soul, so today I want to share a few songs that have been a source of sustenance for me, particularly throughout the last year, along with a bit of commentary on what a few of them mean to me. I hope you enjoy the playlist! Let me know what it evokes in you, and share some of your life-sustaining songs in the comments.
Ana Tijoux: Antipatriarca and Somos Sur (feat. Shadia Mansour)
I’ve been listening to this veteran Chilean rapper since college, when I first encountered her fierce bars about liberation. “Antipatriarca” has been my feminist anthem ever since. I’ve been known to shout these lyrics aloud in the car:
Tú no me vas a silenciar, tú no me vas a callar (you won’t silence me, you won’t shut me up)
No sumisa ni obediente (neither submissive nor obedient)
Mujer fuerte insurgente (strong insurgent woman)
Independiente y valiente (independent and brave)
Romper las cadenas de lo indiferente (breaking the chains of indifference)
“Somos sur” is off Tijoux’s same brilliant album, Vengo, and features the incredible Palestinian British rapper Shadia Mansour, known as the First Lady of Arabic Hip Hop. At once a cry of resistance against colonization and a love song to the indigenous peoples of the Global South, its music video features indigenous dancers from Patagonia as well as dancers from the Middle East, including Palestine.
Andre Henry: GLAD YOU'RE HERE and Make it to tomorrow
The artist, activist and writer of All the White Friends I Couldn’t Keep makes “music with a message.” Over the decade I have known him, I have seen his craft consistently evolve to meet our collective moment. The two songs I’ve selected for the playlist are from his latest era of music, which is focused on responding to the mental health crisis resulting from living under racial capitalism. These songs are fun and catchy, but their revolutionary spirit is undeniable. They are the cry of a champion of change who knows that everybody — especially Black folks — needs to hear that their life matters.
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Mahalia Jackson: If I can help somebody
During the March on Washington, the Gospel singer famously called out to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "Tell 'em about the dream, Martin!” inspiring him to speak from the heart of his vision of tomorrow. In that moment, she powerfully embodied the advice of her own song, “If I can help somebody.”
My friend Rosa did a gorgeous rendition of this song at my wedding. It calls to mind the advice Mr. Rogers shared — that when we’re overwhelmed by the news of our world, we can “Look for the helpers” — while calling us to be the sort of adults who embody that wisdom ourselves. Just like Mahalia Jackson modeled.
Elyanna: Mama Eh and Olive Branch
The 22-year-old break-out Palestinian pop star has range. “Mama eh” is a dance number rivaling Beyoncé’s best, while “Olive branch” is a haunting lament, an aching prayer for peace for her beloveds in Palestine suffering under the boot of oppression. The first singer to perform entirely in Arabic at Coachella, she brilliantly weaves traditional Arabic songs with Latin-inspired beats (she’s also part Chilean), and nods to the jazz standards of her upbringing, all with a self-assured swag.
I’ll be seeing Elyanna in concert in November and I can’t wait to see this gifted performer and talented singer who draws deeply on her spiritual and cultural inheritance as a Palestinian Christian. If you can see her in your city, by all means do!
Ana Hernandez: All shall be well/another world
This song from the queen of paperless congregational singing draws its inspiration from St. Julian of Norwich (“All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well”) and Indian poet and activist Arundhati Roy (“Another world is not only possible/She is on her way.”
These are not cheap words of mere optimism: St. Julian lived through the Plague. Roy writes about the realities of life under capitalism and colonialism, and has suffered government suppression for her truth telling. I hear these lyrics as Divine consolation for those facing the most desperate of circumstances and hope for those standing up to the most entrenched injustices.
Aly Halpert: Ayeka
The Jewish liturgical singer songwriter’s lament from within her community over the suffering Zionism has enacted on Palestinians echoes the story in Genesis of humanity’s first murder: Cain killing his brother Abel. The chorus asks,
From the soil I hear them crying. What can grow here? What have we done?
This pivot from “What have you done?” to “What have we done” is as vulnerable for Halpert to name as it is healing to hear. You can hear Halpert discuss her songwriting process on the podcast Unsettled.
Jason Isbell: Death Wish
“Did you ever love a woman with a death wish?
Something in her eyes, like flippin' off a light switch
Everybody dies, but you gotta find a reason to carry on”
So begins this song dealing in themes of suicidality, mental health and the deep longing for the ones we love to be safe. Every time this song comes on the radio, I take a deep breath, grateful for and relieved by Isbell’s courage to give voice to what is so often avoided and treated as unspeakable. It is a reminder that none of us is ever truly alone, even in the loneliest and most isolating moments.
Jorge Drexler: Milonga del moro judío
This is, hands down, one of my favorite songs of all time. It is also particularly timely, as it deals with the weaponization of religion and nationality. The Uruguayan singer songwriter of Jewish and Christian descent delves into the layers of poetry, culture and music that made this song possible in this TED Talk. I won’t spoil it (or even try to do it justice), but suffice it to say, I don’t know another song that captures so aptly the experience of not belonging in the boxes into which a violent supremacist society tries to squeeze us. Its quiet yet persistent honesty is a fresh breeze for the spirit.
May your listening be healing, inspiring, and nourishing in all the ways you need.
In Peace and for Justice,
Lauren