This morning I walked from Wright Woods conservation land past Walden Pond to Goose Pond. On my way back to the car, I passed by the main beach at Walden. It was a warm sunny day, so as you’d expect the beach was crowded with humanity.
And there, past the buoys that mark the area that the lifeguards watch, was a Common Loon (Gavia immer) diving underwater, presumably for small fish or some other underwater food.
It was surprising to see a loon at Walden Pond in July — twenty years ago when I lived in the town of Concord, you might see a loon during migration, but I don’t remember ever seeing one during summer breeding season. It may be that the resurgence of the beaver population in the area has changed the landscape enough that loons now have adequate habitat to breed; although that’s purely speculation on my part.
Another highlight of my walk past Walden Pond worth mentioning is the Thoreau Society bookstore. They focus on Thoreau of course, but they also stock an excellent selection of books relating to the other nineteenth century Concord authors — certainly the best selection of publications relating to the Concord authors that I’ve seen. While in the store, I chatted with Corinne Smith, a librarian and author. She told me that the “Thoreau Edition,” published by Princeton University Press and currently based at the University of California Santa Barbara, has released preliminary versions of the journals from 1854 to the end of Thoreau’s life (the “Thoreau Edition” has already published print versions of the journals from 1831 to 1854).
I’ve been at a religious education conference for most of a week now. It has been very nice to be able to talk with colleagues in person, face-to-face. But it’s also exhausting. I talk with people for an hour over breakfast, then teach a class where we spend a lot of time talking, then talk for an hour over lunch, and often for another hour after lunch — and then I’m ready for a two-hour nap.
Others at the conference are having similar experiences. It’s really good to be able to be in a big group of people for the first time since March, 2020, but it’s also really tiring.
I’m at a religious education conference at Ferry Beach Conference Center in coastal Maine. They’ve had quite a bit of rain in the past month, and not surprisingly quite a few mushrooms have spring up — like this one:
We’ve been singing “Follow the Drinking Gourd” with campers at our ecojustce day camp. But Tobi just pointed out that we may want to drop it next year. Why? Well, first of all there’s serious doubt whether it’s a traditional African American song. The most familiar form of the song (including the version found in the Unitarian Universalist hymnal) derives from the version recorded by the Weavers. This version is an arrangement by Lee Hays, first published in 1947 in “People’s Songs Bulletin”; let’s call this the Hays version. Compare the Hays version to the first published version, collected by amateur folklorist H. B. Parks between 1912 and 1918, which first appeared in print in 1928 in Publications of the Texas Folklore Society, Number VII:
The 1928 Parks version, with 11 measures and four fermata, does not conform to the conventional structure of Anglo-American folk music. The 1947 Hays version, on the other hand, has 8 measures with no fermata and a more elaborate melody in measures 5-6. You can imagine Lee Hays regularizing and developing the melody so that it better conformed to the standards of an eight-bar chorus of the Folk Revival. The Parks version, with its “irregular” structure, feels more like something that could have been collected in the field from a singer who had no training in conventional Western music theory. (And I admit my personal preference: I like its lonesome sound much better than what I consider to be the sanitized sound of the Hays version.)
But what about Parks’s version? How authentic is it? Here’s how Parks describes first hearing this song (reprinted: H. B. Parks, “Follow the Drinking Gourd,” The Best of Texas Folk and Folklore, 1916-1954, ed. Mody Coggin Boatright, Wilson Mathis Hudson, and Allen Maxwell [Univ. of North Texas Press / Texas Folklore Society, 1998], pp. 159-162):
“I was a resident of Hot Springs, North Carolina, during the year of 1912 and had charge of the agricultural work of a large industrial school. This school owned a considerable herd of cattle, which were kept in the meadues on the tops of the Big Rich Mountains on the boundary between North Carolina and Tennessee. One day while riding through the mountains looking after this stock, I heard the following stanza sung by a little Negro [sic] boy, who was picking up dry sticks of wood near a Negro cabin:
“‘Foller the drinkin’ gou’d, Foller the drinkin’ gou’d; No one know, the wise man say, “Foller the drinkin’ gou’d.”‘
“It is very doubtful if this part of the song would have attracted anyone’s attention had not the old grandfather, who had been sitting on a block of wood in front of the cabin, slowly got up and, taking his cane, given the boy a sound lick across the back with the admonition not to sing that song again. This excited my curiosity and I asked the old man why he did not want the boy to sing the song. The only answer I could get was that it was bad luck.”
Then, according to Parks, “about a year later” (i.e., c. 1913) he happened to be passing through Louisville, Kentucky, he claims to have heard a fisherman singing the same words to the same tune. When Parks asked the man about the song, the man refused to talk with him about it. I note that Parks was not engaged in formal collecting of folklore or folk song on either or these occasions; he was not seeking out informants, sitting down with them and listening to their repertoires, while taking careful notes. In fact, he can’t even remember the exact date of the Louisville encounter. As a result, I’m quite skeptical about these two stories; I’m willing to believe that Parks encountered interesting songs on both occasions, but I’m equally willing to believe that his later recall of the words or music, or both, was inaccurate. It seems so unlikely that two singers, hundreds of miles apart, would be singing exactly the same words and exactly the same music; that’s not how folk music gets transmitted; each singer changes a song a little bit as they pass it to the next singer. If Parks had said he had heard a similar tune with similar words, I would be more willing to believe him.
Parks then describes a third encounter with the song:
“In 1918 I was standing on the platform of the depot at Waller, Texas, waiting for a train, when, much to my surprise, I heard the familiar tune being picked on a violin and banjo and two voices singing the following words:
“‘Foller the Risen Lawd, Foller the Risen Lawd; The bes’ thing the Wise Man say, “Foller the Risen Lawd.”‘
“The singers proved to be two Negro boys about sixteen years of age. When they were asked as to where they learned the song, they gave the following explanation. They said that they were musicians traveling with a colored [sic] revivalist and that he had composed this song and that they played it and used it in their revival meetings.”
The next part of Parks’ story may be summarized like this: Curious about the song, he asked “an old Negro who had known a great many slaves in his boyhood days” about the song. Why yes, his informant said, he remembered the song, and he remembered that it was associated with a “peg-leg sailor” who was part of the Underground Railroad, and used the song to provide instructions to enslaved persons so they could escape to Canada. After hearing the story, Parks contacted older members of his family, white people from the North who had been part of the Underground Railroad, and they said there were indeed records from the Anti-Slavery Society documenting a Peg Leg Joe “who made a number of trips through the South and induced young Negroes to run away and escape.” Nothing more was known about this sailor, and nothing more was heard of him after about 1859, according to Parks’s relatives.
Below are the words Parks says were sung by Peg Leg Joe. But Parks does not provide a specific informant for these words; he does not say from whom he collected them; he merely says these words “were held in the memory of the Negroes.” This vague attribution makes me doubt the authenticity of the lyrics — more on this below.
When the sun come back, When the firs’ quail call, Then the time is come Foller the drinkin’ gou’d.
Chorus: Foller the drinkin’ gou’d, Foller the drinkin’ gou’d; For the old man say, “Foller the drinkin’ gou’d.”
The riva’s bank am a very good road, The dead trees show the way, Lef’ foot, peg foot goin’ on, Foller the drinkin’ gou’d. [Note: Peg Leg Joe reportedly blazed a trail using the marks of a peg imprint and the imprint of a left foot]
The riva ends a-tween two hills, Foller the drinkin’ gou’d: ‘Nuther riva on the other side Follers the drinkin’ gou’d.
Wha the little riva Meet the grea’ big un, The ole man waits — Foller the drinkin’ gou’d. [Note: the last two verses reportedly describe a route following the Tombigee River in Alabama north, then across to the Tennessee River, and thence to the Ohio River.]
Personally, I suspect Parks did what so many elite white folklore collectors did in the late 19th and early 20th centuries: he used a heavy editorial hand: he may have taken several “floating verses” and combined them; he may have filled out incomplete verses; he may have combined versions from several different parts of the country; he may have added lyrics that interested him to a tune he liked. I don’t doubt Parks’s honesty, but I do doubt his scholarship; while acceptable in his day, today his methodology would be considered slipshod.
Where does this leave us?
First of all, the tune as commonly sung (i.e., the version in the UU hymnal) should probably be attributed as “Music: probable traditional African American, arranged by Lee Hays.” Why say say the music is probably traditional? Because the 1928 Parks article raises the very real possibility that the tune that he recorded and remembered in 1928 was composed by an unknown African American revivalist. If those revivalists traveled widely, they may have spread their tune from North Carolina to Kentucky from 1912 to 1918, thus accounting for Parks hearing similar or identical tunes across six years and a wide geographical range. I don’t think it’s right to obscure the possibility of that revivalist, because if we obscure that possibility, then we erase yet another African American composer from history. I also feel it’s important to acknowledge that an elite white man altered the tune significantly, so the attribution should state that clearly.
Personally, I’d feel much better if the hymnal had the version of the melody published by Parks in 1928, rather than the sanitized version recorded by the (all-white) Weavers in 1947. That would also simplify the attribution to: “Music: probable traditional African American.”
As for the words, I don’t doubt that some of the Parks wrote down were actually sung by African Americans. I do have strong doubts as to whether the words Parks edited and published in 1928 were the exact words sung in the 1850s by African Americans. Assuming the song does in fact date back to the 1850s, what we know of the folk process makes it almost certain that the words changed over time. And what if the song does not date to the 1850s? It seems entirely possible to me that the words were composed by an unknown African American poet in the last decades 19th century, or the first decade of the 20th century. Those decades were a time of incredible innovation in African American music, with the ongoing growth of sacred music and the emergence of blues and jazz. Some of the early blues lyrics are some of the greatest poetry to come out of America. What about a talented African American poet looking back on the stories of his or her parents or grandparents, and creating a story of agency, escape, and freedom? Once again, I don’t want to erase yet another African American poet from history. So I’d suggest an attribution something like this: “Words: African American tradition.” Not “traditional” — but rather from the tradition of African American folk and composed lyrics.
“I asked Throckmorton for his view on the COVID-19 pandemic and what he thinks about vaccination? He and his family are vaccinated. When I asked him about Christianity and science, he told me Biblical sources provide believers guidance. He pointed out that Timothy, a disciple of St. Paul, had a stomach ailment. He was not advised to pray or just have faith but to take a little wine (that is, treat the ailment). Luke, who wrote one of the Gospels, was himself a physician. God gave us incredible gifts: our minds, intelligence, and curiosity. Certainly, we are meant to use our minds and think and not allow irrational fears to cause harm and death.”
Hassen covers a lot of ground in his blog post. He takes on Trump: “How can anyone [who’s] religious think God is using Donald Trump?” He explains how science and conservative Christian faith are compatible. He critiques Christian nationalism and dominionism, two of the biggest threats to U.S. democracy today. And he touches on the problem of narcissism in the pastors of mega-churches (some of what he says there reminds me of one or two people who used to be ministers of some of our largest UU congregations).
Hassen reminds me of the conservative Christians I used to know back in the day: people whose intelligence, morals, and ethics I held in great respect, even while disagreeing with them on some theological points. Unitarian Universalists who like to demonize white evangelical conservative Christians might want to read this post, and expand their horizons a little bit. If we’re going to stop the threat to democracy represented by QAnon and Trumpism, we need all the allies we can get.
In July, 1969, Jules Siegel interviewed several Black Panthers for an article he was writing. The Panthers he spoke to talked quite a bit about a topic that has been very much in the news over the past year — reforming the police. Field Marshal “D.C.” [Donald Cox] of the Black Panthers laid out the fundamental problem:
“It has been called police brutality. It’s a matter of educating people to the fact that yes, it’s brutal, but the term for it is fascism. Black people already know, because they’ve lived under fascist terror ever since we’ve been in this country. Fascism is the police running amok in the black community.”
“Poison,” a field lieutenant from the Chicago Black Panthers, outlined the Panthers’ solution — community control of police:
“Lots of people don’t understand what community control means. It means giving the people a voice. Right now they have no voice because it is a centralist form of government. Community control of the police doesn’t mean that the community would take over the present pig [i.e., police] department. It means that people will have people from within that community policing that community. If one of these police would commit a crime against the people, he [sic] would have to come home at night. It’s a hard thing to go home if you’ve committed a crime against your own people. Before you commit that crime, you begin to think.”
It’s also important to note that Field Marshal D.C. asserted that the fascism of the police was not rooted in race and racism per se:
“It’s in the interest of the power structure to propagate the idea that it’s a race struggle rather than a class struggle. As long as they can keep people divided into ethnic groups, the masses are not going to join together to form a united front against the exploiter who is oppressing everyone.”
In short, the Panthers saw that the real problem was not the police, but the power structure that the police represented.
The Black Panthers had many problems, including rampant sexism. But I still find much of their vision for society compelling. They saw that U.S. capitalism was upheld by a form of fascism, and that police brutality was one manifestation of that fascism. They wanted to wrest social control away from “the oppressor,” and put that control back in the hands of the people. And they combined grand theory with practical action: by July, 1969, the Panthers’ “Breakfast for Children” program was feeding 50,000 children a week across the U.S. In spite of their flaws, theirs was a grand vision for a more just and egalitarian society. This vision provides a necessary context for their proposals for police reform.
I became aware of feminism as a teenager, back in the 1970s. After some initial resistance, feminism wound up appealing to me not only because it held out the hope of equality for women, but also because it challenged existing gender norms and gender roles. I’ve never been comfortable with the stereotypical gender norms for men in the United States. I’m not the strong silent type. I’ve always liked working with children. I kinda like doing housework (except cooking, I’m bad at cooking). I didn’t know the term “toxic masculinity” back then, but I knew what toxic masculinity was, I knew it was hurting me, and I wanted to change it.
But we mostly remained stuck with the old gender norms throughout the 1980s, and the 1990s, and the 2000s. In 2002, I took a battery of psychological tests as part of my preparation for ministry. On one of those tests, the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI), I scored well out of the normal range on gender identity. Worried that I had some kind of pathology, I asked the psychologist who administered the test what that score meant. Oh, the psychologist said, don’t worry about that, men going into ministry often test out of the normal range on that scale. I found the psychologist’s reply even more disturbing than the thought that I might have a pathology — because the psychologist’s reply meant that men trained to be empathetic, caring, and group-oriented were considered pathological by society.
So when non-binary gender finally emerged as a viable option, I felt we were taking a step in the right direction. Biological females who happened to be assertive and articulate and willing to talk over men didn’t have to get pushed into a gender role that required them to be deferential and self-deprecating. Biological males who happened to be caring and empathetic didn’t have to get pushed into a gender role that required them to be strong, silent, and unemotional. Non-binary gender gave the promise of allowing a wide range of gender expression, far beyond these two examples.
Non-binary gender is a step in the right direction. It has opened a tiny and fragile space between male and female gender roles. But across the U.S., only a small percentage of people now consider themselves non-binary gender. For most people in the U.S., the old gender norms remain intact. I feel hopeful about that fragile open space where non-binary gender exists. But I’m discouraged that the old gender norms still wall in that tiny open space. I’m discouraged that non-binary gender has to be a matter of individual choice for just a few people, rather than a change in the way society understands gender. I’m discouraged at the thought that as a man, I’d still probably test as pathological on the MMPI. And I’m especially discouraged that non-binary gender people face wide social discrimination.
When non-binary people are discriminated against in much the same way the women are discriminated against, it seems to me that we’re still stuck with toxic masculinity running the show. We have taken a step in the right direction, but from my feminist perspective, it’s only a baby step; I wish we could grow up, and take adult-sized steps.
U.S. Catholic bishops have voted 155 to 55 (with 6 abstentions) to deny holy communion to U.S. politicians who support abortion rights. Elected officials who openly support the death penalty will still be allowed to receive communion, even though the church’s catechism states, “the death penalty is inadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person.” Elected officials who deny climate change will still be able to receive communion, even though Pope Francis has said, “We need to act decisively to put an end to all emissions of greenhouse gases by mid-century at the very latest, and to do even more than that.” This is typical of U.S. religion today.
I have come to believe that the big divide in U.S. religion these days is actually politics, not theology. Do you support the Republican party line, or the Democratic party line? — that’s how the U.S. religious divide is defined. The U.S. Catholic bishops voting to deny communion to politicians who support abortion rights, yet taking no action on politicians who support the death penalty, may not seem logically consistent. Nevertheless, their stance is entirely consistent with Republican politics.
I’m pretty sure that Unitarian Universalists suffer from the same problem, on the other side of the political divide. Unitarian Universalism is doing its best to stand up against racism, sexism, transphobia, ableism (to some extent), and other forms of systemic injustice. Classism, however, is mostly dismissed or ignored within Unitarian Universalism. Nor does Unitarian Universalism engage in systematic critique of capitalism. Our stance may not be logically consistent, but it is entirely consistent Democratic politics.
Therefore, fellow Unitarian Universalists, before you speak scornfully of the Catholic bishops, first reflect on how Unitarian Universalism hews so closely to the Democratic party line. Instead of speaking of another religion with scorn, we might instead reflect on the words of a wise ancient Jewish teacher who said, “How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?” In other words, I do hope we Unitarian Universalists don’t become merely a special interest group of the Democratic party.