Melina Abdullah Los Angeles Sentinel
An Ode to Dolly Parton…and John Brown
It’s been a long dark night
And I’ve been waitin’ for the morning
It’s been a long hard fight
But I see a brand new day dawning
I’ve been looking for the sunshine
You know, I ain’t seen it in so long
Everything’s gonna work out just fine
Everything’s gonna be alright
It’s gonna be alright
‘Cause I can see the light of a clear blue morning
I can see the light of a brand new day
I can see the light of a clear blue morning
Everything’s gonna be alright
It’s gonna be okay
lack Lives Matter (Grassroots) is a spiritual movement as much as it is a frontline one. When someone is killed by police or white supremacists (sometimes one in the same), one of the first things that we do is come out to the site, offer prayer, pour libation, and call on our righteous Ancestors to power us forward. And calling on our Ancestors carries throughout our work, we open most meetings and actions in the names of Mama Harriet Tubman, Baba Sekou Odinga, Nat Turner, Minister Malcolm and Sister Betty Shabazz, those on whose behalf we struggle, and those in our own bloodlines and spirit lines.
When White People 4 Black Lives was formed in 2014, representing the best of what it means to be a white ally and accomplice, they looked around for Ancestors of their own. They began to hashtag #JohnBrown2014…then #JohnBrown2015 and 2016. I used to say that “white people don’t have Ancestors; they have forefathers.” John Brown seemed to be the sole exception.
Last week I found myself crying real tears as I played “Light of a Clear Blue Morning” on repeat. I didn’t even realize I liked Dolly Parton like that. I mean, I remember thinking she was pretty when I was a little girl. I loved her rhinestone outfits, super high heels, red lipstick, and long painted nails. The twang when she talked had not a hint of the racism that hangs thick in the speech of most white southerners. She may have been the first woman that I watched stand solo center stage plucking a guitar. I liked Dolly, but she wasn’t really part of my life, she was just there, existing.
So when Dolly died last Tuesday at eighty years old, I couldn’t immediately explain why it felt like all the air was forced from my body, why I plummeted into sadness, and tears flowed so freely. It wasn’t even a young or tragic death. Here I was playing every Dolly song I could find and not understanding why the whole world wasn’t pausing and singing along. Coat of Many Colors hit the playlist I was overcome. The song…about growing up in deep poverty, but with the fullness of her mother’s love…brought me to question why there weren’t more songs about mamas and daughters. Then came that working class anthem – 9 to 5 – Dolly crooned “you spend your life putting money in his wallet!” I swayed and sung along to Islands in the Stream, like my mom and I used to do when I was a little girl (my mom more for Kenny Rogers than Dolly). Dolly was no Whitney, but I Will Always Love You was sung with no less heart. I played song after song of hope, rebellion, joy, heartbreak, and desire. The precision of her lyrics and crescendos of her melodies carried through my body like a wave. She even covered Prince’s Purple Rain. She is one of the most gifted artists of our time, challenging the notion that there is no such thing as white American culture. She is not an imitation of Black culture, but authentic to her Tennessee mountain roots, and, in that, possessing a soulfulness not often found in white music. Dolly is genuine…even with her peroxided hair and voluminous wigs, painted face, nips, tucks, and fills.
Of course, she is not the only white artist to be genuine. There are other country artists: The Judds and Willie Nelson top my list. And, Elton John is fire! And there’s the Bee Gees, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Wham!, Nirvana. And you couldn’t tell me anything about Boy George (until I found out he’s a zionist). Still, I can’t imagine grieving any of them the way I am mourning Dolly Parton.
As Dolly Parton reels flood my Instagram feed, I am getting to know her beyond her music. She’s funny and honest. Her heart can be felt as can her love for all of humanity – Black folks, queer and trans folks, migrants. There’s the way she lives her feminism, practices her faith, and remains loyal to poor people.
Also in my feed are Black people from every walk posting for Dolly Parton, proclaiming her one of the white folks “we don’t play about” (along with Jane Fonda and Teena Marie). Tavis Smiley paid tribute. They played her on The Breakfast Club. Influencers are having sing-alongs. In a world where billionaires are making themselves trillionaires at the expense of the Earth’s future, when individualism pervades, divisions deepen, and fascism plagues the planet, Dolly’s life reminds us that there are still good people; there are even some good white people. She challenges all of us to live in our truest and best selves. For white people she can be a model. For Black folks she is a reassurance that allyship and solidarity are possible.
Dolly Parton – thank you. May you shine. May your spirit rise to the real of the Ancestors.
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