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weekly newsletter 2.21.2021

Friends, 

Did you know that observance of Black History Month began with Negro History Week in 1926? Did you know that this was just one of myriad contributions to academia and to American culture by Carter G. Woodson, often credited as the “father of Black history”? Did you know that national observance of Black History Month was inaugurated by President Gerald Ford in 1976? Did you know that February was chosen for Negro History Week and Black History Month because both Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass were born in February? Ok, you might’ve known these things. First as a student and later as a teacher and administrator, February was the time for special programming to highlight Black history like guest speakers, special performances, multicultural festivals, and endless lists of “firsts” and “notables,” Black people whose pioneering in various industries and fields shaped our nation. The calendar turned to February, and suddenly classrooms and hallways and TV programs and commercials were peppered with portraits of people like Frederick Douglass, Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, Mae Jemison, and Toni Morrison. My takeaway was always something like, “Huh, I never knew that. Now back to our regularly scheduled program…”

I don’t remember ever being asked (and as an educator, I never asked) what does Black history month mean for you? I don’t mean the pat functional response that it’s a time to remember, to celebrate, to honor, and to uplift the contributions of Black people in American society. I mean, how does remembering, celebrating, honoring, and uplifting change me? How am I living my life differently because I’ve learned these facts or been introduced to these figures? How does knowing this history impact my worldview and the choices I make? It was never enough for me to enjoy all the information and programming coming my way; I was supposed to do something with it. 

This year, I’ve tried to approach Black History Month differently. One example: in these weekly newsletters, in the meditations I offer, and in my own research and reflection, I’ve sought out the voices of Black authors. Did anyone notice? Maybe. Did I advertise it? No (well, until now), because it wasn’t about demonstrating to others how engaged I am in “the conversation” or that I’m “doing the work.” This didn’t start with February 1, and it won’t end with February 28. It shouldn’t. My efforts started in earnest last spring when we all were invited (or forced) to reckon with the history, systematic integration, and terrible consequences of racism, and I’ve gotten into (what I think is) a pretty good habit of asking myself after hearing a new (for me) voice or reading a new (for me) author the question, “so what does this mean for me?” 

Along the way, I keep coming back to three particular voices to help me unpack my response. First, Delores S. Williams. Williams, a Womanist theologian, is not a new voice to me - I read her seminal Sisters in the Wilderness as a student - but hers was a voice I returned to quickly when I learned of the murders of Ahmaud Arbery (whose death was a year ago today) and Breonna Taylor. Last June, I posted “Hagar & Isaac, Empathy & Solidarity,” a reflection sparked by Williams’ attention to Hagar in the book of Genesis. “God’s response to Hagar’s story in the Hebrew testament,” she wrote, “is not liberation...Liberation in the Hagar stories is not given by God; it finds its source in human initiative.” I couldn’t relate to Hagar personally, but I found I could empathize with her, but I found myself more connected to Isaac, her half-brother, who also but differently suffers at the hands of a father guided by blind faith. 

The second voice I keep returning to is Resmaa Menakem. There’s more on him below, but I’ve frequently cited his insight that we can offer people (in particular, White body supremacists) better ways to belong and better things to belong to, and his approach to addressing the impacts of racism by attending to the compounding effects of inherited trauma has helped me to prioritize compassion over reaction and to see the connection between justice and healing. The third voice I keep returning to is Ijeoma Oluo. So you want to talk about race and Mediocre have given me a new lens to try to understand the experiences of Black people in America and what I can and should do in response. 

I don’t pretend to be “woke,” and I don’t intend to suggest that my work is done. But I can attest that I’ve particularly benefited from Williams, Menakem, and Oluo. They’ve helped me to ask better questions, questions that will not let me be satisfied with what is; questions that, once asked, will keep me accountable; questions that expand my vision for what can be. With this reorientation, I hope to be a better ally, a better friend, a better person. I know that rebuilding our world won’t rely on quick and easy answers; it will rely on better questions.

If your inbox is bursting at the seams, please feel free to unsubscribe. If you’re interested in updates on bill hulseman consulting or my own reflections on ritual, education, and dialogue, read on! 

UPCOMING

• Guided Meditations | Mondays, 4:00pm PST, via Zoom

• Good Stuff II | 4-week symposium on Mondays at 5:00pm PST begins on March 1. Sign up here!

• Good habits: understanding nuns through film | 6-week symposium on Tuesdays at 5:00pm PST begins on April 6. Sign up here!

UPDATES

Guided meditations via Zoom continue! Mondays at 4:00pm PST. The aim is to practice being present - to ourselves, to others, and to the world. If you or someone you know could use a 20-30 minute dose of peace and quiet on Mondays,visit the meditation page on my site to sign up.

Nuns. Sisters. Women-religious. In the Christian world, they’ve been around for centuries. While they’ve played crucial roles in the development of American culture, particularly through the broad expansion of Catholic schools in the 20th century, to some, their lives are mysterious and esoteric. To others, they are little more than comic types. Those impressions are reflected in - and sometimes rooted in - the depiction of nuns in movies. Registration is open for Good habits: understanding nuns through film, a 6-week symposium starting on March 1 that will explore the evolution of how nuns have been depicted in film, give us a chance to develop a deeper understanding of the actual experiences of women religious, and inspire us to think about what this tells us about the depiction of women more generally.

Registration is also open for Good Stuff II, a 4-week symposium beginning on March 1. Full descriptions of all symposia  are on my website. Symposia are limited to 10 participants and need 4 to run - if you’ve thought about participating, please sign up! If you’re eager for meaningful conversation away from the noise of current events, come join! For more details and to register, click here.

GOOD STUFF

Listen (and Watch)
Stromae found international popularity through his music, videos, and, later, fashion design by leaning into (what is, for most) scary territory: ambiguity. With a Belgian Flemish mother and a Rwandan Tutsi father, Stromae grew up with overlapping cultural identities. His music blends upbeat dancefloor and hiphop rhythms with sometimes profound, sometimes analytical, sometimes satirical lyrics. In his videos, he plays with the construction of identities, most obviously in the video for “Tous Les Mêmes,” dressed as male and female, split down the middle, and stepping in and out of gender-roles as the lyrics poke at the pride of men. His first big hit, “Alors on danse,” plays with the strictures and life-draining of daily life and the outlet of the dance floor. "Papaoutai," though, is the one that continues to hit me hard. When he was a child, his father was killed while visiting his family in Rwanda, one of 600,000 Tutsis murdered during the Rwandan Genocide. The question embedded in the title, “Papa, ou t’es?,” Dad, where are you? - is fleshed out in a highly stylized video. Stromae himself is cast as a mannequin, a substitute for a boy’s lost father, while the boy watches other kids in the neighborhood with their real-life fathers. The fast dance beat and the catchy hook make a sharp contrast to the lyrics, a meditation on loss and shame. The videos are stunning, but if you’re just looking to listen: Tous Les Mêmes, Alors on danse, Papaoutai (and they’re all on Bill’s Good Stuff).

If you stream music on Spotify, I’ve started a playlist called “Bill’s Good Stuff,” including music I’ve loved for a long time as well as things I’ve come across more recently. Feel free to add the playlist to your favorites! Bill’s Good Stuff Spotify Playlist

Think
For the June 4 episode of On Being, titled “Notice the Rage; Notice the Silence,” Krista Tippett interviewed therapist and trauma specialist Resmaa Menakem. Coming out just days after the video of George Floyd’s murder became public, their dialogue started with his book, My Grandmother’s Hands, which explores the impact of generational or inherited trauma and offers both insights to address it and techniques to begin to heal, but part of their conversation leaned into the most fundamental philosophical question: what does it mean to be human? Our response to that question shapes our own development and the way that we construct our culture. Here’s how Menakem directly responded to that question in the interview:

I think what it means to be human is to realize that we’re ever-emerging and that that — that we are not machines. We are not flesh machines; we are not robots; we come from and are part of Creation, and that that cannot just be something we talk about when we go to a yoga retreat; that it has to be a lived…[O]ne of my ancestors, Dr. King, talked about how, when people who love peace have to organize as well as people who love war. And for me, what that means is that it’s about work. It’s about action. It’s about doing. It’s about pausing. It’s about allowing — the reason why we want to heal the trauma of racialization is that it thwarts the emergence. So let’s not do that. Let’s condition and create cultures that will allow that emergence to reign supreme so that the intrinsic value can supersede the structural value.

Read
In this week’s meditation, I used “How Good to Center Down!” from Meditations of the Heart by Howard Thurman. Thurman is one of the lesser-known but most-impactful figures of the 20th century. The grandchild of enslaved people, Thurman was a philosopher and theologian whose theology of radical non-violence, informed by own his beliefs and bolstered by his interaction with Mohandas Gandhi, influenced the civil rights movement, in particular articulating a theological framework for social justice and non-violence that heavily influenced Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“How Good to Center Down!”
from Howard Thurman, Meditations of the Heart

How good it is to center down!
To sit quietly and see one's self pass by!
The streets of our minds seethe with endless traffic;
Our spirits resound with clashings, with noisy silences,
While something deep within hungers and thirsts for the still moment and the resting lull.
With full intensity we seek, ere the quiet passes, a fresh sense of order in our living;
A direction, a strong sure purpose that will structure our confusion and bring meaning in our chaos.
We look at ourselves in this waiting moment — the kinds of people we are.
The questions persist: what are we doing with our lives? — what are the motives that order our days?
What is the end of our doings? Where are we trying to go
Where do we put the emphasis and where are our values focused?
For what end do we make sacrifices? Where is my treasure and what do I love most in life?
What do I hate most in life and to what am I true? Over and over the questions beat in upon the waiting moment.
As we listen, floating up through all the jangling echoes of our turbulence, there is a sound of another kind —
A deeper note which only the stillness of the heart makes clear.
It moves directly to the core of our being. Our questions are answered,
Our spirits refreshed, and we move back into the traffic of our daily round
With the peace of the Eternal in our step.
How good it is to center down!

Looking for previous newsletters? They’re all posted on my blog.