The January 6 assault on the U.S. Capitol was four months ago, but the inquiries from colleagues in philanthropy keep coming: What can we do?
I’m not surprised they think I might have answers. Four years ago, I left a program-officer position at the Ford Foundation to return to my career roots: working in the Pacific Northwest, a region that’s long been a proving ground for the struggle between white nationalists and advocates seeking to fulfill the promise of a multiracial democracy.
If my colleagues know anything about my current work at Western States Center, they may assume I’ll offer policy prescriptions. Certainly, the inequities underwritten by centuries of white supremacy must be addressed through policies, regulations, and redistribution of resources. That agenda is well established and requires continued support.
But managing white nationalism as a movement calls for something bigger — a cultural response. Philanthropy needs to support and fund narratives that compete against white nationalists’ conjuring of a second civil war.
While the majority of Americans support an inclusive vision of democracy, a recent review of public-opinion research commissioned by Western States Center found about a third of respondents consistently agree with core tenets of white nationalism. In one recent survey, 32 percent said, “There is a lot of discrimination against white people.” In another, half said they feel like a stranger in their own country, with 36 percent agreeing that “immigrants are invading our country and replacing our cultural and ethnic background.” A Military Times poll found the number of service members who “consider white nationalism a significant threat to the country” increased from 30 to 48 percent from 2017 to 2020.
At its heart, the assault on the Capitol and the ongoing efforts to restrict voting rights across the nation come down to this question: Who is American? We are engaged in a battle over our national narrative and our commitment to democracy. Do we proceed with the dystopian narrative of scarcity and grievance, of ideological purity and polarization? Or do we lift up a narrative in which there’s enough decency and respect and concern for the common good to extend to all, to treat others as we would have them treat us?
At a moment when society is so divided by authoritarian ideologies and partisan politics, it’s hard to find spaces of common ground. Cultural expression can create those spaces — particularly music. I know this from personal experience, through my avocation as a singer-songwriter.
Some years ago, my work took me to Kentucky, not far from where my ancestors entered the Great Migration following a lynching they witnessed. That was on my mind as I ventured with my guitar to an open-mic night on the outskirts of town, the only Black person in a barbecue joint decorated with a Confederate flag. I wrote a song and later an essay titled “Kentucky Nights: A Story of Unexpected Endings,” about the fears and aspirations I felt that night as the good old boys in the house band and I built a bridge.
We need more stories that help us remember each other’s humanity — stories of resilience and redemption that reach across ideological divides. That’s why Western States Center created an Inclusive Democracy Culture Lab, which works to combat bigotry and hate by developing new narratives through music.
We started small, launching in the summer of 2020 with a group of 15 Americana singer-songwriters whose fan base is predominantly white, ages 30 to 60 — people who don’t see themselves as racist but typically have little experience with those with differing backgrounds. As popular touring musicians who perform in local venues, they have a lot of direct contact with their fans, affording them a unique opportunity to test anti-racist narratives, then to scale up for greater impact.
Most artists can only take these risks with support. As the musicians we work with say, “Backlash is better with friends.” Country musicians are especially likely to face fallout for supporting progressive causes. In an article in the Daily Beast titled “Is Country Music Turning on Racism and QAnon?,” country-music critic and Inclusive Democracy Culture Lab member Clay Steakley noted that “the political climate of the past four years already had a lot of artists trapped in the ‘shut up and play’ arena with fans. ... Recently, it has gotten menacing, with fans threatening to doxx artists or threatening violence, whether they’re doing it over social media or privately.”
By bringing artists together and providing them with a stipend and educational sessions on narrative strategy with nonprofit and opinion leaders, the Culture Lab creates a community where speaking out carries fewer risks.
Our current group of 11 musicians produced a collaborative Spotify playlist and is working on a tool kit that provides strategies for other artists interested in incorporating inclusive democracy messages into their work. Musicians will test the tool kit this summer and fall, as will participants in two new regional groups of musicians based in New York City and the San Francisco Bay Area.
Singer-songwriter Matthew Ryan told Tennessee NPR-affiliate WMOT that his involvement in the project has been “one of the most rewarding and enlightening experiences of my life.”
Through the buzz created by the collaboration, participating artists are already generating the ripple effects we hoped for when the Culture Lab launched. Singer-songwriter Ana Egge’s “This Time,” inspired by the demonstrations following George Floyd’s murder, got a shout out from Tony-award winner Anais Mitchell who tweeted the song to her 29,000 followers. The next day, Salisbury University in Maryland kicked off its first Anti-Racism Summit with an unsolicited viewing of the song’s video.
More country artists are taking risks, too, following the lead of Nashville’s fastest-rising star Luke Combs, who in February apologized for his past use of the Confederate flag. These musicians include JP Harris, whose new honky-tonk tune cautions “Don’t Drink the Qool-Aid” and Leigh Nash, who co-wrote and recorded with R&B artist Ruby Amanfu the song “Good Trouble,” a tribute to the late Congressman John Lewis. For the first time, the Academy of Country Music booked a Black woman, country music singer Mickey Guyton, to cohost its annual awards show.
We are in the planning stages to fund another group of artists, this time focusing on singer-songwriters of color. While we continue to focus on Americana musicians, we think the model could be applied to other musical genres and art forms. Immersive technology pioneers, theatrical companies, museum designers, and even chefs could be brought together in groups to explore how their work might more deliberately engage their audiences and industries around messages that counter white nationalism.
Philanthropic investments of this type shouldn’t just fall under traditional arts and culture giving but should be part of a broader response to the current crisis in American democracy. If we are asking artists to take professional risks by speaking up for an inclusive democracy and insisting that everyday Americans do the same, philanthropy must also take risks. The work of shifting our culture is long term and not easily measured by traditional grant-making standards.
The events of January 6 at the U.S. Capitol demonstrate unequivocally the power of narrative. Philanthropy needs to step up and help create a far more indelible counternarrative. Fostering pride in the deep values of democracy — equity, prosperity, generosity — is not the work of politics. It is the work of culture. Cultural efforts grounded in values that unite us are the most promising route to rebuilding an America polarized by ideology and political party. Culture may be the last thing standing in this country that can bridge our divides.
