Sacred Harp Singing, Ruralness, and the Southern Gothic
by Jonathon M. Smith,
Smith
On a late autumn evening in 2005, I drove an hour out of Atlanta to Holly Springs Primitive Baptist Church near Bremen, just a few miles east of the Georgia-Alabama border. The building sits only a few hundred feet from I-20, but the route to the church—about a half-mile past a gas station and through »
Empowering Rural and Low-Income Voters to Reshape North Carolina
by Benjamin Barber
North Carolina’s rural and low-income voters are expected to have a significant impact on this year’s presidential election, directly challenging the misconception that individuals in rural and low-income areas lack interest in politics or have minimal impact on electoral results. Their increased involvement reflects the efforts of local civic engagement organizations, which actively work with »
The following conversation took place on April 5, 2024, at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill as part of the thirtieth anniversary celebrations for the Center for the Study of the American South and Southern Cultures, and the launch of the journal’s special issue, The Vote, guest edited by Errin Haines. This conversation »
It’s hard to believe it has been ten days since the storm. During that time, I’ve driven almost one thousand miles getting into communities that were devastated by Hurricane Helene and running supplies to folks. I traveled to Marion, Swannanoa, Hendersonville, Brevard, Rosman, Ashe County, Chimney Rock, and Bat Cave. In the first few days, »
I direct an outdoor program at a small college in Southwest Virginia, and if you work at a small, private college, a significant part of your job is recruiting, selling the value of the institution to prospective students. For a college in Southwest Virginia, it’s also been about selling the value of place. I tell »
by Alexis Pauline Gumbs,
Michelle Lanier,
Johnica Rivers
Dear Reader: These excerpts—from a welcome by Michelle Lanier and Johnica Rivers and lyrical essay, “Written by Herself,” by Alexis Pauline Gumbs—first appeared in A Sojourn for Harriet Jacobs, a chapbook created by The Harriet Jacobs Project to commemorate their inaugural journeys. * * * We called you in her name. You answered. We rang the »
DO you remember flirting at the fish counter on Thursdays? At the Buford Highway Farmers Market—dark corners, concrete floors, & flags winking in an industrial breeze.
“Sojourning is a daring act of freedom-making and . . . an acknowledgment of reclamation of spaces where Black women and femme folks were historically excluded.” I’m in Edenton, North Carolina. I’m here to do some sacred work. I slowly turn the bowl of white rose petals in my hands. They are moist from freshly »
“The longing for home never ceased, and the sojourn Down South would develop into a summer tradition.” For most of my young life I was denied the truth about my southern Black heritage, and the urbanized Americanized culture around me was teaching me to be ashamed. Of course, this dark skin, these pronounced and molded »
by Kai Lumumba Barrow,
Lydia Pelot-Hobbs,
Alexis Pauline Gumbs
“There are so many different ways that people constructed home in places that one would not desire for home.” On my most recent outing with the Black feminist abolitionist revolutionary artist (and dear mentor of mine) kai lumumba barrow, we went looking for Spanish moss for one of her world-unmaking installations. When she pulled up »
Images, Art, and the Archive as a Portal to Memory
by Colony Little
“The photographs and items my mother brought back with her from Texas tell her migration story, connecting me to the people, places, and events that shaped her life and echo in mine.” In the summer of 2015, my parents rented an RV and traveled from the Bay Area to Fort Worth, Texas, just south of »
“In the most core-shaking moments of my life, I learned to return to these places to move beyond this physical form and ground my spiritual self.” Self-portraiture is the way I navigate myself back to my body. For years, my body did not feel like it belonged to me until I started photographing myself in »