Macklemore & Pink

Never have I ever thought I would start paying attention to Macklemore.

And yet, here we are.

I first encountered Macklemore music a few years ago because of one particularly exuberant young man who was trying to educate me about Macklemore ahead of the annual Starry Starry Night dance for adults with disabilities. With the confidence of someone who was absolutely certain he knew more about music than I did, he was trying to convince this Broadway-, pop-, folk-listening pastor that I really needed to listen to a grunge-based rapper from Seattle.

I was skeptical. Not because I had anything against Macklemore, but because I had approximately zero reason to think his music was ever going to be the soundtrack of my life. And, as it turns out, it isn't.

I don't listen to Macklemore in the sense that I put on his music because I want something to reach my soul. His particular musical style isn't really my thing. I'm probably not going to put together a Macklemore playlist for my next road trip.

But I also don't turn it off.

Because I've realized that sometimes the music itself isn't what is meant to reach me. Sometimes it's the message underneath it. Sometimes it's the thing that makes me stop and pay attention to someone whose experience, perspective, or way of expressing themselves is very different from my own.

That seems like it should be an uncomplicated thing to say.

And yet, somehow, it isn't.

Macklemore's willingness to speak publicly about Palestinian suffering has brought consequences, criticism, and a lot of complicated conversation. I don't think speaking up about Palestinian suffering requires us to ignore Jewish fear or antisemitism. I don't think condemning violence requires us to turn entire peoples into enemies. And I don't think we have to choose which human beings deserve our compassion.

I want to be able to say that Palestinian lives matter, Jewish lives matter, Israeli lives matter, Muslim lives matter, and the lives of people throughout SWANA matter.

All of them.

Which brings me, somewhat unexpectedly, to Pink.

This is complicated for me because Dear Mr. President is one of my very favorite Pink songs. I mean, one of my very favorite songs. It is the kind of song that made me love the possibility of artists using their voices to challenge power and say, "No. This isn't okay."

So I've been disappointed by Pink's response to Macklemore. She has since clarified that she wasn't asking him to be silenced and explained that her response came from her own fear and concern as a Jewish mother. I can understand that fear. I can understand why antisemitism and Jewish safety matter deeply. I can understand that people bring their own histories and experiences to these conversations.

And still, I wish she had chosen a different response.

I wish the person who gave us Dear Mr. President had made more room for another artist to speak out about people experiencing violence.

Pink, do better.

Not because I need you to agree with me about everything. Not because I think I have the moral high ground. But because I remember what it felt like to hear Dear Mr. President and think, Yes. Someone is willing to say this out loud.

I want more artists to have that courage, not fewer.

And maybe that's part of why the Tillamook cheese controversy has bothered me, too.

Apparently, there are people who want to boycott Tillamook because some of its products now carry halal certification.

Really?

Since when did making food accessible to people from different religious traditions become a bad thing?

From what I can find, Tillamook has been using processes that allow some of its cheeses to meet halal and kosher standards for years. The certification appearing on packaging is newer. In other words, this isn't Tillamook suddenly changing cheese into something completely different. It's giving people information that helps them know whether they can eat the product according to their religious practices.

And somehow, that has become something people are angry about.

I hate living in a world where making room for people from other religions or cultures is treated as a threat. Halal isn't some bizarre new fad. Kosher isn't some bizarre new fad. People have been following religious traditions and laws about food for thousands of years.

Honestly, I would like more labels that help people know whether they can participate.

Tell me if something is halal. Tell me if it's kosher. Tell me if it's vegetarian or vegan. Give people information so they can make their own choices.

That doesn't take anything away from me.

My cheese is still cheese.

Nobody has come to my house and taken away my cheddar because a Muslim person can eat it, too.

The table just got a little wider.

And maybe that's the thread connecting all of this for me: music, artists, food, religion, culture, and the question of whether we are willing to make room for one another.

I don't want a smaller world.

I don't want a world where someone else's culture, religion, language, music, food, or traditions have to disappear in order for me to feel secure in my own.

I want a wider table.

More people invited. More people able to sit down. More people able to say, "Yes, there's something here for me."

Maybe that sounds ridiculously uncomplicated.

Maybe that's the point.

Don't kill people.

Respect humanity.

Make room.

Let people live according to their own traditions when those traditions aren't harming anyone else.

Speak up when people are being harmed.

And for heaven's sake, let everyone eat the cheese.

I'm still not entirely sure how I became the Gen X pastor who pays attention to Macklemore.

But apparently, that exuberant young man was onto something.

Maybe he understood that music can carry a message into places a preacher can't always reach. Maybe he simply really, really liked Macklemore.

Both things can be true.

And maybe the lesson for me isn't that I need to start listening to music that isn't my thing. It's that I don't have to love the music in order to listen for what the person making it is trying to say.

I can leave the volume on.

I can listen more carefully.

I can hear something that challenges me, even when the soundtrack isn't one I would have chosen.

And apparently, there are worse things to learn from an exuberant young man at a dance for individuals with intellectual disabilities.