Action over optics: Dolly Parton’s passing garners well-earned mourning from Black community

It gets harder and harder to define what an “ally” is for a community, particularly the Black community. For some people, it’s just a matter of someone who can mimic or genuinely, organically enjoy Black culture. For others, it’s having a non-Black person publicly speaking out against the systemic institutions and unseen barriers that have plagued Black people for centuries. There are even people who believe that allyship is mythical and unattainable.

But what if there was someone who just behaved decently and supported the community in a quiet but profound way? Someone like Dolly Parton.

The Queen of Country Music passed away last week at age 80, leaving behind a legacy of classic records, platinum albums, and hit movies. All over social media, Black people are mourning her passing with tearful tributes, cover songs, and gleeful remixes. Why is the Black community grieving this bucksome, blonde-haired guitar player from Tennessee who made music that was gatekept by people with a melanin deficiency? Certainly, like much music, Black folks have come to love a white song that has some soul in it, like “Jolene” or “Hard Candy Christmas.” But it goes deeper than just vibing to a song that sounds good.

Black people respond to decency, respect, and empathy; action over optics. One of the reasons Parton always appealed to us was because she respected all people and helped millions when she didn’t have to. The country music scene is such an insular community that it’s one of the few genres, at least during Parton’s heyday, that Blacks had no interest in participating in or ingesting. So, for someone like Parton to penetrate the hearts of so many Black Americans speaks volumes to how she connected with us through simple acts of humanity, decency, respect, and empathy.

Parton’s come-up is similar to that of many Black people, especially Black musicians. Think of The Jackson family, growing up in the smoky steel town of Gary, Indiana, with 11 people packed into a two-bedroom house. Ghostface Killah waxed poetic on a similar upbringing on his 1995 single, “All That I Got is You.” He rhymed, “16 of us in a three bedroom apartment/roaches everywhere, cousins and aunts were there/four in the bed, two at the foot, two at the head.” Parton was one of 12 kids, raised by her parents in a log cabin in East Tennessee, upgrading from a one-room to a two-room cabin when she was a kid.

Hard times seem like a rite of passage for many Black Americans, and it shapes how we relate to the world and the people around us. The way that Parton learned from her family, including an illiterate father who helped teach her about business, in poverty or quasi-poverty is what so many of us learn — sharing with the people around you, knowing how to bet on yourself when others try to take advantage, understanding how to give back to those who lived in the same conditions.

Obviously, Parton’s connection to Whitney Houston is well-documented. Houston’s rendition of Parton’s “I Will Always Love You” set the then-record for most consecutive weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. While she received a substantial windfall of cash from the publishing royalties, her decision to invest much of that money into a predominantly Black neighborhood in Nashville illustrates that she was more interested in giving back to others than acquiring more material possessions. Not to say that Parton didn’t live a posh life, because she did, and she earned it. But so many other celebrities, white, Black, or otherwise, hoard all of their wealth in fear of returning to poverty.

Parton used the lessons from her poverty to lift people up, regardless of race. It was her father’s illiteracy that sparked her to found the Imagination Library, giving away free books once a month to children from birth to age five. Over 300 million books are given away for free across the world, thanks to Parton and the organizations she worked with for the library program.

The sincerity of Parton shines through her actions and her demeanor. That’s why when we saw her singing with Patti LaBelle while they used their acrylic nails as percussion, or watched her go toe-to-toe with Queen Latifah in the film, “A Joyful Noise,” or collaborated with Beyoncé on her “Cowboy Carter” album, she never seemed out of place or pandering to Black people. She was an advocate for the working class. Her genuine care, concern, and respect wasn’t an act; it was real, and as we say, real recognize real.

Dolly Parton’s allyship with Black Americans was easy for her to do and simple for us to understand. Why? Because we knew she meant it. Her actions told us so.