Educate and Elevate: The Role of Soul in the Fight for Black Empowerment
AUTHORS NOTE
Just last week, President Trump signed an egregious executive order to shut down the Department of Education, a reckless move that disproportionately harms underserved communities. This department is not just a government agency—it is a safeguard for students who rely on Title I funding, special education services, and civil rights protections to access equitable learning opportunities.
With MAGA stooge Linda McMahon in place, highly skilled civil servants—dedicated experts committed to advancing education and democracy—were unjustly removed from their roles without proper Reduction in Force (RIF) procedures and with no legitimate cause. Their firings weren’t about efficiency or improvement; they are part of a calculated effort to sabotage the government from within as they failed to do on January 6, 2021, driven by Trump’s insistence after his irrevocable loss in the 2020 election. By gutting essential departments and installing inexperienced replacements, Trump and his allies are deliberately undermining the system so that they can claim it was broken all along.
His relentless and racist attacks on DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) are designed to erase history and silence marginalized voices. That’s why platforms like Divided, We Danced are more important than ever—to preserve the truth while he and his allies attempt to whitewash it. Education should empower, not exclude, and gutting these protections is an assault on justice and equality.
In the 1960s, music became more than just a form of entertainment—it was a call to action. Black artists, recognized for their powerful voices, were tapped to lead the charge for social change, using their influence to push for education as a key avenue of empowerment. Through stirring anthems and passionate advocacy, they turned the stage into a battleground for civil rights, proving that education and music together could shatter barriers and ignite a movement toward equality.
“Things are Changing” / Equal Employment Opportunities Campaign
• “BACK TO SCHOOL AGAIN” •
Since the company positioned itself as the “The Sound of Young America,” it had a unique social responsibility to provide good examples through music. Those messengers were its artists, whom youth idolized. In 1963 when Motown began releasing public service announcements supporting public education, they created songs to encourage and excite youth about school. Equal access to public education had been at the forefront of the Movement and was still playing out in many communities in 1963. Motivating youth to take advantage of those resources was another initiative. Motown brought in the Morrocco Muzik Makers from Dayton, Ohio, to record “Back to School Again.”
Released as a single, “Back to School Again” landed with a thud among teenagers desperately clinging to the last days of summer. The track had the signature up-tempo drive and infectious conga beat of the Morrocco Muzik Makers, but it lacked the magic to compete with Motown’s heavy hitters in 1963. That August, Stevie Wonder’s electrifying “Fingertips Part II” ruled the charts—no teenager wanted a lecture when they could be swept up in a harmonica-fueled frenzy.
The song’s message missed the mark. Instead of capturing the thrill of reuniting with friends or the rebellious energy of classroom daydreaming, it zeroed in on the dreaded loss of freedom. With lyrics reminding kids that “it’s back to your pencil and pen,” it’s no wonder “Back to School Again” did not make a dent.
LISTEN TO “BACK TO SCHOOL AGAIN” BY THE MORROCCO MUZIK MAKERS
As for “Pig Knuckles” on the B-side, it leaned into the instrumental groove of Memphis, evoking Booker T. & the MGs but with a distinct Detroit twist—complete with handclaps to close it out. Whether the group or the label saw potential in its jam-session, the Morrocco Muzik Makers were dropped, and their brief visit to Motown came to an unceremonious end.
LISTEN TO “PIG KNUCKLES” BY THE MORROCCO MUZIK MAKERS
Education had long been seen as the key to better job opportunities, but as the Civil Rights Movement gained momentum, the conversation expanded beyond individual achievement to systemic change in the workplace. Access to education alone wasn’t enough—there was a growing call for workplace diversity and economic opportunity. In 1965, the U.S. government turned to popular music to amplify this message, enlisting the Supremes, the Blossoms, and white group Jay and the Americans to record Phil Spector’s “Things Are Changing.”
This effort was part of Plans for Progress, a public-private initiative launched in 1961 under President Kennedy and later expanded under President Johnson. Designed to increase minority hiring in major corporations, the program was overseen by the Equal Employment Opportunity Committee, a key component of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. With Diana Ross on lead vocals, the Supremes’ rendition delivered a pointed message—urging young women to encourage their men to seek education and job training while reinforcing a broader call to action: financial stability and career success were within reach for those willing to invest in themselves. The chorus drives the point home: “Your race or color won’t stand in your way, don’t wait for tomorrow, today is your day.”
LISTEN TO “THINGS ARE CHANGING” SUNG BY THE BLOSSOMS
LISTEN TO “THINGS ARE CHANGING” SUNG BY THE SUPREMES
LISTEN TO “THINGS ARE CHANGING” SUNG BY JAY & THE AMERICANS
• THE MARVELETTES — HIT RECORDS OVER HOMEWORK •
It's a chapter of Motown's history that many former executives are hesitant to discuss—a stark contradiction in which the label championed education in public while quietly steering young artists away from school in pursuit of stardom. They justify it as a product of the times, citing societal expectations and the absence of a roadmap for balancing fame, fortune, and academics.
Berry Gordy himself earned his GED while serving in the Army before rising to become one of the most influential Black business leaders in a white-dominated industry. Meanwhile, The Marvelettes were still walking the halls of Inkster High School when they landed their record deal. Motown may have preached the importance of staying in school, but success in the music business often pulled young artists in a different direction. A 1962 Jet magazine article offers a fascinating glimpse into the label’s approach during that era, revealing the tension between education and the pursuit of stardom.
Gladys Horton of the Marvelettes. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
“Gladys Horton, 19-year-old lead singer of the group, still has a half a year left in school and expects to graduate in June after the group completes their first major road tour with the Chubby Checker Revue,” the Jet article notes, highlighting the balancing act between education and rising stardom. Accompanying the piece is a photo of the Marvelettes at a “Washington juvenile conference,” deep in conversation with Dorothy Kurgans Goldberg, wife of Supreme Court Associate Justice Arthur Goldberg. Also pictured is James J. Reynolds, then Assistant Secretary for Labor-Management Relations, further underscoring Motown’s presence in discussions on youth and opportunity beyond the recording studio.
Horton’s age in the Jet article doesn’t quite add up. Born in 1944 or 1945, she wouldn’t have been 19 when the piece ran on November 1, 1962. While the article painted a picture of a young star balancing school and stardom, reality told a different story. The demands of touring eventually pulled her away from the classroom—according to her son, Vaughn Thornton, she ultimately dropped out to keep up with the relentless pace of life on the road.
“The company formerly held week-end auditions at which youthful talent was signed, with the condition that they all remain in school until they graduate,” the article continued. “Other groups, including the Vandellas, creators of ‘What A Guy,’ and the Supremes famous for ‘Buttered Popcorn,’ were kept off money-making tours until all their members graduated.”
“Berry Gordy wanted the Marvelettes to quit school because we had a hot record out, people wanted to see us, and at the time, Motown was able to sell more records when people could see us,” Horton would recall.
“Berry Gordy wanted the Marvelettes to quit school because we had a hot record out, people wanted to see us.”
- Gladys Horton of the Marvelettes
According to the Inkster High School principal Dr. Romeo Phillips, “George Edwards, who was married to Berry Gordy’s sister Esther, came to the school right after the girls, on their own, made “Please, Mr. Postman,” and he was encouraging them to drop out of school. In fact, I got on him because he did not stop by the office first. He just came into the building and walked straight back to the music room. He was talking to the girls, and they were expressing some ambivalence about dropping out of school. I think this was near the time they were about to graduate.”
I tried to get the girls to stay in school,” Dr. Phillips said. “We did not want the girls to be caught out there with no marketable skill. But then George Edwards went by their homes and and talking about striking while the iron’s hot. I will never forgive him for that—he’s dead now. I’m very disappointed in him and I’m sure fate would have taken a different turn for those young ladies had they stayed in school and graduated. That would’ve served as a platform for them to move on to something else if show business didn’t pan out.”
• THE WORLD BECAME STEVIE WONDER’S CLASSROOM •
Walking through Hitsville, I stopped in front of a worn-out vending machine just outside Studio A. The tour guide smiled knowingly and shared a story about Little Stevie Wonder. Back in the day, this machine was one of his favorite stops between rehearsals and recording sessions. Since he was blind, the vending company was instructed to keep his favorite candy bars always stocked in the middle slot so he could easily find them. And in a small act of generosity, Motown artists and executives often left spare change on top of the machine, so when Stevie reached up, he’d always find a surprise waiting for him.
But life at Motown wasn’t all sweet. The Detroit Public School System labeled him a truant, and Berry Gordy hired a retired teacher, Peggy Traub, from the Kentucky School for the Blind to keep the system at bay. The road proved too tough for her, but Stevie’s education didn’t stop. His blind tutor, Ted Hull, required him to write essays in braille about every city he visited on tour. When the Motortown Revue hit Paris, he even made a side trip to the school of Louis Braille, where he experimented with the coding machine Braille had invented.
Stevie Wonder. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
But Stevie had influence at the label—enough to keep himself on stage longer and carve out a path that was entirely his own. Between recording sessions and performances, Hull continued his lessons with Stevie in backstage corners and quiet hallways. When he wasn’t on tour, he attended school like any other student and eventually graduated from the Michigan School for the Blind in 1969. His tutor later reflected, “The world became his classroom.”
Motown didn’t hesitate to market Stevie Wonder’s blindness, and Stevie himself knew it made him stand out. In the early 1960s, public awareness of blindness was limited—most people’s only reference was The Miracle Worker, the 1962 film depicting Anne Sullivan’s struggle to teach a young Helen Keller, played by Patty Duke. But Stevie defied expectations, proving that a disability wasn’t a barrier to stardom—it was just one part of his story. Standing in front of that old vending machine at Hitsville, I could almost see it—Stevie’s fingers gliding over the buttons, landing effortlessly on the middle slot where his favorite Baby Ruth bars always waited. A quick snack, a small joy, before stepping back into the studio to make music history.
Motown wasn’t in the business of waiting for diplomas. Keeping young artists in school while trying to build hit records simply didn’t make financial sense. “It has cost some of our groups from $25,000 to $50,000 a year to remain in school until they graduate,” Esther Gordy Edwards admitted in the Jet article. “We have built our business on the teen-age market.” And that market was hungry. The demand for groups like the Marvelettes and the Miracles was so high that they spent weekends crisscrossing the country by air, performing in city after city before rushing back to class on Monday morning. It was a delicate balancing act—one that often tipped in favor of the stage over the classroom.
Brenda Holloway. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
However, not all Motown artists were dropouts. For Brenda Holloway, a California-based Motown artist, education was paramount. She balanced her blossoming music career with studies at Compton Community College. At the same time, Motown collaborated with the Women’s Ad Club of Detroit to record "Play It Cool, Stay in School," a song sung by Holloway that emphasized the importance of education and the message that success comes from completing school. Motown's advocacy for youth to stay in school through songs like "Play It Cool, Stay in School" was at odds with their actions, as they encouraged their own young artists to drop out in pursuit of stardom. While promoting education in the public sphere, the company prioritized financial success and the demands of the music industry over the academic aspirations of its own talent.
Carla Thomas. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
• CARLA THOMAS — SOUL, STUDIES, AND SUCCESS •
While graduating high school was a significant milestone, higher education posed a challenge for many labels, including Stax. Rufus Thomas, recognizing his daughter Carla’s promising future in music, insisted she stay in school. Carla attended Tennessee A&I University in Nashville for her undergraduate studies, following in her father's footsteps—Rufus himself had enrolled at the same university but had to drop out after just one semester due to economic constraints. Carla went on to earn her master’s degree at Howard University in Washington, D.C., proving that education and music could go hand in hand.
“When I first started at Howard and was taking classes, it was rough to both sing and study,” Carla Thomas said.
During this time, Carla was touring internationally, making appearances on television shows, including two in Hamburg, Germany, in 1967, where she was met with a warm reception. “Soul music is just starting to happen here in a big way and everyone is wild about Carla,” wrote Loraine Alterman of the Detroit Free Press. “A headline in Bild, one of West Germany’s biggest daily papers, proclaims, ‘Carla ist Gold wert,’ which means Carla is worth her weight in gold.”
Perhaps it was Carla's impressive ability to pronounce challenging German words, or her constant praise for Hamburg, that charmed audiences. It was clear she had reached a new level of professionalism as both a singer and a star. Alterman also observed that many reporters were fascinated to discover that, beyond her musical career, Carla was also a dedicated master’s student.
Roberta Flack. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
• ROBERTA’S HIGHER EDUCATION AND MUSIC MASTERY •
At Howard University, Carla Thomas’s path intersected with the indomitable Roberta Flack, a woman whose dedication to education and unwavering belief in her dreams would shape not only her own career but also the lives of countless others. Flack’s journey began at the age of 15, when she enrolled at Howard in 1952 on a full music scholarship—one of the youngest students at the university. With fierce determination, she shifted her focus from piano to voice and became the assistant conductor of the university choir, where she would meet Donny Hathaway, a future collaborator who would help define her musical legacy.
Flack’s story was never solely about her remarkable talent; it was about resilience, determination, and the belief that education was the key to unlocking both her dreams and future possibilities. Her commitment to learning wasn’t just for her own growth, but also as a foundation for empowering others through education. At just 19, she graduated and became a teacher in Chevy Chase, Maryland, while continuing her graduate studies. However, when tragedy struck with the death of her father, Flack faced an even greater challenge: supporting herself and sustaining her passion for music. Undeterred, she moved to Farmville, North Carolina, where she taught music and English at a small segregated school, earning a meager $2,800 a year.
Flack’s commitment to education remained steadfast, and she continued to teach while performing in clubs on weekends and evenings. After relocating back to Washington, she taught at Banneker, Browne, and Rabaut Junior High Schools, giving private piano lessons out of her home—all while nurturing her music career. In 1969, her perseverance began to pay off in a new chapter of her musical journey.
Flack’s story is a shining example of the brilliance and resilience of Black women. She showed that with education as a foundation, and an unshakeable belief in oneself, dreams can become reality.
Booker T. Jones. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
• BOOKER T. — MEMPHIS TO INDIANA •
As his musical career gained momentum, Stax artist Booker T. Jones made the bold decision to enroll at Indiana University, balancing academia with his rising fame. Every weekend, he embarked on a grueling 400-mile journey back to Memphis to perform with the MGs and promote his records. Yet, those long trips became more than just a commute—they offered him space to develop song ideas, reflect on his craft, and momentarily escape the whirlwind of juggling school, fraternity life, and a relationship.
“With my high school diploma, I was free as a bird, about to make a beeline for college,” Jones wrote in his autobiography Time is Tight: My Life, Note by Note. “My newfound knowledge of music was a double-sided coin: preparing me for the tasks ahead at Indiana while also establishing a bond with Memphis as a more sophisticated, capable songwriter, session man, and producer. So in reality, a continuing link was constructed between Indiana and Memphis.”
Jones drew deep inspiration from Lucie Campbell, a dedicated English teacher at Booker T. Washington High School for over 50 years. She often declared, “Teaching is my vocation, music is my avocation,” a philosophy that left a lasting impact on her students. The school produced numerous talented musicians, a testament to the educators who nurtured them. During segregation, many highly educated African Americans were barred from prestigious careers, leading some of the brightest minds to become teachers. For Jones, those long journeys between Indiana and Memphis may have been more than just miles on the road—they were moments to reflect on Campbell’s lessons and the power of education in shaping his future.
“Lucie Campbell was indirectly an inspiration to me because she inspired my parents so much and because she was such a strong woman and so dedicated to music,” Jones said. “I think I would have to say that Lucie Campbell taught me that music is a strong voice.”
When Jones graduated in 1966, he returned to Memphis with a fresh perspective and a deeper understanding of his craft, ready to translate his education into musical innovation. “I gained the knowledge, the confidence, and the security that came with it,” Jones wrote. “I acquired the ability to transcribe music and musical textures to a written score. By virtue of my proficiency on, and knowledge of, the ranges and capabilities of brass, strings, and woodwind instruments, I became a regular arranger at Stax, to my benefit and others.’ Knowing the history of music made me more capable of creating future music. That’s the value of studying anything.”
James Brown. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
• “DON’T BE A DROPOUT“ •
By 1966, James Brown had become more vocal about politics and civil rights, recognizing that Black education was key to empowerment and a path to equality. He wasn’t alone in this belief. Donald Warden—who later adopted the name Khalid Abdullah Tariq al-Mansour—used his Black news radio program as a platform to promote self-help and education as pillars of progress. Known for his ties to the Black Panther movement and figures like Bobby Seale and Huey Newton, Warden championed the mantra “no dropouts, no flunk-outs,” urging Black youth to stay in school. His program attracted prominent musicians who not only promoted their upcoming performances but also supported his message. Among his guests were Ike Turner, Aretha Franklin, and Joe Tex, all lending their voices to the cause of education and self-determination.
Warden saw James Brown as a particularly influential figure and joined him on a mini tour through Richmond and Oakland, California, visiting barbershops and bustling street corners to encourage Black youth to stay in school. “Do it for me,” Brown would urge, using his star power to inspire personal commitments from those who looked up to him. The response was overwhelming—young people promised to take his advice to heart, and Brown was elated, seeing firsthand the impact his words could have on the next generation.
The cause found its anthem in 1966 with James Brown’s song “Don’t Be a Dropout,” which debuted at a National Urban League event in Washington. Shortly after, Brown met with Vice President Hubert Humphrey, who was spearheading his own stay-in-school initiative and offered his support.
“The only way to fight poverty, baby, is with schooling,” Brown told Jet in December 1966. “You just gotta be ready. I wouldn’t be able to make it in 99 per cent of entertainment jobs, if I was just starting now. I don’t read music—but I create it. I often think of what I could have done with an education. I’m out to prove that a Negro can be a gentleman, and not a ‘Tom,’ and still be a success. An education helps you to face the world as a man so that you can be called ‘mister,’ instead of ‘boy’ or ‘uncle.’ Now is the time for ‘soul-sisters’ to be addressed as ‘Miss’ and ‘Mrs.’ instead of ‘gal,’ ‘girl’ or ‘Annie.’”
“Without an education you might as well be dead—and that’s a stone drag, man, a real waste.”
- James Brown to Jet, December 1966
Brown continued, “To prove that I’m not shucking and jiving, I have given benefits with my whole group, talked and wrote to keep kids from being dropouts. And, I intend to do anything I can to get our young people educated. Without an education you might as well be dead—and that’s a stone drag, man, a real waste.”
No longer just a chart-topping artist, Brown was emerging as a social thought leader—using his creative influence as a force for change and inspiring a generation to see education as a path to empowerment.