For anyone wondering who was welcome inside the sanctuary at Abyssinian Missionary Baptist Church in Memphis for its community forum, “The Locker Room: The Bible, the Ballot and Black Men,” clear signs emerged early one Saturday in October.
First, a longtime female church member came to show her support and participate. She was politely denied entry, despite her objections.
And when the conversation for those inside strayed to debating the actions of white voters, a lone voice cut through the chatter.
“Don’t come up in here talking white nothing!” said the Rev. Dr. Earle Fisher, senior pastor of the self-proclaimed “Blackest Church in Memphis and Shelby County.”
“When we’re in here,” Fisher continued, “we’re talking about Black men.”
For the next couple of hours, the group of about 25-30 men remained focused on the assignment.
With Election Day looming, politics dominated the discussion for this edition of the fellowship and civic engagement series for Black men only, created by Fisher as part of #UpTheVote901, a nearly 10-year-old nonpartisan voter turnout initiative. Wages, homeownership, faith, leadership and the particular pressures of moving through the world as a Black man were also central themes.
Men interrupted and challenged one another. They joked. Cussed. Admitted when they didn’t know something. And sometimes, brothers had to confess when they were wrong.
Fisher started by guiding the men through three proposed amendments to the Tennessee Constitution. After dissecting the first ballot measure, he moved on to the second one about state property taxes.
“This amendment adds text to Article 2, Section 28 of the Tennessee Constitution that prohibits the legislature from imposing a state property tax on real, personal or mixed property,” Fisher recited.
Another man also volunteered to read the passage. A third attempted to interpret the ballot language. Someone else challenged that interpretation. The conversation bounced between what the amendment said, what they thought it said, and its impact if approved.
Then one participant interrupted.
“I’m looking at it, and it seems to be that the amendment is seeking to … stop the state from ever imposing a state property tax,” he said. “That’s what it seems to read.”
The men in the room reviewed the text again. And slowly, what had seemed obvious a few minutes earlier was less so now. Fisher later pointed to himself.
“I thought I was right about something,” he said. “Information was presented, and I realized I was not right. What did I do?”
In response, the men talked about remaining teachable, humble and willing to acknowledge when they were unsure.
“If somebody asks me a question (and) I don’t know the answer, I’m going to say, ‘I don’t know,’” Fisher said.
A locker room in a sanctuary
The church’s locker room series is an outgrowth of conversations over coffee between Fisher and church member David Stovall, who said the casual meetings helped him work through some of life’s issues. He soon realized similar experiences could help others like him.
Fisher agreed.
“I think it’s been hard for a lot of Black men to find what they would consider to be safe spaces, especially collectively speaking,” Fisher said. “Some of them, maybe in their homes, amongst their family. But you start talking about the broader kind of structure, there’s not much.”
Fisher said he wanted the church he leads to become one of those safe spaces. Stovall said that using the “locker room” metaphor to name the men-only forum was intentional.
“If you played any type of sports, in locker rooms is where you got the hard truth, whether it was from your teammates, coaches or just yourself,” he said. “You could be yourself.”
But speaking freely carries with it an added responsibility, he said.
“Everybody is always talking. You get together and everybody’s got all the solutions to save all the problems in the world,” Stovall said. “But I feel with this space, you get the right people involved. It’s a big thing with accountability.”
Holy language
A special language is spoken in a locker room. And the church’s version of this revered, male-dominated space is no exception. During the forum, the N-word punctuated some comments. And no one blinked when four-letter words popped out of another man’s mouth — including Fisher’s.
Yes, he is a pastor and, after all, this is still the church’s sanctuary. But if getting Black men to open up in an authentic way means accepting some colorful language, Fisher sees it as a small price. He had even allowed an F-bomb to fly at the event. What counts as vulgar is largely cultural, Fisher argued, and judging vocabulary is low on God’s list of religious priorities.
“I believe God has bigger fish to fry than policing people’s language,” Fisher said. “I think ‘rape’ is a much worse word than ‘damn’ and ‘hell.’”
For Fisher, Christianity has been reduced to rules of personal piety while larger questions of justice are rarely contemplated and often go unanswered. Faith, he said, should get to the “meat and potatoes” of “love, truth, mercy and justice.”
“So you want to spend time telling people not to use cuss words,” Fisher said, “but you continuously allow an unjust and corrupt criminal justice system to damn them.”
Taking off the mask
For first-time participant James Macon, the event’s significance went beyond what language the men were allowed to use. It was about how they could show up.
Out in the world, Macon said, Black men often find themselves adjusting how they speak, behave and present themselves in response to how others perceive them.
Inside, “we control the narrative,” he said. “Our story is our story in this building, because we understand each other. We understand our own lived experience.”
Outside, he “in some cases, we wear masks. Here, we don’t have to do that.”
Macon said the exchange of information between men of different ages, life stages, career paths and experiences is an additional benefit.
Even an educated person, he said, can read something and realize, “Oh, I misinterpreted that or I didn’t have that added context.”
That’s one reason the election has become the main focus of recent gatherings, Fisher said. The space wasn’t created solely as a political forum and isn’t intended to remain one after November. Instead, men may eventually gather at the church to discuss a variety of topics, including finances, family, careers, health and even prostate problems, he said.
But for now, Fisher reminded the men that they have one job.
“What day are you going to vote?” Fisher asked as he walked around the room.
“I think early-vote,” one man answered.
“Uh-uh,” Fisher shot back. He wanted a date. Then a location. Then something more.
“Who are you going with?” Fisher asked.
In that moment, voting ceased to be an abstract consideration for some future, yet undetermined, date. The men began checking their calendars and talking about polling locations.
But Fisher kept pressing.
“Before I go trying to get other people — and I’m not saying don’t do that — I’m saying have a voting plan,” he said. “What I’m walking you through right now, you’re supposed to walk through with everybody in your army.”
Then he stepped up his intensity. “Before you leave, I’m stopping you at the door,” Fisher warned. “And I will square up.”
The men laughed, though Fisher barely smiled.
“That’s how serious I am about this,” he said. “You’re not leaving here today until we know when you are early-voting, where and who’s going with you.”
Early voting is underway in Tennessee. Find your polling location at https://www.electionsshelbytn.gov.
