Not Worried About the Palace
Not Worried About the Palace
Profile of Sho Baraka
Zachary Lee
In a very literal sense, Sho Baraka wears many hats. Sandwiched between a microphone, headphones and flags donning his representative university and hometown, Baraka’s hat collection composed the background of our call. Apart from being an incumbent piece of his image, his headwear is also a poignant metaphor for the kind of creative Baraka is—one whose words and works have manifested themselves across a variety of mediums.
His recently released book, He Saw That It Was Good, marks Baraka’s transition from a chart-topping hip-hop artist to an author documenting the creative life, and he makes it clear that the skills and tools he’s learned while making music eased that passage. “I don’t really think the creative process differs all that much,” he explains, “At the end of the day, creation is a rising of emotion and experiences that push you towards writing, singing… it pushes you to produce something.” He harkens to how his first album released under Reach Records, 2007’s Turn My Life Up was a combination of things he deeply desired to communicate up to that point and that with the album, he “finally had a platform to say them.” He Saw That It Was Good, released now fourteen years later, acts as a similar platform, one that is the ultimate culmination of his work as a famed recording artist, performer, culture curator, activist and writer.
If the book’s cover is an extension of this capstone theme, then perhaps the closed eyes and the ever-so-slight tilt of the head to the sky represents an artist who has come to a full acceptance of himself and his voice. This confidence comes forth in his writing too; his pen crackles with the wit, poetry and gravitas of an artist that can take profound truths and turn them into anthems engraved on the soul. Packed with personal anecdotes, memoir, poetry, short stories and lyrics, He Saw That It Was Good is just as much a “how to” book on crafting beauty as it is a piece of beautiful art itself.
As Baraka writes on cultivating a creative calling no matter where one may find themselves, he embodies the very spirit of creativity in the lessons he teaches, elevating his own history with mythological grandeur, creating spaces where the words of G.K. Chesterton and the Apostle Paul can feast together with the lyrics of Kendrick Lamar and Erykah Badu. Baraka desires that creative people come to a deep understanding of their own histories—by doing so, there can be a grounding effect that allows the individual to thrive in a metropolis and collective. Baraka reveals that there is a deep and holy connection between grappling with one’s own story and being able to effectively build bridges. “It is good for people to know their histories and the tribes they come from,” he states “...knowing who you are, not only makes you a more whole person and proud but you’re also less likely to forfeit who you are to exist in somebody else’s foreign land.”
He harkens back to the books of Ephesians and Acts to show how people from various backgrounds and cultures were able to bring the fullness of their culture into one space, where they were able to build something together. “Knowing ourselves teaches us our limitations… it teaches us who we are to the world, but it also gives us more confidence to be, to come together, and make up a healthier collective... Look at the book of Acts! For the people outside looking in, they’re saying ‘there’s no way these folks who have nothing in common can worship or pray together. What is this Ethiopian doing with this Jew?’ This makes no sense but, in the end, it all makes sense, and this union was able to happen because the Lord allowed them to see the value of one another.”
Once we begin to articulate and share our stories, Baraka writes that then the glorious act of creating can begin. On the other hand, he’s also deeply aware of the temptations that arise from this process, namely the desire to make idols of our own creative abilities.
“That’s the dance,” he chuckles, “It’s learning how to lead and follow at the same time. It is learning how to be confident and humble. It’s knowing that God didn’t make no mess when He made us and yet at the same time, we are a mess you know? The cautionary tale is that God is a creator who shows us how to create things to reflect Him and even His creation is trying to steal His glory.”
At the same time, the response to this cautionary tale is not to embrace a reflex of false humility; “You are great at what you do… own it!” Baraka says with a hint of exasperation, “While at the same time, recognize that it can make you a monster—but you always have to live with that in the back of your head, not in the front.”
As creatives engage in this dance of ambition and service, Baraka shared that in his own life, he knows that it can be tempting to create art purely from a utilitarian lens as well. “Artists can’t be consumed with patronage.
When people fund your work or when people incentivize you to create a certain thing, then that becomes your restriction and that becomes the lens for which you create, because you want to stay in a particular place.” He continued, “Then, instead of creating out of a true vision, you’re instead asking, ‘what must I create to get to that particular place?’ You’ve then lost your prophetic vision.”
Baraka fears and laments for the time when artists cease to be prophetic and become “practical or partisan.” “This is what makes prophets different from others who live in the palace,” he shares, going into full analogy, “As a prophet I’m not worried about the palace. I am going to speak truth to power. And guess what? You might get stoned! You might get run out! But in my creative journey, I got to a point where I said I’d rather be prophetic than practical or partisan.”
Being the type of artist who uses their voice to speak up for the marginalized and disenfranchised can be frightening and isolating. Often, when you’re critiquing what is going on in the palace, there’s the potential for gaslighting and the second-guessing of your vocation and mission. “To have power is the ability to be able to build homes,” Baraka shares, speaking to the numerous artists and creatives who feel like pressing into and creating from their histories has cost them their communities, “If you’re consistently on the margins and you’re consistently trying to figure out who you are in a palace, once you leave the palace, you got to figure out, well, where do I stay now? It might mean having to build tents and be nomads just for a little while as we readjust our compass... Telling honest stories takes courage. And we never know what the outcome of that creative bravery will be.”
I talked with him a little more about what it was like for him to keep pushing forward and create—especially when he’s unsure of how his work may be received. In a powerful moment of reflection, he shared, “...I look at God and how He created the world. Of course, He knew we would rebel. It makes it more beautiful to know that you’re going to create something and that something you create rebels against you. And you have to go to the extreme of great sacrifice for those people who are going to rebel against you… this is the ultimate act of love in creation.”
It can truly be terrifying to give and show to the world the work that comes from the deepest parts of ourselves. But heed Baraka’s advice: we’re in the company of a God who knew the outcome and still created. May we be so bold, pick up our crosses and creative hats, and go forth to create.
Zachary Lee
Writer & Campus Minister
Zachary has been published in Comment, Think Christian & Fare Forward
Purchase Sho Baraka’s new book He Saw That It Was Good
Photography by Andrew Thomas Clifton