The Bridge
Harriet Tubman led military raids during the Civil War as well as her better-known slave rescues
Harriet Tubman, renowned for her vital role in the Underground Railroad, also served as a Civil War spy and leader, fighting for freedom and equality despite enduring systemic racism and discrimination.
Kate Clifford Larson, Brandeis University
Harriet Tubman was barely 5 feet tall and didn’t have a dime to her name.
What she did have was a deep faith and powerful passion for justice that was fueled by a network of Black and white abolitionists determined to end slavery in America.
“I had reasoned this out in my mind,” Tubman once told an interviewer. “There was one of two things I had a right to, liberty, or death. If I could not have one, I would have the other; for no man should take me alive.”
Though Tubman is most famous for her successes along the Underground Railroad, her activities as a Civil War spy are less well known.
As a biographer of Tubman, I think this is a shame. Her devotion to America and its promise of freedom endured despite suffering decades of enslavement and second class citizenship.
It is only in modern times that her life is receiving the renown it deserves, most notably her likeness appearing on a US$20 bill in 2030. The Harriet Tubman $20 bill will replace the current one featuring a portrait of U.S. President Andrew Jackson.
In another recognition, Tubman was accepted in June 2021 to the United States Army Military Intelligence Corps Hall of Fame at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. She is one of 278 members, 17 of whom are women, honored for their special operations leadership and intelligence work.
Though traditional accolades escaped Tubman for most of her life, she did achieve an honor usually reserved for white officers on the Civil War battlefield.
After she led a successful raid of a Confederate outpost in South Carolina that saw 750 Black people rescued from slavery, a white commanding officer fetched a pitcher of water for Tubman as she remained seated at a table.
A different education
Believed to have been born in March 1822 in Dorchester County, Maryland, Tubman was named Araminta by her enslaved parents, Rit and Ben Ross.
“Minty” was the fifth of nine Ross children. She was frequently separated from her family by her white enslaver, Edward Brodess, who started leasing her to white neighbors when she was just 6 years old.
At their hands, she endured physical abuse, harsh labor, poor nutrition and intense loneliness.
As I learned during my research into Tubman’s life, her education did not happen in a traditional classroom, but instead was crafted from the dirt. She learned to read the natural world – forests and fields, rivers and marshes, the clouds and stars.
She learned to walk silently across fields and through the woods at night with no lights to guide her. She foraged for food and learned a botanist’s and chemist’s knowledge of edible and poisonous plants – and those most useful for ingredients in medical treatments.
She could not swim, and that forced her to learn the ways of rivers and streams – their depths, currents and traps.
She studied people, learned their habits, watched their movements – all without being noticed. Most important, she also figured out how to distinguish character. Her survival depended on her ability to remember every detail.
After a brain injury left her with recurring seizures, she was still able to work at jobs often reserved for men. She toiled on the shipping docks and learned the secret communication and transportation networks of Black mariners.
Known as Black Jacks, these men traveled throughout the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic seaboard. With them, she studied the night sky and the placement and movement of the constellations.
She used all those skills to navigate on the water and land.
“… and I prayed to God,” she told one friend, “to make me strong and able to fight, and that’s what I’ve always prayed for ever since.”
Tubman was clear on her mission. “I should fight for my liberty,” she told an admirer, “as long as my strength lasted.”
The Moses of the Underground Railroad
In the fall of 1849, when she was about to be sold away from her family and free husband John Tubman, she fled Maryland to freedom in Philadelphia.
Between 1850 and 1860, she returned to the Eastern Shore of Maryland about 13 times and successfully rescued nearly 70 friends and family members, all of whom were enslaved. It was an extraordinary feat given the perils of the 1850 Slave Fugitive Act, which enabled anyone to capture and return any Black man or woman, regardless of legal status, to slavery.
Those leadership qualities and survival skills earned her the nickname “Moses” because of her work on the Underground Railroad, the interracial network of abolitionists who enabled Black people to escape from slavery in the South to freedom in the North and Canada.
As a result, she attracted influential abolitionists and politicians who were struck by her courage and resolve – men like William Lloyd Garrison, John Brown and Frederick Douglass. Susan B. Anthony, one of the world’s leading activists for women’s equal rights, also knew of Tubman, as did abolitionist Lucretia Mott and women’s rights activist Amy Post.
“I was the conductor of the Underground Railroad for eight years,” Tubman once said. “and I can say what most conductors can’t say; I never ran my train off the track and I never lost a passenger.”
Battlefield soldier
When the Civil War started in the spring of 1861, Tubman put aside her fight against slavery to conduct combat as a soldier and spy for the United States Army. She offered her services to a powerful politician.
Known for his campaign to form the all-Black 54th and 55th regiments, Massachusetts Gov. John Andrew admired Tubman and thought she would be a great intelligence asset for the Union forces.
He arranged for her to go to Beaufort, South Carolina, to work with Army officers in charge of the recently captured Hilton Head District.
There, she provided nursing care to soldiers and hundreds of newly liberated people who crowded Union camps. Tubman’s skill curing soldiers stricken by a variety of diseases became legendary.
But it was her military service of spying and scouting behind Confederate lines that earned her the highest praise.
She recruited eight men and together they skillfully infiltrated enemy territory. Tubman made contact with local enslaved people who secretly shared their knowledge of Confederate movements and plans.
Wary of white Union soldiers, many local African Americans trusted and respected Tubman.
According to George Garrison, a second lieutenant with the 55th Massachusetts Regiment, Tubman secured “more intelligence from them than anybody else.”
In early June 1863, she became the first woman in U.S. history to command an armed military raid when she guided Col. James Montgomery and his 2nd South Carolina Colored Volunteers Regiment along the Combahee River.
While there, they routed Confederate outposts, destroyed stores of cotton, food and weapons – and liberated over 750 enslaved people.
The Union victory was widely celebrated. Newspapers from Boston to Wisconsin reported on the river assault by Montgomery and his Black regiment, noting Tubman’s important role as the “Black she Moses … who led the raid, and under whose inspiration it was originated and conducted.”
Ten days after the successful attack, radical abolitionist and soldier Francis Jackson Merriam witnessed Maj. Gen. David Hunter, commander of the Hilton Head district, “go and fetch a pitcher of water and stand waiting with it in his hand while a black woman drank, as if he had been one of his own servants.”
In that letter to Gov. Andrew, Merriam added, “that woman was Harriet Tubman.”
Lifelong struggle
Despite earning commendations as a valuable scout and soldier, Tubman still faced the racism and sexism of America after the Civil War.
When she sought payment for her service as a spy, the U.S. Congress denied her claim. It paid the eight Black male scouts, but not her.
Unlike the Union officers who knew her, the congressmen did not believe – they could not imagine – that she had served her country like the men under her command, because she was a woman.
Gen. Rufus Saxton wrote that he bore “witness to the value of her services… She was employed in the Hospitals and as a spy [and] made many a raid inside the enemy’s lines displaying remarkable courage, zeal and fidelity.”
Thirty years later, in 1899, Congress awarded her a pension for her service as a Civil War nurse, but not as a soldier spy.
When she died from pneumonia on March 10, 1913, she was believed to have been 91 years old and had been fighting for gender equality and the right to vote as a free Black woman for more than 50 years after her work during the Civil War.
Surrounded by friends and family, the deeply religious Tubman showed one last sign of leadership, telling them: “I go to prepare a place for you.”
Kate Clifford Larson, Professor of History, Brandeis University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
STM Blog
Dolly Parton was more than a musical idol – for some fans, she was a spiritual icon
Dolly Parton’s faith, philanthropy and message of love and acceptance made her more than a country music legend—many admirers viewed her as a spiritual icon.
Sarah Dees, Iowa State University
As soon as news broke about the death of beloved songwriter Dolly Parton, I began receiving condolence messages from across the country, and around the world.
They came from friends, family and colleagues who knew I’d been working on a biography of the country legend – everyone from a conservative Catholic monk to advocates for queer and trans rights. The list reflects the even more diverse array of fans, people from countless backgrounds, who are mourning her loss.
The main focus of my project is Parton’s own spirituality, starting with her Appalachian upbringing. But it also examines her fandoms, including some people who elevate the singer to an almost sacred status. This was the case before her death – and even more so now.
As a scholar of American religions, I teach my students about practices, texts and beliefs that many of them immediately consider “religious” – for example, a worship service led by a pastor. However, religion is also found far beyond these official times and spaces, including in popular culture. According to scholar America Wolff, fandoms resemble religious groups in the way they focus on a single popular figure who inspires systems of belief, ritual and law.
Singer’s journey
Looking at Parton’s life reveals how a celebrity can incorporate religion into their public persona, without ostracizing admirers from other traditions. She discussed religion in interviews throughout her career, as well as in her 1994 memoir, where she recounted her maternal grandfather, a fundamentalist pastor, preaching hellfire and brimstone.
In 1971, for example, she told journalist Gene Guerrero how religion inspired some of her songs: “My mama used to read us all the Bible stories. I know the Bible pretty well, and I especially loved the stories.” That same year, she released “The Golden Streets of Glory,” the first of her several gospel albums.
Six years later, talking with Rolling Stone interviewer Chet Flippo, Parton claimed that she wasn’t a Christian. But “I do believe, I know there is a God and He is still the best friend I got in the world,” she explained. “I talk to Him often, but I’m one of the world’s sinners.”
Later in her life, though, Parton embraced the label “Christian” – albeit in a way that was very much her own. In the memoir “My Life and Other Unfinished Business,” she explained that “Christianity and its symbols are powerful parts of my life.” However, she diverged from socially conservative elements of her grandfather’s faith by embracing makeup and flashy fashion, celebrating her own sexuality, and speaking up for LGBTQ+ rights.
She was never interested in proselytizing. People do not have to embrace Christianity “to be a decent and worthwhile human being,” she wrote. “Spirituality is the most intimate part of a person’s makeup, and it’s strictly up to the individual to choose how to express it.”
‘Gospel of Dolly’
This openness explains part of Parton’s widespread appeal. The popular podcast “Dolly Parton’s America,” produced by journalists Jad Abumrad and Shima Oliaee, was based on the premise that Parton is one of the few public figures to have fans across the political spectrum.
After her death, President Donald Trump posted a tribute on his social media site, TruthSocial, and ordered that flags be flown at half-staff for a week. At the same time, in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco – a haven for the queer community – a Pride flag was also flying at half-staff in her honor.
Mourners include Jesuit priest and author James J. Martin, who thanked Parton for “teaching me about the Christian life,” and numerous Christian musicians who looked up to her. “She was the epitome of faith, grace, talent, beauty and humour,” country artist Carrie Underwood wrote. “She had a humble heart for Jesus and made everyone around her feel special.”
But even non-Christians discussed Parton in sacred terms: a “secular American saint,” as Vox writer Constance Grady designated her in 2021.
Beyond her music, these fans admired her philanthropy, from the Imagination Library program that distributes books to children around the world to her US$1 million donation that helped fund COVID-19 vaccine research. They also highlighted her support for the Black Lives Matter movement and LGBTQ+ rights. “Dolly Parton is beloved because she has devoted her career to standing for love,” Grady wrote.
Even before her death, though, some people idolized her in a saint-like way. In 2011, for example, photographer Alice Hawkins produced a project titled “Dolly Parton is my religon.” Rev. Lindy Vogado, a Presbyterian pastor,likened her to a prophet. “Dolly Parton, through her life and work, inspires us to be better versions of ourselves,” Vogado wrote in 2025. “Just like any good prophet would do.”
In recent years, churches in Illinois, Oklahoma and New York have held services based on “the gospel of Dolly.” I attended the service in New York, which interspersed Parton’s songs with readings from scripture and homilies. Like the other services, the one I attended emphasized Parton’s “teachings”: love, care and acceptance.
Angels and atheists
Since her death, the religious language has only intensified. Musician Roseanne Cash referred to the singer as a “goddess” on Instagram, and cartoonist Marshall Ramsey portrayed her as an angel. “Listen, I’m fairly well atheist and have been for decades,” Threads user @cartergoesplaces proclaimed, “but Dolly Parton is in heaven with Jesus now. That’s simply a fact, and I’ll hear no arguments, no matter how vast the cosmos…”
Parton had her own personal brand of Christian religiosity, but she encouraged others to find and follow their own paths. I believe this helps to explain the huge outpouring of admiration – from followers of many religious traditions, followers of none, and followers of Dolly herself.
Sarah Dees, Associate Professor of American Religions, Iowa State University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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The United States’ human rights practices are taking a nosedive
New human rights data shows the United States’ civil and political rights record deteriorated sharply in 2025, with major declines involving detention, free expression, religious freedom and political participation.
K. Chad Clay, University of Georgia
In the lead-up to the 2026 midterm elections, how is the U.S. government performing in terms of human rights? Listening to politicians, it can be difficult to know.
On one hand, some have pointed to a number of potential human rights abuses committed by the U.S. government inside and outside its borders in the past two years.
On the other hand, while marking the United States’ 250th anniversary this year, President Donald Trump called the country “the home of freedom,” “the land of liberty” and “the most extraordinary, most exceptional, most incredible nation ever to exist on the face of the earth.”
“We’re doing better now than we’ve ever done before,” he said.
So which is it?
According to many of the human rights data sources available, the U.S. lags behind most other high-income democracies – countries that are both members of the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development and classified as high income by the World Bank. The U.S.’s poor performance spans civil and political rights, such as the right to be free from torture and the right to political participation, as well as economic and social rights, including the rights to health and food.
In fact, the U.S. has been a relatively poor performer across many of these rights for quite some time, regardless of the political party in power.
Even accounting for the U.S.’s prior poor practices, however, new data from the Human Rights Measurement Initiative shows that in 2025 the country’s civil and political rights performance deteriorated even further.
As a human rights scholar who has been measuring human rights practices for 20 years – and as one of HRMI’s co-founders – I believe this data raises serious questions about the United States’ commitment to human rights.
How are rights practices measured?
Governments rarely publish accurate information on their own human rights abuses, so the task of measuring them typically falls to advocates and scholars.
Historically, most international measures of civil and political rights have depended on public reports from the U.S. State Department, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch or news organizations.
However, these reports cannot cover every human rights violation that experts know about, especially in countries with low government transparency or high levels of repression.
Thus, data produced using those sources will show fewer abuses than those that have actually occurred and will be more accurate about some places than others. Further, the Trump administration has changed one of the most important sources of human rights information, the U.S. State Department’s Country Reports on Human Rights Practices, to contain more bias in favor of the administration’s foreign allies and less information on human rights abuse overall.
Since 2017, HRMI has used a different approach. Recognizing the problems with public reports, we collect information directly from researchers for human rights organizations, human rights lawyers and others, asking them about governments’ practices across several rights and using a statistical model to assess their information and ensure that the resulting metrics are comparable across countries. The result is a robust dataset that includes information previously missing from public reports.
Today, HRMI’s civil and political rights dataset covers 62 countries, with more added every year.
How does the US compare?
According to the Human Rights Scores dataset, which uses publicly available information to score more than 190 countries on physical integrity rights – such as the rights to be free from torture, killing, forced disappearance and political imprisonment – the U.S. never ranked higher than 81st from 2001 to 2021 or higher than 109th from 2010 to 2021.
Indeed, from 2003 to 2021, the United States’ score was either the worst or the second-worst every year among high-income OECD member states, which include the United Kingdom, Japan and New Zealand.
The Human Rights Scores dataset has not been updated past 2021, but HRMI’s data collected since that time suggests that the pattern has continued.
Among the six high-income OECD countries on which HRMI currently collects data, the U.S. has been the worst performer for physical integrity rights since 2017.
It has also frequently been rated as the worst performer on “empowerment rights,” or the rights to assembly, association, opinion, expression, political participation, religion and belief.
What changed in 2025?
Even starting from this poor position, the U.S.’s civil and political rights practices dramatically worsened in 2025. HRMI measures nine civil and political rights, and the U.S. significantly worsened on eight of them.
These were not small changes. Measured against every significant change HRMI has recorded since 2017, the U.S. showed the largest decline ever observed for the right to be free from forced disappearance and for the right to freedom of religion and belief.
The U.S. showed the second-largest decline ever observed for the right to be free from arbitrary or political arrest and for the right to opinion and expression.
The U.S. also showed major declines in the rights to be free from torture and extrajudicial killing, and the right to political participation – that is, the right to participate in one’s government via free and fair elections, to take part in public affairs and to have access to public service. U.S. scores likewise fell in the right to assembly and association, which are, respectively, the rights to peacefully gather in public or private and to form or join groups and organizations.
What caused the scores to fall?
Human rights experts raised several issues that led to these declines. For instance, the U.S.’s worsened scores for the rights to be free from arbitrary detention, disappearance and torture were tied to the expanded use of practices such as incommunicado detention and warrantless arrest by ICE and other immigration-related agencies.
While several killings occurred during ICE operations in 2025, the worsened extrajudicial killing score was also tied to the country’s use of airstrikes against boats in the Pacific and Caribbean, which caused the deaths of at least 123 people in 2025 alone.
Other changes enacted in 2025 contributed to large declines in the U.S.’s rights scores, including crackdowns on anti-ICE demonstrations and government pressure on universities, including limits on free speech and class subjects.
Last year also saw threats to television networks over political expression, restrictions on mail-in voting, state measures targeting American Islamic organizations by labeling them “foreign terrorist organizations” and an executive order focused on eradicating “anti-Christian bias.”
While current HRMI data does not yet cover 2026, early indicators are not promising, with continued abuses by ICE, further killings in international waters and allegations of attempts to use government powers to punish critics.
K. Chad Clay, Director, Center for the Study of Global Issues (GLOBIS); Associate Professor of International Affairs, University of Georgia
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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health and wellness
Lactose intolerance is actually the human norm – but racism, the US government and business interests have made it into a condition
Lactose intolerance is the global human norm, but Western dietary standards, government policies and commercial interests helped frame it as a medical deficiency.
Hilary Smith, University of Denver
Lactose intolerance makes drinking milk or eating ice cream a literal pain. For some people, eating a dairy treat can lead to bloating, nausea and diarrhea. You might’ve experienced its effects yourself. If so, you may think of lactose intolerance as a defect rather than the norm.
But did you know that most people in the world today are lactose intolerant – and that the condition itself was invented in the 1960s?
“Surely you mean discovered, not invented,” I hear you saying. I don’t. As a historian who has traced the origins of nutrition-science ideas, I have chosen the word “invented” on purpose.
Inventing lactose intolerance
Variations in people’s ability to digest lactose first came to scientists’ attention after American dairy producers found a way to rid themselves of a postwar milk surplus. To offload what they couldn’t sell, they looked to the government to intervene. And it did, buying the excess and embedding it in school lunches and other places with publicly funded meals.
Suddenly, many people who had not habitually drunk milk were consuming it regularly, including not only some Americans but also people overseas. Part of that same milk surplus found its way into school lunches in places such as Japan and Taiwan in the 1950s as the American government began to sell milk to allies during the Cold War.
Many of the groups drinking milk regularly for the first time did not like it. In fact, it made them feel sick. Intrigued, scientists set up experiments to figure out why. In a 1966 study comparing how Black and white people incarcerated in Baltimore metabolized lactose, researchers found that Black participants had lower levels of lactase – the enzyme that breaks down lactose – in their guts.
To the white scientists conducting this study, the trouble that the Black prisoners had digesting milk looked like an “inborn error of metabolism.” They assumed that the normal human state was lactose tolerance and that the lactose intolerant had inherited a genetic mutation.
It was only after years more work with research participants of many races that experts realized that, as one National Institutes of Health official put it in 1981, “lactose intolerance is a normal physiological condition, shared by every adult animal except for certain ethnic and racial groups in man.” People of northern European descent, it turned out, were the weird ones. It was their ancestors who had passed down a genetic mutation – one that made them able to digest milk after infancy.
In short, what scientists discovered in the 1960s was that different bodies process milk differently. What they invented was the idea that lactose intolerance is a defect. Accepting that framing would mean nearly two-thirds of the human population – the estimated prevalence of lactose intolerance worldwide – is defective.
Instead of acknowledging that dairy-free diets can be healthy, people innovated ways to overcome this supposed disability so everyone could consume more.
Nutritional imperialism
Lactose intolerance is one example of what I call nutritional imperialism: a way of thinking that treats white diets as the norm and everyone else’s as an aberration.
Nutritional imperialism was common in the 20th century, when scientists thought that not only milk-rich but also meat-heavy diets were best; they considered diets outside of the United States and Europe too vegetarian. Some also argued that wheat flour, not rice, ought to be the universal staple.
The same bias applied to bodies. Besides faulty lactose digestion, nonwhite bodies were accused of other failures, too, such as aldehyde dehydrogenase deficiency, an inability to digest alcohol quickly. The less technical term for this may be more familiar: Asian flush.
Such differences might have been thought of as variety, just another way of being human. Instead, each became a deficiency.
Many people today have inherited and perpetuated this way of thinking without knowing it, including those who are deemed deficient by it. In 1959, the director of Japan’s nutrition bureau declared that “rice-eating peoples” such as the Japanese were “resigned and passive” and could correct this by imitating Western diets and switching to wheat.
Today, the most prominent scientist promoting the idea that Asian flush is a disease is a geneticist of Taiwanese descent who started a research consortium to study “the most common human enzymopathy in the world.”
The Chinese Nutrition Society placed a tall glass of milk next to its 2022 Food Guide Plate – never mind estimates that the vast majority of Han Chinese, the largest ethnic group in China and worldwide, are lactose intolerant.
Turning sickness back into difference
Science that pathologizes difference helps racism persist.
In recent years, white supremacists have embraced the concept of lactose intolerance as a distinguishing debility of nonwhite people. Social media users have copied and pasted a map of the geographic distribution of lactose tolerance originally published in the scientific journal Nature into racist chat threads on the online discussion forum 4chan.
In 2017, internet trolls disrupted an anti-racist art installation with neo-Nazi chants and messily downed jugs of milk to accentuate their white identity.
Turning a lactose-digestion difference into a deficiency has done more to reinforce narratives of racial hierarchy than to improve public health. So here’s a suggestion: If you enjoy eating dairy, keep doing it; if you don’t, don’t – and know that there is nothing wrong with you.
Hilary Smith, Professor of History, University of Denver
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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