Daron Richardson draws inspiration from his African ancestors and works to pass along their wisdom.
Writer: Anthony Taylor
Photo: Duane Tinkey
On a bright spring day in March 2024, Daron Richardson sat down in a downtown recording studio to record an episode of his podcast, “Brothers Gon’ Work it Out.” As the timer began to tick upward, he glanced at his notes for the episode, called “We Lie to Ourselves,” and started it with a sly challenge:
“The podcast is not what you think it’s about,” he said. “I know that’s mystical and mysterious, but it’s true. … I do not believe in my heart of hearts that this is about what you think it’s about.”
Centuries before we invented the printing press, we had oral traditions, passing our collective knowledge and experience from one generation to the next. These days, it can feel like there’s no place in our modern lives for oral traditions but storytellers will always have a place in society, to help cover the blind spots of our own creation.
For centuries, America has so frequently muffled or ignored Black voices that now even some major Black accomplishments are relatively unknown. Some folks who tout the importance of “doing your own research” wouldn’t know Ida B. Wells from a bag of Ore-Ida tater tots.
And that’s where Richardson comes in. “I came from a privileged place in terms of knowledge of self, learning African history and taking an active role in that education pretty early on,” he said during a wide-ranging chat at Mars Café.
Long before his “Brothers” podcast was even a spark of an idea, Richardson was immersed in the history and lore of the African diaspora. The Des Moines native considers himself blessed to have grown up surrounded by family, friends and mentors who passed on the knowledge and perspectives he needed to take pride in his heritage and ancestors.
“We’d be here all day just listing the people who helped make me who I am today,” he said. “The way I think about theological questions and how they influence other sociological questions that in turn influence cosmological questions — it’s all intertwined with where I came from and who raised me.”
Even as a teen, Richardson felt compelled to do more than just soak up the wisdom of his elders. He’s also a born teacher. Tall, trim and athletic, with a big beard and steady baritone voice, he carries himself with an air of calm confidence, without a hint of pretense or superiority. He’s easy to like and the words flow from him freely; he’s willing and eager to converse with anyone who wants to honestly engage.
Like all oral traditions, “Brothers Gon’ Work it Out” has evolved over time. Early episodes were just Richardson on his own, pouring unscripted monologues out of his body and into the microphone. As the show progressed, guests have joined in, and two of the liveliest episodes feature sprawling conversations with his longtime partner, Rae Fehring.
Over the years since they met, Richardson and Fehring not only blended their families and daily lives but also challenged each other, learned from each other and supported each other. The two have built an abiding love, grounded on a set of shared values and a bedrock of trust.
“Rae and I made a commitment when we first got together to love one another intentionally,” Richardson said. “We committed to love each other because of our Blackness, because of our experiences.”
That intention shines through in their episodes together, as does Richardson’s influence on the people he interacts with. He has a wealth of knowledge and artistry to share, as well as a boundless curiosity. He can easily pivot from sharing an idea to being actively, intensely interested in hearing someone else’s perspective.
“We’re all people moving through different spaces and vantage points,” he said. “People sharing those points of view with you, that’s also helpful. To get those little nuggets of wisdom and perspective, I think it helps give you the fullness of humanity.”
And that, ultimately, is what the podcast is really about. By sharing his perspectives on topics that resonated with him as a young man — and continue to resonate with him now — Richardson is reaching out to a generation and an entire diaspora that can often feel othered and abandoned.
In a society where so many young Black men are left to their own devices and expected to figure out for themselves what maturity and masculinity and love look like, he wants them to know — wants his and Fehring’s sons to know — that they’re not adrift or alone. If they look around, they’ll find a community right here, ready to help them grow.
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