By Tolu Olorunda
“Instead of broadcasting how we smokin’ trees, on the radio, we need to hear more local MC’s/ Where you at? Come on where you at? This is the difference between MC’ing and rap/ Rappers spit rhymes that are mostly illegal, MC’s spit rhymes to uplift they people/ Peace, love, unity, and havin’ fun—these are the lyrics of KRS One/”
- KRS-One, "Classic (Better Than I've Ever Been)," 2007
In
a recent exchange—packaged for Grammy Awards special—between CBS host,
Katie Couric and New Orleans-raised rapper, Lil’ Wayne, something
unprecedented, and truly disappointing, happened. Asked by Couric what
questions, about the handling of Hurricane Katrina, he would like to
ask the out-gone President Bush—if he could—he responded
that as “a gangster,” he can’t, because “gangsters don’t ask
questions.” Surely, this was meant comically, but on a deeper note,
perhaps the rapper who lost family and friends to the 2005 storm, and
the criminal ineptitude which followed it, should have exuded more
political courage than that. The bloods of the more than 2,000 killed,
and exterminated, would insist on a less-stereotypical response than
that Wayne afforded.
With Dr. Condoleezza Rice’s recent
“I was appalled” tour, anyone sincerely concerned about the plight of
those displaced and bankrolled should be reinvigorated in their fight
for a right of return
for Katrina’s ejected low-income victims. Rice, who claimed to be
“angry” at the “implication that some people made that President Bush
allowed this to happen because these people were black,” refused to
entertain the charges lobbed at her “friend,” because nobody “at any
level of government” was “prepared for something of Katrina’s size and
scope..” Dr. Rice also noted that Katrina was devastation on many
levels, because of its exposure of “an America that we sometimes don’t
see—people who are trapped in poverty.” Rice is, of course, in a moral
position to defend the federal government’s response, as one who was
shelling a few thousand bucks on the latest footwear at Ferragamo
(an Italian fashion store in New York), while her people were drowning
in the oceans of neglect and apathy. Lil Wayne, a multi-platinum
artist, could have easily grabbed the opportunity by its horns and
lambasted the former Secretary of State for willfully evading unearthed truths
about the National Hurricane Center’s warnings, to the federal
government, before Katrina’s landfall. Unfortunately, this expectancy
might be far-fetched, given the circumstances on the ground.
.
In
the Hip-Hop industry, the old saying that “Money talks B.S. walks” is
validated in perpetuity. Lil Wayne has been, for the last one year, the
top grossing rapper, and the commercial constraints of such prestigious
post are an impediment to any political expressions that fall outside
of the mainstream (white) discourse. Artists like Lil Wayne have very
little liberty to decide what is conducive to the marketed images
packaged by industry executives and A&R directors. At the signing
of their contracts, they lose all claims to the decision-making
process, and have no say over what complements their corporate
sponsorship and what doesn’t. Rappers are brands, and thus, marketed
with a specific intention—to make money, at all costs. When they
venture outside of the commercial realm, to make political statements
that might offend white listeners—commercial Hip-Hop’s major
patrons—such artists are reprimanded (Young Buck), and sometimes, punished (The Clipse). With studies
suggesting a 64% difference in the views of Blacks and Whites,
vis-à-vis the racial politics of Katrina, it’s quite easy to see why
the successful rapper would rather be muted, at the height of his
popularity, than speak up for the voiceless and defenseless.
Very
few listeners are aware that most commercial artists are not as free or
independent as they are depicted in music videos, or portrayed on wax.
The intentionality of big-money industries’ fixation on the Hip-Hop
world cannot be mistaken. They have found worthy accomplices, in
commercial artists, to carry out their nefarious agenda. The surge of beer and liquor companies
into the Hip-Hop community is an example of the completion of a
long-sought agenda to paralyze the political cord of Hip-Hop music.
With Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five’s The Message,
released in 1982, a significant portion of society got introduced to
the righteous rage of Black and Brown youth—who had been rendered
invincible by a dominant society. The revelation of a reality which
consisted of human beings “livin’ in a bag,” and “eating out of garbage piles,”
was a shock to many who considered themselves well-learned and educated
about the world they existed in. They couldn’t comprehend a community
whose heroes—for lack of employment opportunities—had become “smugglers, scrambles, burglars, gamblers Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers.”
Sadly enough, the ‘90s would usher in an era of “Gangster rappers”—a
terminology devised by those uneducated about the Black and Brown youth
experience—with which came a great decline of political impulse in
Hip-Hop music.
The explosion of Ni**az Wit Attitude
(NWA), and a few other groups, classified as “gangster” in their
interpretation of the socio-political climates, helped arrest the
development of social-consciousness in the Hip-Hop community. Though
conscionable voices like Public Enemy, Queen Latifah, Brand Nubian, Gang Starr, Lauryn Hill, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, MC Lyte, Poor Righteous Teachers, Lakim Shabazz, and Tupac
prevailed, the age of conscientious Hip-Hop music seemed to be nearing
its death rattles. Ever since, the new millennium has been anything but
encouraging for listeners with an appetite for multi-dimensional,
creative, enriching, and thought-provoking content. Safe for a few
dedicated craftsmen and craftswomen, the bling-bling generation is, thanks to
commercial Hip-Hop, likeable to a lost cause. Bombarded with an
overload of misogyny, materialism, opulence, egoism, and indifference,
the upcoming generation has been reduced, by avaricious corporations,
to money-bearing ATM machines. Their usefulness now lies solely in the
ability to buy, buy, and buy, from the companies their favorite artists
promote. This is why Lil Wayne, who recently signed a deal with liquor specialists, Straight Up Brands,
cannot be expected to think, speak, or act outside the commercial box.
Whether mainstream Hip-Hop acts are willing to muster their innate
political courage, however, the examples of several Hip-Hop artists
provides ample hope to disgruntled listeners and critics of the culture.
In
2005, when Kanye West, alongside other entertainers, was invited by NBC
to read a teleprompter and contribute to the benefit, little was known
that the Chicagoan artist wasn’t too thrilled with the federal
government’s response to, or the media’s coverage of, Hurricane
Katrina. The live telethon would deviate from schedule about two-thirds through the program, when West began by castigating corporate press for “the way they portray us in the media.” West, who didn’t have to be prompted by Katie Couric, brought up the glaring disparities in the racially-tinged depictions of Katrina’s survivors, by mainstream media: “You see a black family, it says, ‘They’re looting.’ You see a white family, it says, ‘They're looking for food’.” He would then remark that the government is “set up to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off as slow as possible.”
Separating the lie from the truth, West would take it a step further,
in his analysis that the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars played a part in
siphoning resources from emergency-relief organizations like the
level-5 storm that ripped asunder New Orleans: “We already realize a lot of people that could help are at war right now, fighting another way -- and they've given them permission to go down and shoot us!” NBC later apologized for his
statements, exonerating the station because “Kanye West departed from the scripted comments that were prepared for him.”
It should be noted that Kanye West’s endless legal, musical and
political problems began shortly after that historic appearance.
Another artist of impeccable courage is the Detroit-based Invincible.. A gifted lyricist, she has never wavered from expressing politically-charged sentiments in her songs. Being Israel-born, Invincible
feels a certain level of entitlement to speak out about the plight of
the Palestinian peoples. In a recent song, she addressed the
Israeli-waged assault against Gaza, which has claimed more than 1,500
lives, to-date. In The Emperor’s Clothes, Invincible, who is also an activist, argues that “Israel–
you should be ashamed/ Kill and maim 1,000's of civilians in our name/
Claim you hitting terrorists but children in your aim/ Even murder
relief workers blood spilling from they brain.” Drawing a parallel between the execution of Oscar Grant, and the Israeli onslaught against innocent Palestinians, Invincible takes no prisoners: Shot
‘em in the back like the cops to Oscar Grant/ And in each case the good
ol’ united states sponsored that/ 7 million a day that we pay tax and
AIPAC's lobbyists is robbin’ us/ Sometimes it feels like they're ain't
no stopping this/ BUT now nobody can deny it cuz you made it too
obvious/ Naked truth exposed like the emperor's clothes.” She doesn’t end without offering concrete steps that send a clear message of solidarity with the oppressed: “Boycott, Divest, and Sanction/ Til there's right of return for displaced and
reparations.”
Contrary to popular belief, Invincible
is hardly alone in engaging Hip-Hop’s listening audience in vigorous
discussions on the implications of War and imperialism. The
British-born actress, producer and vocalist, M.I.A. (infamous for Paper Planes), is an also towering political force in the record industry. Speaking recently with Hip-Hop journalist Touré, M.I.A. addressed the ongoing conflict
in Sri Lanka. Calling it a case of “systematic genocide, [and] ethnic
cleansing,” M.I.A., wants her fans to know that she is more than a
Hollywood celebrity with no emotional connection with the causes they
raise. She implicates U2 front-man, Bono, in her assertions:
“I want my fans to know I’m not tryin’ to be like Bono—someone Irish
talking about what’s going on in Africa. I actually come from there and
the fact is that this is happening now. The war has been going on for a
long time, but it stepped into the genocide bracket recently with the
new President [Mahinda Rajapaksa].” The Oscar and Grammy-nominated star believes that her accomplishments are worthless “if I don’t actually get to speak about this.”
Her contention that the repressed condition Tamilian people—the
ethnic-minority population—are forced to exist in is comparable to
“Nazi Germany,” is substantiated by her sobering description: “Tamil people are banned from the press,” she says,
“and there’s no international media allowed into the country. They get
shot. The government’s banned any independent observers, media, aid,
humanitarian agencies, NGOs—nobody’s allowed in to see what’s going on.” She goes further: “Tamil people were banned from doing the Census report,” which, according to M.I.A.., “means that you could wipe them out and no one would know. You can’t account for how many there are.”
The
courageous words and actions of Kanye West, Invincible and M.I.A., are
refreshing for many Hip-Hop listeners and critics. An unbreakable bond
of mutual support for activism-oriented artists can help in restoring
the political audacity of Hip-Hop, which reigned supreme in the ‘80s.
As a response to Reaganomics, Hip-Hop artists utilized their God-given
voices as megaphones for justice, in informing the world about the
undocumented realities they were (as people of culture/color)
entrenched in. It is the belief of this author that a resurgence of
such spirit would do Hip-Hop good in the years, decades, and hopefully,
centuries, to come.
Tolu Olorunda is a Columnist for BlackCommentator.com.