we are the revolution: an open letter to members of the hip hop generation

i'll be the first to admit it fam. 

i have been critical of the hip hop generation. i've described us as being superficial, apathetic, lacking in substance, disdainful towards women, and celebrity-obsessed.  the popularity of things like World Star Hip Hop--a site which has gained notoriety, primarily because of the violent fights and sexually explicit material posted to the site, and reality t.v. shows such as VH1's Basketball Wives (obviously geared towards hip hop generation members)--only added credence to my beliefs.  so despite my [relatively] tender years, i have often found myself disappointed in our generation, and the legacy we will leave behind. 

don't get me wrong.  there have been countless pioneering efforts and movements, spearheaded by hip hop generationers--in the early days of hip hop, particularly. we watched artists (and entreprenuers/future moguls) from urban "ghettos" form and express a voice which had been previously unconveyed.  early hip hop artists told a collective story of the hood:  the young men trying to support their children with little education and fewer professional opportunities; the single mothers trying to survive; the innodation of gangs, crack and other drugs into our communities--from the perspective of dealer, user, child of user, supplier, and bystander;  the tragic beauty of hood life.   it wasn't about agreeing with the specific message being conveyed in the songs.  it was about the truth of it.  artists like RUN DMC, Boogie Down Productions, MC Lyte, Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick, Queen Latifah, Black Thought, Tupac, Wu Tang Clan, Biggie, Nas, Jay Z, and Diddy created, dominated, then eventually, changed the game...indeed, by the late 90's/early 2000's, hip hop became about more than just music. it became about culture--and, ultimately, branding.

with these changes, however, it seemed that the hip hop "movement" suffered.  suddenly, the majority of hip hop songs being played on the radio told stories of model chics, bottle popping and expensive clothing.  shit that 95 percent of the population couldn't really identify with.  things people could only envy and emulate (which many did).  as time progressed, what was being said in songs began to matter less and less.  a dope beat and a catchy hook became enough to put a hip hop song on the top ten charts for months.  half of the time, what some of these artists were saying didn't even make sense.  and when it did make sense, the lyrics were sometimes just plain embarassing.  i began to long for the days of Wu Tang videos, where group members drank two dollar forties with the same vigor & enthusiasm that artists were now pouring [their personally branded] liquors down scantily clad video chics bodies.  and i found myself listening to independent artists more than anyone else.

unsurprisingly, i was not alone in this sentiment.  In January 2005, a scathing article written by Greg Tate, entitled, “Hip-hop Turns 30: Whatcha Celebratin’ For?” appeared in the Village Voice.  In the piece, Tate identifies these, and several other issues witih hip hop culture.  specifically, he was critical of the commercialization of hip hop and the dilution of the art form as a result of "hip hop" and the "hip hop industry" becoming one and the same. 

Tate wrote, "If we woke up tomorrow and there was no hiphop on the radio or on television, if there was no money in hiphop, we could see what kind of culture it was, because my bet is that hiphop as we know it would cease to exist, except as nostalgia. It might resurrect itself as a people's protest music if we were lucky, might actually once again reflect a disenchantment with, rather than a reinforcement of, the have and have-not status quo we cherish like breast milk here in the land of the status-fiending. But I won't be holding my breath waiting to see..."

"it's not like we didn't have our 'bullshit' fun rap back then. you know," commented an Atlanta hip hop artist.  "We had 'Humpty Dance' and 'Me so Horny' and all that. but everything had its place and we appreciated it for what it was.  now...people are confusing that with TRUE hip hop...we got Nicki Minaj running aroud with medusa hair and shit...and Drake killing the charts just by singing catchy hooks..."

just as i was getting ready to pen my own article thrashing the current state of hip hop--both the music and the culture--i found myself on Twitter (as I frequently do), procrastinating (as I frequently do).  there were various discussions going on, but the tweets that caught my attention revolved around newly released evidence in the Trayvon Martin case. I read tweets from respected writers, teachers, artists, and intellectuals--all members of the hip hop generation--and found many of their thoughts to be compelling, astute, and agreeable.  these comments, however, WERE laced with a few "fucks," "motherfucker," and perhaps even a Rick Ross reference or two. definitely not the typical intellectual banter of yesteryear.  or even the typical intellectual banter of this year.

that's when a profound thought hit me.  maybe our generation is doing the same thing that the early hip hop pioneers were doing.  but we are using platforms which were previously unavailable to us to do so.  and in the course of that, changing the world. 

i mean, think about it.  it is undeniable the national and international impact that people like Russell Simmons, Alicia Keys, Common, and other prominent hip hop figures have had through their humanitarian acts in recent years.  in fact, it is rare to find a hip hop figure who is not involved in some charitable endeavor these days.  indeed, activism has become a critical component of hip hop.  consider it.  what would the last national presidential election have been without "Vote or Die," and the involvement of so many prominent figures in hip hop?  so maybe...just maybe...hip hop artists no longer feel the need to address the ills of society through their art, because, now, they can address the ills of society through their actions. 

moreover, with the development of hip hop culture, there has emerged an inner sanctum of righteously intelligent writers, journalists, and intellectuals within the generation.  the dream hamptons et al., who have stepped up to the plate in terms of activism, discourse, and the education of our community.  they are using their proverbial pens as a new form of civil disobedience and leveraging their relationships with hip hop artists, producers, and executives to spread their messages.

and creatively, the recent popularity of artists like ASAP Rocky, J. Cole, Tyler the Creator etc.--all of whom are expressing a fresh voice--has encouraged me.  if they are any reflection of where we are headed, i think we actually have much to be excited about.

so although i may still long for hip hop's yester year, and yearn for more conscious content in hip hop songs, it may be time for me to accept that every creative medium evolves.  as does every culture.  perhaps this is just part of the revolution.  perhaps we ARE the Revolution. 

 

and if that is the case, only one question remains: what will we do with this unprecedented opportunity to influence the world with our voices?  our pens?  our beats?  our business relationships?  our writing?  our humanitarianism acts?  what will we SAY?  right now, it's still not clear.  so, for the moment, i shall drop my judgment, and wait with breath that is baited for the future of hip hop.

i have faith in us.

always luv,

drahcir marie 

Has the Black Middle Class Become Too Obedient For Civil Disobedience?

 

Last year, when my extended circle became entrenched in the Troy Davis cause, I had a conversation with an extremely passionate lawyer colleague of mine.  She had donated money, signed petitions, made calls to political representatives…She had done everything that the average, every day citizen could be expected to do—more than what most did.  So, of course, when I heard that there was going to be a major protest outside of the Supreme Court of Georgia on the day of the scheduled execution, I assumed she would go.

“Oh no, girl.  I can’t make it.  I have a client meeting at 12:30…”

Now, I need to point out, that I tell this story with no amount of judgment or self-righteous sentiment.  After all, I myself, who wrote endlessly about Troy Davis, and made the calls/signed the petitions, did not attend the protest—also having other professional obligations.

It's interesting.  Black people often compare ourselves to those of the past, and marvel at how far we’ve come.  I mean, after all, our president is Black.  We are lawyers, and physicians, and executives--there are even a few Black CEOs of major corporations.  Our numbers in the professional marketplace still pale in comparison to our White counterparts, of course, but it is undeniable: We are in the building.  Recently, however, I have found myself wondering, at what expense we have made this progress.  And with this “progression,” are we actually losing everything?

The majority of our more revolutionary predecessors didn’t have the professional opportunities which are now afforded to us.  This is not to say that, in 2012, the proverbial “they” are throwing opportunities to Black urban youth or needful urban Black adults…because they are not.  But, when speaking in numbers alone, it is irrefutable that we are a more [formally] educated community and have come far in terms of the jobs/salaries we are now able to attain.  After all, isn’t this what the civil rights leaders of the 1960’s and 70’s fought for? For us to have the right to get these jobs/opportunities?  So, when my girlfriend dismissed the Troy Davis protest—almost as a matter of professional assumption—I began to wonder: How successful can these acts of civil disobedience be without the “on the ground” involvement of the Black middle/upper class?  And is this what our predecessors fought for?  For us to have the right to get professional opportunities which would require us to turn our back on the civic responsibilities that got us access to these jobs in the first place?

Civil Disobedience has long been used as a mechanism for protesting racial inequality/civil rights violations.  When Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Ella Baker, and Fannie Lou Hamer stormed the streets of this country, marching, protesting, demanding something…better…they did it, mostly, with bus drivers and dishwashers and teachers and domestics by their side.  Black professionals, politicians, and even celebrities—were few and far between back then (though the few those that did exist, often participated).  Today, we have a multitude of Black professionals, and executives, and celebrities; but the reality is that asking them to engage in serious acts of civil disobedience may be asking some of them to risk their jobs, their livelihoods, even their liberty.  In one sense, it seems unfair to ask them to risk these things.  In another sense, isn’t that a part of the intended impact of civil disobedience?  That risk? And making the statement that the risk is worthwhile?

In the wake of the Trayvon Martin case, we have seen the Black community unite—participating in protests, prayer vigils, social networking strategies, and rocking what has become the symbol of the Trayvon movement—the hoody.  Yet still, it took forty-five days for George Zimmerman to be charged with a crime.  This has led many to believe that without more substantial acts of civil disobedience, the judicial system is going to fail Trayvon, the Martin family—all of us.

But who will it be that stands tall?  Who will be participating in these acts? (and I am talking more than tweeting here) It can’t just be the typical actors—Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, Cornell West, et al.  Although these individuals have played instrumental roles in the midst of civil rights violations/hate crime occurrences, they have become more symbolic figures than anything.  Everyone expects for them to be up in arms and willing to go to jail for their respective causes.  But what “they” don’t expect is for attorneys working at major law firms, people working in upper level government jobs, vice presidents of corporations, or even star forwards of the Miami Heat, to make the personal sacrifices which have proven to be necessary in order to make civil disobedience an effective tool.

So the question is…are these physicians, these executives, these attorneys, these endorsement branded celebrities, prepared to take a public, risky, and perhaps, controversial stand for the sake of something bigger?  Am I?  For if we are not, we have already allowed them to win. 


“When I converse with the freest of my neighbors, I perceive that, whatever they may say about the magnitude and seriousness of the question, and their regard for the public tranquility, the long and the short of the matter is, that they cannot spare the protection of the existing government, and they dread the consequences to their property and families of disobedience to it.” –Henry David Thoreau, On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

Freedom Rang...It Failed: An Anonymous Supporter's Eulogy of Troy Davis

Troy Davis died today.

He was 42 years old.

He was survived by his mother, sister, other extended family, and the millions of petitioners, who in some way showed support to the Georgia prisoner who was sentenced to death for allegedly killing an off-duty police officer in 1989.  A crime which he consistently denied having committed until the day he died. 

Since he was sentenced to death almost two decades ago, thousands of people, in conjunction with several civil and human rights groups, have advocated for Davis’ clemency.

Stays on execution were granted.

Appeals were heard.

But eventually, the appeals were exhausted.  And a decision was made.  Troy Davis would die in the State of Georgia on September 21, 2011.  

Since that final decision was made—only two days ago—millions of people (including notable celebrities)  have extended their support through facebook, twitter, and by making telephone calls and sending emails to state and federal officials.  Adding further doubt as to Mr. Davis’ guilt—this morning, on the day of his pending execution—he offered to submit to a lie detector test.  His offer was rejected. 

Thus, both Davis’ and the public’s last ditched appeals were denied; and Troy Davis was killed by means of Lethal Injection—a motionless, conscious, and painful death.  A death which was administered to a prisoner whose verdict was issued after a jury heard the testimony of at least seven witnesses who have since recanted or contradicted the original testimony which implicated Davis. 

But legal standards and operation of the law prohibited Davis from having the opportunity to have the case retried.  And although enough evidence had arisen to give at least, minimally, the “slightest” indication of Davis’ innocence (as observed by the Supreme Court of the United States), he was still executed under the pretense of fair and just operation of the law.

So at what point do we ask ourselves:  When a judicial system is predicated upon notions of “just” and “fair”—and not “right,” how can it justify the death penalty as a criminal punishment?  Particularly when it is undeniable that so-called “fair and just” standards (if we want to play that game) don’t necessitate “right” results. 

Now, I don’t want for you to confuse this as a personal opportunity for me to opine on whether Troy Davis was innocent or not.  You can go back, study the history/facts of the case, and formulate that opinion for yourself.

Or not.

But what I am saying is that, in a judicial system where there is room for error—and there is practical (albeit legally inadmissible) evidence of such error, there is no justification for the taking of a human life.  Particularly when it seems that Black men are oft the victims of such taking. 

So this is a sad day for many reasons.  Sad because a man died.  Sad because the millions of people who (thankfully) took action in the final hours of Troy Davis’ life didn’t know his story before this week.  And—most of all—sad because a man was killed—when there was reasonable doubt as to whether he committed the crime for which he was sentenced.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is not a miscarriage of justice.  It is a blatant failure.   

Is Atlanta Hip Hop Glorifying Disrespect Towards Women?

Please Note: Any photos accompanying this post are used purely for illustration purposes and are not intended to characterize the subject(s) which appear in the photos.


Date: April 29, 2011

Time:  10:46 a.m.

Now Playing:  @ask_her_she_know, Friday the 13th, "Tickin, Tickin, Tickin"

O.k. I'll admit it.  When I first got to Atlanta in 2008, I could barely stomach Atlanta radio.  It seemed that every other month there was some new artist named "Lil' something or another who came out with some song with a crazy beat and no lyrical substance that became the rage of the city.  It'd typically take me about two weeks to actually decipher what the Lils were saying in the hooks (this still happens--for over a month, I thought "racks on racks" was "wax on wax"), and when I got around to listening to what they were saying in the verses, I was left feeling confused (literally) and/or saddened by the state of hip hop. 

But, after 3 years of living in Atlanta, I have come to appreciate the music I used to hate.  You just have to take it for what it is.  A dope beat, a catchy hook, and a banging delivery.  In fact, I have been seen rocking out to the most ignorant of songs in spots throughout the City of Atlanta.  For sure, I need say only one word:  Waka.

Recently, though, I have noticed that every other song that comes on 107.9 or 103.3 seems to devalue women.  I mean, think about it.  Let's look at two of the top ten songs in circulation on Atlanta radio right now: Rocko, "Goin Steady" and Tity Boi/Yo Gotti, "Boo" (otherwise known as "I don't know her whole name.")

Excerpt from "Goin Steady"

Sorry if you read me wrong

I told you what you wanted to hear

Sorry if I led you on

Yeah that pussy good

Girl I aint gonna lie

But if you were looking for a dude girl, I aint yo guy

I'm not gonna come over every day

I'm not gonna talk to you

On the phone all the time you fuckin stalker you

I aint trynna be rude but I aint tryna eat your food

Imma keep it funky with you girl, we aint that cool

Excerpt from "Boo"

I just call her boo

I don't know her whole name

Keep it on the low man

All we eat is lo mein

Came from the block

Now i gotta whole thang

And you betta put a low jack on yo hoe mane

First things first.  I'm not gonna lie--both songs go hard.  They're catchy, and they get shit jumpin--whether you're in the car or in the club.  I liked them both when I first heard them, and--consistent with my approach towards Atlanta hip-hop--I didn't give too much thought to the words.  But one sunny day a few weeks ago, I was in the car, feeling good, listening to the radio, and "Goin Steady" came on, followed by "Boo."  All of a sudden, I was disgusted by the lyrics and what they represented.  So I changed stations from 103.3 to 107.9, and, to my surprise, and  increased disgust, "Goin Steady" was on, and was followed by "Boo."  I turned the radio off, popped in my Rihanna CD, and can count the times I've turned the radio on since.

I mean, what does it say that so much of the local hip hop music we are innodated with in Atlanta seems to disrespect and/or devalue women?  Is it a matter of art imitating life, or is the end result, the converse:  life imitating art? 

When I spoke to my female friends about what they thought about this, they pretty much had the same response I had:  Why are there SO MANY songs out right now that are spewing this degrading women mentality? 

When I spoke to my male friends, however, they had a different response.  They didn't try to defend the music itself.  Rather, they told me the unthinkable:  That the songs are reflective of how things are actually going down in the streets of the A. 

Perhaps this is true.  In fact, the more I think about it, I am certain that it is.  But maybe that's the problem.  I mean, Gucci Mane tossed a woman out of a moving car.  Just because it actually happened, does not make it acceptable.  And it definitely shouldn't be glorified.  But alas, I have no doubt, that in the coming weeks, a new record called "Throw that Hoe Out the Hummer" will in heavy rotation on Atlanta radio.  And the streets will be bumpin it hard.  smh.

Date: April 29, 2011

Time:  12:24 p.m.

Now Playing:  Lloyd, King of Hearts, "Cupid"