Showing posts with label Oppression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oppression. Show all posts

Monday, July 29, 2013

Racism, Resentment, and Renewal

I'm not sure if I ever made an official announcement, but I'm back in school in pursuit of a doctoral degree (specifically a DMin. - Doctor of Ministry), and as is made glaringly apparent by the nature of this blog, my research interest/focus is ministry to Hip-Hop culture. One of my recent courses was in ethics. My professor, Dr. Andrew Sung Park is also an author with quite a few books of his own in tow. At one point, the class was studying racism, and one of the required reading assignments was a chapter he wrote in a book Wading Through Many Voices - A compilation of essays by various multiethnic theology scholars on race, class, gender, etc.  Each essay contains a targeted response from a peer.

I highly recommend that you read the entire chapter written by Dr. Park here. However, if you're short on time, What follows is my response to his work.  There are a few points that I sought to respond directly to because I thought they were of prime significance. I post it here because one must know that racism (systematic, educational, institutional, and all the rest of its forms) are the bedrock of Hip-Hop culture.  There would be no Hip-Hop without racism.  Therefore it provides additional framework for the discussion in this blog. Here's a large portion of my response:


Dr. Park begins with a short survey of the approaches to multiculturalism in America.  It’s here that he questions, “All these models support either assimilation or pluralistic isolation, is it possible to appreciate diversity, yet improve the quality of diverse cultures without sacrificing our true unity?” In the simplest of terms, I would say that the answer is no; but I’d like to add another question. What unity? I assume that “our true unity” is meant to refer to the symbiotic bonds that naturally exist by God’s design and by the nature of our existence in the same geographical space. Yet, unity in the eyes of the normative group is assimilation…or nothing.  I have often argued that multiculturalism is often at best an agreement of middle class values. It’s economic, rather than ethnic. And that too is a framework built by euro-centered values of economy and democracy.  However, I propose that (at least for African-Americans, especially poor ones) the withdrawal approach actually involves escapism from the trauma of persistent systematic and institutional terror and abuse.

In Democracy Matters, Cornel West talks about the irony and the hypocrisy of the “American democratic experiment” in that the nation’s founders were trying to escape the empire while creating one of their own.[1]  They were seeking their own freedoms, yet simultaneously enslaving others.  It’s a deeply harrowing concept to me.  I’m inclined to suggest that the “experiment” had failed at it’s outset because it had compromised it’s own founding principles.  Historically speaking, the concept of “liberty and justice for all” has never been an American reality.  And so we continue to pledge our allegiance in the hopes that one day, someday, we will get it right.  But what is the pledge exactly? We are taught to approach it like a prayer, when it’s actually a pronouncement and a promise—a promise that often seems to have been terribly, irreparably broken.

Dr. Park prescribes that “we need to accept each culture as it is.”  This is an extremely tall order for dominant, normative culture.  Blacks can relate to and appreciate Native Americans, Latino peoples (and others), because we each have been systematically terrorized and marginalized by the dominant group.  Yet, normative culture lives in constant willful ignorance and denial of the realities that exist at their own hands. African-American culture is the house that oppression built. 

To accept and appreciate the field songs and spirituals is to accept and admit the legacy of forced labor and slavery that made them find solace in songs.  To accept the blues is to accept the bruises of Jim Crow. To embrace the black church is to confront the religious and hermeneutical manipulation that sought to sanctify and spiritualize oppression and injustice. To celebrate black intellect, innovation and achievement is to own the segregation and the glass ceiling that made such ground-breaking, record-shattering progress necessary.  

Rap music forces us to hear the heart, the hurt,
the pathos and the pain of the projects. 
To appreciate the beauty and power of Hip-Hop and contemporary black urban cultures is to unveil the institutional and systematic degradation and denigration of black communities with the concrete quarantine silos of the Cabrini Greens, Marcy Projects, Magnolia Projects, and Jordan Downs of the US. I’m not certain that the dominant group has enough acres or mules, or that they even desire to actually care.  Accept each culture as it is?  The normative culture was forced on blacks, but do they accept us is a more relevant question.

Yet, that’s the beauty of African-American culture. We took lashes, and developed thick skin.  We bent over to pick up cotton, and picked up an even stronger work ethic and resolve. We took the scraps that the slave master gave us, and made soul-food.  We took those tattered and torn textbooks and dilapidated school-houses, and built brilliant scholars and HBCUs.  We took the brick buildings, vacant lots, abandoned buildings and poor-excuse-for-playgrounds of the projects, and turned them into fortresses to incubate the next generation of overachievers, canvasses for urban art, dance floors for community parties and arenas for rap battles with perfect natural acoustics.

But one must not remain angry. Dr. Park presents a powerful hermeneutic of the cross and suggests that the dying to self demands “forsaking our outmoded identity means negotiating a new boundary by negating our old self that was negated by various oppressors.” He goes on to recommend that, “As long as we have racial prejudice within, we cannot fight against racism without.” I am convicted again that the cross renews us and demands that we like Christ would, despite the abuse, by the power of the resurrection, rise to walk in the newness of life—a life that is guided by grace.  The grace of God has been so freely given to me.  I must give it to those around me.  This is hard, but God is love.




[1] Cornel West, Democracy Matters (New York: Penguin, 2004), 42-45.  In the very first line of the book West addresses the “legacy of white supremacy” and the threat that it poses to authentic democracy. It’s in the second chapter that he explores the tension of a free society built by slave labor.  He argues that American Democracy is at risk because of remixed modes of imperialism. 

Sunday, February 3, 2013

"Welcome to My Hood" (P&P vol.2)


Here we go again with the second installment in the Praise & Problems (P&P) series. Once again, P&P will review some of the most popular rap videos on youtube in an effort to celebrate the strengths of Hip-Hop and critique the weak spots in order to encourage greater growth in Hip-Hop and Hip-Hoppers. If you missed the first P&P installment, check it out here.

In our first P&P post we discussed a hood anthem featuring Rick Ross. I love hood anthems. But I mean, what true hip-hopper doesn't? So I figured why not take this second installment, and feature another hood anthem? And we have chosen none other than DJ Khaled's "Welcome to my Hood." Originally released in 2011, This song guest features some of the biggest names in southern Hip-Hop; T-Pain, Lil Wayne, Plies, and of course, Rick Ross. Boasting nearly 16 million views on youtube, and a remix with more than twice the rap stars and another 3 million views, I think it's safe to say, this one goes hard. Let's check the video again.



Praise: It's a Family Affair
Once again, we always wanna start with the positive. There's a few things I really like about this song and it's video. I think the thing I like most about this song is the hook. Welcome to my Hood!

Oppressed people must often band together to
meet the challenges of a depraved community.
I like how T-Pain says  it, "Everybody know everybody, and if I got it everybody got it." Maybe you're afraid when you drive around the hood because you don't know anybody, but in every hood I've ever lived in it's just like T-Pain said, "everybody know everybody." It's just like a big family. There''s often a strong sense of community and connectivity. I'll admit that ghetto communities have lost a lot of that familial flavor, but it still exists in many ways. That leads me to the other point. I spoke about this a little bit in the first P&P post and here it goes again. The poverty and degradation in the hood demands that oppressed people band together. So when he says, "if I got it everybody got it," it's a perfect description of how the hood pulls together when the need presents itself. 

My favorite verse (by far) is Plies'. when I'm listening to this dude describe the hood, I feel like I'm at home. Stealing cable, waiting out probation, garnished checks for back child support, eviction notices from shady property managers, and all the rest. As grimy and as detestable as it can get, it's home; and we learn to make due and appreciate the goodness that it does have to offer. I love the hood. Growing up in the hood demands a certain type of resiliency and toughness. I learned so many lessons from the street fights, poverty, drug abuse (S/O to Harry-O), and all the rest that I utilize regularly in my everyday life. It's long been said never judge a man until you walk a day in his shoes. Let's make those shoes air force ones and let's take that walk around my block in my hood.

Problems: Tell Me a Little More About Yourself
I'm not sure what Rick Ross and Lil Wayne were thinking. I suppose Lil Wayne was really excited about being out of prison because all he talked about was himself. I didn't get much about his hood.  Even less though is the content of Rozay's verse. I mean, rapping about one's hood/upbringing has got to be the easiest and most oft repeated themes in Hip-Hop. If you can't rap about your hood then I'm worried as to whether or not you can actually rap at all. However, it's not that they simply failed to rap about their hood, but rather that they talked so much about themselves.

Slick Rick shows proof that braggadocio and swag
isn't new, but rappers must pursue a greater good.
I've said it before, braggadocio is not new to Hip-Hop, but it often appears that the loudest voices in a lot of today's rap music are simply painting self portraits of their latest, wildest, most expensive exploits. Maybe it's the ultimate form of celebration having made it out the hood...then again, maybe not. Maybe it's just a sad display of new-school narcissism.  Maybe that's why more people don't give back to the hood. They have no intention of coming back to develop the community, they just came back to stunt and shine.

Again, I love the hood. But, with all the challenges that we're facing, we've got to commit to community development, family enrichment, and education reform. Welcome to my hood, where everybody needs everybody, and if we get it everybody got it. We're all in this together. That's my prayer. Welcome to my hood!


Monday, December 17, 2012

The Voice of The Streets

In June of 2012 rapper Ice-T directed and produced
this documentary that featured numerous rap legends. 
The credits are rolling and I'm sittin here bobbin my head to Rakim's classic "Microphone Fiend." Of all the songs that could lace the credits of a documentary about rap music, this one is perfect. The beat has that smooth guitar riff and the bass line is bangin at the same time, but what's most recognizable is Rakim's rhythmic and melodic, yet powerful and bodacious flow. The beat is a classic, but his voice is iconic. The film is Ice-T's recent Something from Nothing: The Art of Rap.

As I watched and listened to the film, I couldn't help but be re-captivated by these guys that I once heralded as my heroes. I listened to the beats that I grew up hearing and recited the lyrics I was raised up repeating. I watched them talk of their favorite rap acts and rap lines and recite freestyles and old songs.  They talked about everything surrounding hip hop culture, but mainly the...Art of Rap...rhyming, writing lyrics, structuring songs, rhyme schemes, subject matter, artistic influences, and everything else that has to do with the skill that it takes to pick up a pen and a pad write some words down and then stand in front of mic and try to impress the crowd.  It's nothing I never heard before...not for real, but some of the details reminded me how gifted rappers actually are.

These guys are ghetto poets. Homegrown in the grimiest conditions, forged in the fires of life's harshest cruelties, and then having their artistic skin thickened and fortified by the fiercest competitors; all fighting for the same stage with limited limelight. Don't get it twisted, rappers are artists. Some of them so brilliant, you and I simpletons have a hard time understanding them. And most people are just too stuck up to believe that despite the fact their clothes are baggy and they talk with a slang that they have something meaningful and powerful to say.

It's sad and significant, but from Primo to Jay-Z, they all seem to agree the key to hip hop is understanding the language. And if you don't understand the language you're gonna be frustrated and lost. It's kinda like standing in the chinese restaurant and swearing that they're talking about you. Most people don't like it, simply because they don't understand what the emcee is saying. Sad but true. You're lost. Your loss. Hip-hoppers gain, because what hip-hoppers hear is...a voice.

And that's the theme that kept jumping out at me throughout the film. Rappers work hard to develop their voice. What separates them from the cacophony of competitive noise around them? What do they bring that is fresh and authentic? What do they do that no one else has done? What do they have to say that has not already been said? Is anybody listening? Is this thing on?

That's where rap gets real because before "The Message," "White Lines," "Fight the Power," "Straight Outta Compton," and so many others, no one was listening to us. They tried to exploit us and confine us to the cages of concrete housing projects and silence us with the sanctions of institutional oppressive systems. But rap music started rebelliously blasting on the airwaves, and before long the world could see how much beauty was being locked away in those concrete cages. The world could feel the pathos of the beat. Then the world began to hear the powerful poetry and the ethos of the urban streets and ghettos.

That's why I love rappers. They represent some of the best of what Cornel West (in his book Democracy Matters) calls the tragiocomic--the ability to take something terrible and make something beautiful with it. They took the harsh reality and depravity of the ghetto and made music with it. They made Something from Nothing and that something beautiful is (at least in part) The Art of Rap.