A few years ago, when reports came out that an office star Ellie Kemper was declared on the curved prophet of the ball debut, which the critics called Klan’s ball, I overturned and returned to bed. A week ago, when Tictok crossed over Donald Trump and made as many digital soft shoes as possible, thanks to the president who was about to save his presence in the United States. But it was something about hip-hop stars from the 90s who joined the line to kiss the ring on Trump’s inaugural balls that still keep me at night.
For many of us, black millennials-in a result of those grown in the Workers’ Quarter-Hip-Hop was an oxygen of our childhood. He documented every inch of our life, reflecting us the sounds and feelings of our existence in a way that no one else could care. Our ordinary lives were reflected in music even while she was humiliated or thought of as the sidelines of real society.
It was also a window to what we could be. He took the way to a fate that was out of work with a minimum wage or waste of our life in “Second childhood“Set before us. It allows us to fantasize about the conquerors of the straits of Lukavac and the working class. Dress well, be gangsta or attractive and respect.
More than that, it was a mind. This was not only reflected in the neighborhood conditions, but was a conference of thinking and discussing conflicts. We heard the encouragement and critique of the antagonism within the class when Aaliyah told us that “we don’t need a cooga sweater.” We saw the escape vision in Rich Boyo to throw some Ds and forced into a peaceful introspection after watching the Pac’s brand got a child and Latifa unity one hour that we tried to commit to remembering the adrenaline-rush poet of the whole movie Bizzy Bone’s Film The album and the next one we saw each other to meet high school or street from the street with Mobb Deep.
We used this art as a sound record for what we knew they thought of our lives for one -time use. It was the most affordable evidence that we proved to ourselves that the world lies us about “inferiority of blacks”. We did not need such a well -intentioned white lady teacher who pity us black, holding a poster with George Washington Carver with a jar of peanut butter, saying that we “contributed”. We had it on a mute, CD Player spin as we tried to decipher Wu-Tanga hieroglyphia.
So, it was something else to see how the intensity of our beauty of ghetto was forced to rush to the discoxed dance of rich friars. To see our Grriots Crouch picks up dollars under the lowest of all intellectual ceilings: racism. Let’s see that our thinkers also played a white liberal game, clicking, pretending I couldn’t say if Nazi greeting was a Nazi greeting. Turning the coat without asking them. Jumping before A league to fight the defamation In the chances of the white co -laundry, they benefit the doubt.
Of all the daily bombing of racism that came to define this decade of revival of the superpanitors of the settlers, the rappers for the tormented co -inflame left the worst wound. It is not easy to recover from the testimony of our biographers reduced to the pigeons of the chair on the burning cross.
The pronunciations are preventively texted. “The check is a check” was said. “This is not politics” was said. It was pretended not to know what Maga was advocating and trying to achieve. As if we didn’t know that hip-hop was more university than a university.
I remember in the past scanning channels and landing on Fox News that ridiculed Rappers’ dance. Fox News reports that Snoop Dogg “Wows the crowd ”at an event before the inauguration. I remember Snoop Dogg talked about 187 and now I care about the day when I will see him waving the blue line flag.
In the 90’s, White Power banned the ban on hip-hop. How complete his victory is that rubs his legs now? Nelly said, but “he is president.” But that’s a point. There is no lack of songs that say we are not cool with the presidents. It can start from any song Dead Prez.
In 1988. The great magician of the Ku Klux Klan entered the US presidential race. That he won, therefore, we expected Eric B and Rakim to make a microphone for “fans” in white hoods because we “support the troops”? How close are we when a free -style police officer breaks out lynch?
Maybe we didn’t know him then, but only the black and Latin life of the working class in North America was worn in music. He played in the premises of the Black poor in South America, Africa, Europe, Asia and Australia. It was the music of the slam, a colonized counter-iological weapon against the prison they held us.
Therefore, the stomach is a sting to see our culture and the lives that have been put into the service of men who shout we steal pets and call our request to allow us to live “terrorism”. This deals with the morals of the people when our defenders are now dancing for those who spray the fiery bird to “wake up” and take monuments to the Confederate generals.
You can only put so many extensions on the house with the pool. You just drive so many cars in your life. But “What is worth“Sell your own soul At the price of noogie? To sign doing what they doKnowing that your gifted castle will never be more than Massa’s house?
Of course, several rappers who were taking photos with boys for which no one would bet on did not make Blackface not representative for the hip-hop of all millennials. But they are not just them. Chuck D is fighting against people who come to Elon Musk as he puts on the sparkle of Aparthey. Eva cannot be pulled out of the stills of the Downton. Nor can it be common from commercials. Nor our beloved black thought, in a bird’s cauliflower singing from “Gilded cage” – Oracle people have been reduced to“ fun ”for fascist drink Jimmy Fallon.
Yet things are falling apart and I should count my blessings. I probably would never get out of bed again if I had seen a dead prez or Lauryn Hill grabbed a puzzle. But that should have been none of them. It was an art for us. There is a heartfelt testimony to our secret internal lives set before the feet of the Empire, along with our bodies.
They He stole awakened From Erykah Bad and beat us up with her. And now our teachers leave their posts to bounce the superior settlers on their circles. It is hearty to see so many of our epic poets fall in order to kiss the ring of the warriors Jim Crow Society.
But maybe it’s better this way. When he told us that hip-hop was dead, it could have been a prophecy. Or at least these “UNC rap” may have outlived their importance in the time of the globalized apartheid. Now they are rich and endangered. Millenniums may have to leave them and explore new music and a new generation of artists in the colonized sector, here and abroad, where, at least, for now, we are nowhere near the radical Palestinian rappers who have been caught in the moonlight as court jokes for Benjamina Netanyahu.
Gen Z spent half his life, looking directly in the eyes of open fascism and was forced to witness the public, a viral lynching of black innocent daily. I see them every day. No one dances.
Their “Mumble Rap” – which “old heads” mocking – is not only more developed but also more coherent than any rapper saying “f *** police” on the one hand of their mouths and “let’s give the opportunity to confederate” from the other. What is it. Regarding a drill, anticolonialism is wrongly directed as horizontal violence in drilling texts is a more useful black liberation than a conscious rapper trying to find a shade in colonialism.
Hip-hop Millennials can leave the straw, but the slam will have its day. He once made a hip-hop; Can make another hip-hop. And when he does this, she will stand over the body of colonialism, the buggin out boombox on the shoulder, singing that spiritual black colonized sector, “is bigger than hip-hop.”
The views expressed in this article are the author’s and do not reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeere.
