The Souls of Rap Folk
“They don’t know who we be/”
—DMX, “Who We Be,” The Great Depression, 2001.
More than 100 years ago, a little known Harvard-schooled sociologist argued in his book that Black folk, as a result of the persistence of Eurocentricity, suffered a syndrome otherwise known as, double-consciousness—a sense of belonging shot through the channels of Africanhood and Westernization. Consequently, he argued, their identity came under constant conflict of cultural interest. W.E.B. Du Bois’ seminal contribution in The Souls of Black Folk has, ever since, remained at the epicenter of Black scholarship. And for good reason.
What he helped an unenlightened world understand, is that viewing one’s self, one’s humanity, one’s imperfections through the prism of a dominant society guarantees nothing but a social, mental, spiritual, emotional, and political disaster in the long run. Dr. Du Bois was as right then as he is now.
The horrific state of current Hip-Hop reveals that the same case can be made on behalf of a people who still see their culture through the judging eyes of a disapproving public—a hostile jury.
70 years after The Souls of Black Folk was published Hip-Hop burst forth from the belly of the Bronx. Hitherto, Young Black and Brown inner-city kids had relied on the prevalence of gangs to keep their hands heavy. Not before Hip-Hop did such a positive experience exist with the power to transform how youth of color thought about themselves, and how they used this empowerment to articulate anger against a negligent system.
Prior to Hip-Hop’s birth, the cycle of destruction in the ghetto was perpetuating itself in perpetuity. Guns were constantly drawn, knives were next, and lives were swept away in the melee of madness this young, vibrant generation had grown accustomed to. Every four years, politicians came running down, promising changes of all sort; but, as always, nothing substantive manifested itself. It took the hellish reign of Reaganomics in the late ‘80s to awaken Hip-Hop artists about the power embedded within them.
Once this consciousness found its place in the hearts and minds of the artists, events considerably changed. Pioneers like Afrika Bambaataa and KRS-One were able to recruit gang members into social organizations tied to the Hip-Hop movement, and the promotion of Peace, Love, and Unity among former gang rivals eventually became an unbelievable reality. All this happened, and without the help of a federal organization, without the help of slick-talking politicians, without the guidance of a condescending older generation. All this happened because of a radical shift in self-perception.
When we look through the pages of Hip-Hop, and seek to find an answer to the current decline of political perspicacity, or the ubiquity of Materialism, Misogyny, and Minstrelsy, we might be forced to admit that the rise of Gangsta Rap in the ‘90s, and the erosion of the social content it once contained, took place as soon as Hip-Hop artists accepted the premise that their worth was only determinable by the assessment of a mainstream public. Hip-Hop’s demise is rooted deeply in that reality.
“Recollect your thoughts, don't get caught up in the mix/
‘Cause the media is full of dirty tricks/”
When Congressional hearings were being held to gauge the havoc wrought by Hip-Hop music; when famous Black pseudo-activists where stomping-out music CDs, burning music posters, and displaying, much to the amusement of an international audience, their ignorance of Hip-Hop; when artists were taking time to respond to these causeless critics, Hip-Hop began losing its sense of belonging. Hip-Hop artists, as a result, reverted back to the times when the only representational images they could identify with were of drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes.
Modern-age Hip-Hop can be classified as such. Even with the growing powerlessness of record labels, most commercial artists remain beholden to the dictates of middle-age executives in suits. Most artists still have no control over the music they make, over the message they promote, and over the minds they alter. As it was in the mid-‘90s, so it is now. The difference is merely technical.
When Niggaz Wit’ Attitude (N.W.A.) rose to prominence in the late-‘80s, many critics were quick to contrast their profile with that of Public Enemy. Many saw a diametric misalignment between the two groups. But, in truth, such critics failed to pay closer attention to the chord that bound both groups together—culturally.
In their nature, both were political. Both were dissatisfied with the current of police brutality and financial inequality that had split apart a nation into two categories—the valuable and disposable. Both groups sought to address this atrocity through the power of Rage. Yes, both took different routes to accomplish this task, but both aroused the political awareness of their fans to the causes they campaigned for.
While it can be argued, and quite accurately, that N.W.A. lost sense of its moral mission after its second album, the sheer audacity of those who, knowing nothing of the culture, yet decided to categorize Hip-Hop into sub-genres should amply validate my contention.
Ever since, our beloved culture has never been the same. Ever since, Hip-Hop artistry has bent to the will of corporate domination, yielding to it all control over the fate and future of this musical storm that shook the world, ensuring that 20 years from now, most would come to associate Hip-Hop not with the eloquence of Rakim or the intelligence of Canibus, not with the wit of Lauryn Hill or the wisdom of MC Lyte, not with the dexterity of Nas or the diligence of J Dilla, but with fast-food commercials on TV screens and billboards, with jingles on radio stations and reality TV shows, with uninspiring cheap imitators who are unable to put together a nursery rhyme worthy of contemplation.
It might not be the prettiest sight to imagine, but it’s perhaps the most realistic one awaiting us.
“From an extroverted point of view I think it’s too late/
Hip-Hop has never been the same since ‘88/
Since it became a lucrative profession, there’s the misconception/
That the movement in any direction is progression/”
—Canibus, “Poet Laureate II,” Rip the Jacker, 2003.
Tolu Olorunda is a cultural critic and social commentator. He can be reached at Tolu.Olorunda@gmail.com.