Track 02. Before the Start (a previous paper)

            While discussing the Black Freedom Struggle in its entirety, a simple question is often asked: “Where did the struggle go?” Though there have been a number of different answers, presently, one cannot answer this question without looking at hip-hop. As Professor S. Craig Watkins, author of Representing: Hip Hop Culture and the Production of Black Cinema has said, “Hip hop has become the most visible voice for black culture, and it’s definitely changing the broader social culture,” (“Studying a Hip Hop Nation,” Kay Randall). Hip-hop has evolved into an industry worth billions of dollars, encompassing different generations, races, and is a truly unique culture. What is interesting, however, is this: throughout American history, Whites—having the power structure in their hands—have continually marginalized African Americans. What is countercultural to this historic trend, however, is the White buy-in to the hip-hop culture. From the Beastie Boys to Eminem, White influence—both behind the mic and behind record sales—has been so significant within the culture that it has often been said that it makes up the majority of the listening audience. In fact, “Forbes magazine (‘The Business of Hip-Hop: A Billion-dollar Industry,’ February 18, 2004) reported that of an estimated 45 million hip-hop customers between 13 and 34, 80 percent were white,” (Why White Kids Love Hip Hop, Bakari Kitwana, 82). Though Kitwana calls into question the validity of this percentage, even if it is exaggerated, the fact remains that Whites have a huge stake in a hip-hop movement spurred by the Black Freedom Struggle.

            What is interesting, however, is the growth of hip-hop from its perception as a negative, “Black” culture trend, to an acceptable means of entertainment/art. A middle aged White man explained, “When I was in high school, a friend came up to me one day and told me that he had been writing rhymes for about a year, but was afraid to tell anyone. It was normal for that to happen back then. We still got made fun of by some of our friends for being white and into hip-hop,” (Kitwana, 9). But, in his interview, he further explained the profoundness of the hip-hop culture by saying, “Looking back on my formative years, I see that we were trying to create an identity for ourselves that was more substantive than what we were handed in public school, church or any other outlet. We were really fighting for our spirits, fighting to define ourselves outside of mainstream American society by latching onto an oppositional identity and the perceived power in hip-hop,” (Kitwana, 9). It is interesting to see this unique twist to race relations: that White youth looked to Black culture for power. For the suburban, middle-to-upper-class White individual to listen to lyrics like, “Say somethin’ positive, well positive ain’t where I live / I live around the corner from West Hell / Two blocks from South Shit and once in a jail cell / The sun never shined on my side of the street, see?” (“Ghetto Bastard,” Naughty By Nature) is to experience a new culture all together.

            It is this spread of Black culture that is so unique in hip-hop. And within the dispersal of Black culture to White America, along with it came the frustrations of growing up Black and powerless. In generations past, the well-educated ministers had been the talking heads of the Black Freedom Struggle, but with the emergence of this hip-hop culture, new voices have surfaced. Interestingly, with this new identity within the movement, the voices being heard were those of the people themselves, bringing to mind essence of what Claudette Colvin said, “who, when asked at the federal trial who the [Montgomery] boycott’s leader was, responded: ‘Our leaders is just we ourself,’” (Freedom’s Daughters, Lynne Olson, 127). The leaders of the hip-hop movement have never been anyone but the common crowd themselves. The parallels of this hip-hop culture and the “Civil Rights Movement” are not coincidental, but instead are similar because both are part of the larger context—the continual struggle toward human rights. When it is said, “Compton is the place that I touched down / I opened my eyes to realize that I was dark brown / And right there in the ghetto that color costs / Brothers smothered by the streets meaning we’re lost / I grew up in a place where it was go for your own / Don’t get caught after dark roaming the danger zone / But it was hell at the age of twelve / As my Compton black brothers were in and out of jail,” (“Raised in Compton,” Compton’s Most Wanted), it is not spoken in a vacuum, but rather is another voice in an ongoing problem within American history: the lack of power of the Black community.

            It would be inaccurate to believe that hip-hop culture is synonymous to Black culture, but it is a significant subdivision. Part of this can be explained by its commentary on the history of the Black power struggle. Firstly, “[f]rom the start, the public viewed hip-hop culture and rap music through a racist lens. Rappers and rap fans were often portrayed as menacing Black adolescents, and rap music was vilified as violent and misogynistic,” (“Rap and Race: It’s Got a Nice Beat, but What about the Message?,” Rachel E. Sullivan, 607). As in their history, again Black culture was deemed inferior to that of White culture. But to marginalize hip-hop as a violent and misogynistic genre is to forget that, “rap music has both overt and covert political dimensions: ‘Rap’s poetic voice is deeply political in content and spirit, but its hidden struggle—that of access to public space and community resources and the interpretation of Black expression—constitutes rap’s hidden politics,’” (Sullivan, 607, with quotation from Tricia Rose’s Black Noise). The political aspects of hip-hop, though often overlooked by White America, offer an outlet for many Blacks who feel the frustrations of the ongoing struggle for power. It is in this power struggle that hip-hop has emerged as a way for Black youth to voice their frustrations.

            It could easily be believed then, that hip-hop has become a national (and international) force, both in the music business (with commercial success) and in the cultural aspect due to this growing national stage to voice frustrations. This nationalistic trend is not one that has taken place over the past few years, but has been evolving since its birth. This force has long been noted: “Commenting in 1988 on rap’s ‘nationwide’ expansion beyond New York’s Boroughs, Nelson George writes, ‘Rap and its Hip Hop musical underpinning is now the national youth music of black America,’” (“‘Represent’: race, space and place in rap music,” Murray Forman, 68). This idea of it being the national youth music of black America has remained consistent and seems likely to continue into the foreseeable future. In a study of 51 teenagers (21 Blacks, 17 Whites, 7 Latinos, and 6 marking other categories), it was found that hip-hop is still listened to more frequently and enjoyed more by African American youth (Sullivan). Although the White youth examined tended to answer relatively similar to questions about rap, there was still an obvious gap in the relevance of hip-hop to Whites and Blacks. In answering why they listened to rap, this gap was quite obvious. Whereas a 15-year-old Black female answered, “Because it tells the truth about how us Black people live being raised in the ghetto,” (Sullivan, 614), an 18-year-old White male answered, “Because some of the things the rappers rap about is the same type of shit that happens in everyday life to sombody [sic] from the hood,” (Sullivan, 615). This disconnect between the Black response (one that was inclusive) and the White response (that was detached from hip-hop culture) is again reminiscent of the lack of understanding Whites have long had with Black culture.

            This disconnect has always existed when it has come to White/Black relations. Perhaps hip-hop cannot be fully compared to the bus boycotts or lunch counter sit-ins of the 1960s, but the goals behind them are the same: discussing the frustrations and problems behind having an inadequate amount of power. Throughout African American history (or for that matter, African history), the continual struggle for human rights has been obvious. From Marcus Garvey to Tupac Shakur, and Martin Luther King to Mos Def, time has eclipsed, but the struggle has remained consistent. It is inadequate to view the “Civil Rights Movement” as a short lived, monolithic, concluded event. The struggle for power—and with it, human rights—has been and continues to exist. Hip-hop—the music and the culture—is a reminder that the goals of the human rights movement have yet to be achieved. And with this, comes the critical point that the United States is still not a “color blind” nation.

            Perhaps, Sullivan’s research sums up the state of the younger generation. Her findings “indicate that racial differences in the popularity of rap music are limited. However, further questions reveal that African American youth are more committed to rap music and are more likely to see rap music as life affirming. Although both groups appear to have favorable opinions of rap, their commitment to it and its significance in their lives varies by race,” (Sullivan, 605). Hip-hop culture, though attractive to White youths, is still symbolic of the disconnect in today’s society between Whites and Blacks. Though hip-hop has been “accepted” in the mainstream culture, the true historical significance of the movement has still not been obtained. The objective of hip-hop has not been for “Whites, particularly young women [to listen] to rap because it had a ‘nice beat,’” (Sullivan, 614). Instead, hip-hop was created by a frustrated Black culture to vent their discontent with the status of Blacks in the United States. And although hip-hop has since been accepted, in no way, shape, or form does this represent the acceptance of Blacks into White America, nor does it make a case that the struggle for human rights has been completed. Instead, it is just another chapter in the ongoing struggle for power.

Works Cited

Compton’s Most Wanted. “Raised In Compton.” Straight Check N’ Em Epic/Sony Records, 1991.

Forman, Murray. “ ‘Represent’: race, space and place in rap music” Popular Music Vol. 19, No. 1 (January 2000): 65-90. JSTOR. < http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0261-1430%28200001%2919%3A1%3C65%3A%27RSAPI%3E2.0.CO%3B2-8>

Kitwana, Bakari. Why White Kids Love Hip Hop: Wankstas, Wiggers, Wannabes, and the New Reality of Race in America. New York, NY: Perseus Book Group, 2006.

Naughty By Nature. “Ghetto Bastard (Everything’s Gonna Be Alright).” Naughty By Nature Isba/Tommy Boy Records, 1991.

Randall, Kay. Studying a Hip Hop Nation. January 23, 2006. < http://www.utexas.edu /features/archive/2003/hiphop.html>

Sullivan, Rachel E. “Rap and Race: It’s Got a Nice Beat, but What about the Message?” Journal of Black Studies Vol. 33, No. 5 (May 2003): 605-622. JSTOR. < http:// links.jstor.org/sici?sici=00219347%28200305%2933%3A5%3C605%3ARARIGA%3E2.0.CO%3B2-X>