I'm an African, Never Was an African-American": the Romanticization of Africa in American Hip Hop I'm a African, Never W
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K. Jeffery Leon 1 “I'm an African, Never was an African-American": The Romanticization of Africa in American Hip Hop I'm a African, never was an African-American Blacker than black I take it back to my origin … No I wasn't born in Ghana, but Africa is my momma And I did not end up here from bad karma – dead prez, “I’m A African” “The idea behind Black August is to facilitate the international cultural exchange between youth across the globe while supporting and promoting social consciousness and positive self- expression. What we got were a bunch of Yanks jerking off on the tits of Mother Africa.” – Niren Tolsi1 South Africa, August 2001. Against the backdrop of the United Nations’ World Conference Against Racism summit, several prominent hip-hop artists arrived in South Africa ready to perform a series of shows known as the Black August tour. The tour, hosted by the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, was intended to bring awareness of Black political prisoners to audiences worldwide, as well as foster a cultural exchange of ideas and music. On the roster to perform were artists such as dead prez, Talib Kweli, Common, and Black Thought (emcee of The Roots), and they were primed to bring a fantastic show to South Africa. However, the tour imploded. The American rappers were seen by audiences as insulting and patronizing, “dispensing vague pieties about loving the motherland, and stamping across the stage to lecture the crowd about racism and reparations in the United States” (Chang 449). South African critics had a field day, as evident by the opening quote from Niren Tolsi. South African rappers were also critical of the intentions of Black August, as Emile, member of the pioneering SA rap group, Prophets of Da City, mentioned in an interview: “They came here either to conquer Africa with their rhymes, or thinking, ‘Here we are, ready to save you’” (Chang 450). Another member of POC, and highly regarded SA rapper, Shaheen Ariefdien, called the 1 (Chang 449) K. Jeffery Leon 2 performance “disrespectful” (Chang 450). Some people even accused that the concert was fostering a kind of cultural imperialism. As a result, the tour fell apart. Further shows in South Africa were truncated or cancelled outright. The American rappers soon left South Africa in disgrace, but Black August performances continued on, heading to destinations such as Brazil in the following years. So what happened at Black August, 2001? The rappers who headlined the show were considered to be some of the genre’s most critically acclaimed. All were considered to be “conscious” rappers, artists who focused heavily on social and political issues, and regarded by fans and critics for providing insightful commentary and intelligent debate in hip-hop music. But as thoughtful as they were, they were still vastly out of touch with African audiences. This event was the impetus of this thesis. Since the beginning of hip-hop in the mid-1970s the culture has had an immense fascination with Africa. As hip-hop was a culture that formed around disenfranchised inner city minorities, African-Americans in particular, the culture, composed of deejaying, emceeing, graffiti art, and break dancing, has resonated and endured with all audiences, becoming a platform for empowerment, discussion, visibility, and more. Today, hip-hop is a national and international phenomenon, and Africa has left an indelible mark on the culture in elements such as sound, politics, and identity. Many artists throughout the genre’s history have addressed and referred to the continent in different ways. This leads to an intriguing observation: U.S. rappers love Africa, or rather, the love the idea of Africa. Time and time again rappers have constructed and used a romanticized image of Africa for their own purpose. This image is of a “perfect” Africa. The continent is suspended in time, with its cultures, history, and aesthetics locked to an era of illustrious African kingdoms, K. Jeffery Leon 3 powerful tribal groups, and majestic lands. All of it is steeped in rich culture, power, and spirituality, and all of it is untouched by European hands. It is a (somewhat stereotypical) view of a powerful, united, historically rooted Africa, with the African placed not only at the nexus of civilization, but as the pinnacle of civilization, in past, present and future. Many African- American rappers who focus heavily on Africa see themselves as heirs to this grand image, and while not every American rapper who speaks about Africa shares the same feelings, there are quite a few prominent artists who do. Furthermore, they use the imagery to reaffirm their identities and comment on African-American issues. It provides power and identity to U.S. rappers. It provides an escape from the hyphenated African-American identity, an identity saddled with the trauma of slavery, segregation, disenfranchisement, violence, and confusion. It has the ability to empower as well, allowing rappers (and their African-American audience by association) to assert themselves in American society, to mentally move past the hostility and animosity that America fosters. But as the Black August 2001 debacle revealed, while some rappers love Africa, they are not very well connected to it, or truly cognizant of the issues facing the nations of contemporary Africa and African people. They are out of touch, and in the case of Black August, even considered cultural imperialists. In this thesis, I intend to look at rap music’s past and present, with the focus on select artists who heavily use African themes and imagery, and I will elaborate on how they use Africa to address and reaffirm African-American issues. As well, looking at these artists will also shed some light onto a larger, looming question: Is hip-hop truly an interconnected global culture? Afrika Bambaataa: Hip-Hop’s Original African Prophet K. Jeffery Leon 4 Afrika Bambaataa: A mythic, enigmatic figure, one who was instrumental in hip-hop’s creation and rise to national and international prominence. Hip-hop’s formation and the origins of its fascination with Africa go hand in hand, and Bambaataa was the crucial link in making it happen. A deejay who spun some of the earliest hip-hop block parties alongside other pioneers DJ Kool Herc (the original hip- hop DJ, and the “father” of hip-hop) and Afrika Bambaataa (Courtesy of DaveyD.com) Grandmaster Flash (whose techniques and innovations in deejaying forever influenced the sound of hip-hop music), Bambaataa infused the fledgling culture with spirituality and a sense of identity. Known as the “Zulu Nation,” it was an identity firmly rooted within African history, imagery and ideals. Born Kevin Donovan, and originating from the Soundview area of South Bronx, Bambaataa has led a storied life. His true name and age are disputed, as Bambaataa refuses to speak in depth about his origins, solidifying his chosen African identity. He came of age during the late 1960s and early 1970s, witnessing the heights of the Civil Rights era. Members of his family were Black Muslims, and his uncle, Bambaataa Bunchinji, was a Black nationalist. Young Bambaataa attended high school during the era of bussing, and witnessed firsthand the racial conflicts which erupted in the movement towards integration. At the same time, he was witness to a community falling apart. New York City hurtled into the 1970s with rising concerns in debt, unemployment, political neglect, and crime, and the borough of the Bronx was one of K. Jeffery Leon 5 areas hardest hit. Jeff Chang elaborates further in his book, Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation: [T]he South Bronx had lost 600,000 manufacturing jobs; 40 percent of the sector disappeared. By the mid-seventies, average per capita income dropped to $2,430, just half of the New York City average and 40 percent of the nationwide average. The official youth unemployment rate hit 6 percent. Youth advocates said that in some neighborhoods the true number was closer to 80 percent. (13) The South Bronx was home to a primarily Black and Hispanic population, due to the urban renewal plans of the 1930s through the 1960s, as well as phenomenon known as white flight. The inhabitants were largely left to fend for themselves, as the city cut back funding on essential services. In the age of the Moynihan Report and the COINTELPRO program, the US Government seemed unwilling hear the plight of minorities, African-Americans in particular, and especially those within the blight-stricken areas of the South Bronx. In her book, Black Noise, Tricia Rose sums it up neatly: “To be stuck here is to be lost” (33). Bambaataa called this place home, but he was not a lost one. Chang states, “[he] saw the future before anyone else” (89). Not only was New York City divided along racial and class lines, but gang lines as well. In the Bronx, youth gangs appeared in the absence of police, defending their neighborhoods from white gangs, drug pushers, and addicts, but also warring against each other. Bambaataa took to the gang life, eventually becoming a member of the Bronx-based Black Spades, and moving up the ranks to become a warlord. There were two major events in Kevin Donovan’s life which influenced him to become Afrika Bambaataa, and foster his fascination with Africa. The first was his viewing of the 1964 historical epic, Zulu. Seeing this movie as a child was a watershed moment for Donovan. The K. Jeffery Leon 6 film, based on true events, was about the siege on Rorke’s Drift in the Natal region of South Africa.