What It Means To Teach A Revolution

           

Jasiri X (from http://www.communityjournal.net/
rapper-jasiri-x-releases-video-inspired-by-police-brutality-report/

Jasiri X is a Philadelphia based rapper and educator. He often warms up audiences at the academic hip-hop conferences I attend with quick spurts of what he defines as "edu-tainment". He is not into "the college thing." He started, didn't do real well, and dropped out. But he educates all the time, and the vocabulary embedded in his raps makes it clear that he understands the language of academia quite well.

            He also understands politics, as this statement delivered at the Hip-Hop Education Center's Think Tank III aptly illustrates:

            "Hip-hop is a counter culture," he said. "As such, it's a direct response to white supremacy. When we bring it into the classroom, we cannot forget that."

            I hear iterations of this statement at numerous hip-hop education conferences and I appreciate its value. I feel like it's the reason why the songs by Seattle artists Rogue Pinay and El Dia, and other women who rapped about the intersections of race and immigration among Asian Americans moved me so much and made me feel that it was vital to bring them into my political science classes back when I was still teaching political science in the Seattle area. It seemed like the message brought together history, economic, politics, and society in a way that I could not get students to grasp through readings, lectures, discussions, free writes, quizzes, role plays, and all the other tactics I had tried. I also appreciated the fact that the music was fearless. It seemed to suggest that telling the truth could be done without leaving one with threats, guilt, or defensiveness. One didn't have to point fingers or blame or nag about the need to step outside a comfort zone and get involved. It was almost as if knowing the truth -- or what I would describe as the realities of the conditions of the time and place in which one lived -- would be enough to motivate one to make a change.

            And, so I wonder, can one bring a statement like hip-hop is a direct response to white supremacy into a classroom and get away with it?

            I suppose that's what we do anytime we talk about the history of slavery, the legacy of white privilege, working class struggles for justice, immigration history, and continued inequities in society. But I think we bury the statement in a lot of material and sort of wishfully hope that the students will wade through and hit a point of understanding and consciousness, instead of stating it directly and providing the evidence that supports the statement. It might be because we ourselves are afraid of the statement and what articulating it might do to our careers.

             I often think back to an interview I gave in March 2000 to KHON-TV in Honolulu after spending the night sleeping at the campus center in support of Hawaiian sovereignty and in protest of the Rice vs. Cayetano decision by the U.S. Supreme Court that severely disempowered Hawaiians in their quest for rights and a voice in the self-determination of their lands and their lives. I was a working journalist for a mainstream newspaper at the time so the action had decided consequences: My employer put a letter of sharp rebuke in my personnel file, and invoked a steep cut in my hours which resulted in a significant loss of salary. At the time, I wasn't sure I would survive the repercussions, or if the personnel letter would follow me. (Given my post-2000 resume, I am guessing it has not.) Over the years, I have wondered if this incident made me timid or if it made me wiser. It certainly made me more aware of economic power of corporations in the United States and probably the world. It also made me aware of the difficulties one faces if they go it alone.

            And, I guess that's what gets me to an interchange that has been bothering me for several days. At the Hip-Hop Education Center Think Tank, I was speaking at one point with a white male who started out by flattering me, saying how much he appreciated the work I was doing and the things that I had to say. The conversation went into some rather odd directions as he kept interrupting me for a pen, to write something down, to ask for two sandwiches when the conference organizers had explicitly asked us all to take just one, and then not letting me finish a sentence. I was trying to explain how there was a different answer outside of the capitalist structure and how one needs to look at the socio-cultural milieu in which one operates when one frames one's activism. He kept insisting that participation in the revolution was essential and that participation was making noise, protesting, marching. He interrupted me so many times that I finally said, "You know,  you need to stop interrupting me if you want to hear what I have to say." That statement stopped him short in his tracks. The rest of the lunch was more or less me finishing my thoughts and him staring at me with a stony silence.

            I felt bad later because I felt I had excluded him from the cipher. But I also felt bad because I felt as if what I was trying to say was being devalued because it was not within a frame of understanding that made sense in this individual's perspective.

            After that incident, I saw Jeff Chang. I decided to introduce myself. He was the keynote speaker in the morning, and I appreciated what he had to say. Reading over my notes, I feel several days later as if they address the question of "what it means to teach a revolution". I offer my notes here:

            "Not a rapper; that’s why I teach, why I write."

            He followed with a rather stodgy bit of verse, and then described it as "the oldest story ever told; underdogs achieving against all odds. Finding their voice. That’s the story of hip-hop."

            "Hip-hop has said a lot of things that need to be said.

            "It's also said a lot of things that didn’t need to be said – global commodity culture is displacing radical movements and helping to privatize the world.

            "But it’s still capable of a radical different consciousness.

            "It didn’t begin with a manifesto, as a political movement. It began with kids saying, 'We are here.'

            "That might be a reason why it looks chaotic to others.

            "Call and response is a mode of correction in a lot of ways.

            "Cultural change precedes political change, which is why we continue to believe hip-hop has the power to change the world.

            "We start with hip-hop education with gratitude and humility – homage to the pioneers, perhaps fewer than 300 people.

            "Hip-hop is a testament to power of youthful creativity to take over the world. Consequences of the movement resonate everywhere we travel in the world. It still unites people above the babble of confusion of languages, cultures, religions."

            "Hip-hop study in the academy is what’s recent. The early journalists and some of the early students – Marc Anthony Neal, Tricia Neal – are the academic pioneers in a lot of ways."

            "Scholarship precedes the journalists and us. It goes to the beginnings of the culture. When Herc et al were loading up their crates, they were building a body of knowledge. It didn’t become knowledge because we put it in the university. Hip-hop doesn’t need the academy, but the academy needs hip-hop because it’s an institution in dire need of transformation.

            "Putting it into classes/schools doesn’t automatically make it more relevant. Lot of people are interested in it because they see it as a magical solution … no. There’s issues of bad policy, bad funding, bad leadership.

            "Good hip-hop pedagogy is good pedagogy, period. It’s going to be tough. It’s going to transform teachers, students.

            "Much of the published research is probably years behind the point where most practitioners are currently working.

            "Advantages of gatherings like this – allows practitioners to reflect.

            "We can’t be shy about hip-hop’s contradictions. We have to teach the same criticality that we impose on ourselves. We have to instill in them that they have the power to bring about what’s not there yet but can come."

            "Hip-hop is not so much a movement as much as it is a living, breathing entity."

A public library archive

Using materials in the Schomburg's collection is a bit different from the Cornell archives. One needs a library card with the New York Public Library system, which I now am happily the proud owner of. One also needs, once again, to really know what they're looking for. One needs patience, and one needs to make a commitment to make return visits, and one needs to be prepared to fill out a lot of forms.

            I spent five hours at the library. Most of it was efficient and well-spent. When I arrived, I realized that I wasn't sure where the archives was stored, and it also was clear that the receptionist at the information desk was unsure, too. I also was not sure what kinds of materials would be allowed in the reading room so I asked at the coat check. The receptionist at that counter was not even aware that the Schomburg housed a hip-hop archives, but she told me I could take all of my things to the Rare Manuscripts Collection reading room. I had already taken off my coat so I left it with the coat check, and decided to take a guess that the Rare Manuscripts Collection space was the proper site for the collection.

            I guessed right. When I arrived, there was an archivist at the front desk. I had done a little bit of searching of the New York Public Library system a month earlier and had decided that it would be good to focus my time on a collection donated by Steven Hager, a journalist who had helped develop the film Beat Street and had written what seems like an awesome history of hip-hop. When I requested that particular collection, the archivist knew what I was talking about and handed me a series of forms. Upon learning that I did not have a library card, she sent me to the ground level to apply for one. That was a quick process and I was very happy to discover that the card would be good for three years. It would make several return trips to the Schomburg and the collection possible.

            I went back upstairs, filled out the paperwork, and got a drill down on the reading room policies. As at Cornell, notebooks and pens were not allowed. I could take photographs, but I had to fill out an additional form detailing what I wanted to photograph. I also could take notes on my laptop, but I could not let folders or documents within the folders touch my laptop. I also needed to keep the folders positioned in a way that they would be visible to the front desk.

            Hager's collection consisted of one box with two folders. Both were absolutely joyful gold mines of new information. The first thing that I discovered was a stack of index cards on which was handwritten what appeared to be more or less a book synopsis. The stack of 28 cards, three by five inches, read like a storyboard, which I immediately realized could be a valuable teaching tool for Digital Storytelling.

            I went through the folders quickly, taking a lot of notes and noting a lot of "notes to self." The bulk of the material was the proposal for the book. Its title changed several times, but it ultimately was published as Hip-Hop, with a subtitle that integrated the arts of break-dancing, graffiti, and rapping. It included a couple rough cuts for the proposal, the actual proposal, a sample chapter, and several articles written between 1981 and 1983 on the rise of hip-hop. I marveled at the ways that these stories, written in a particular time period, helped bring figures like Afrika Bambaataa to life. I also felt as if I gained a deeper on-the-ground understanding of what was occurring in the Bronx in terms of gang warfare, drugs, and white flight than I had had previously. It also seemed that the rhetorical questions that Hager presented in his pitch about the meaning and impact of hip-hop remain alive and well today.

            For instance, the formal book proposal stated: “How did hip hop originate? Who are its principle innovators? What has its impact been on American culture? These are some of the questions that will be answered by ‘Bronx Beat’. It is the story of teenagers in the ghetto who have struggled to create something meaningful, artistic and exciting with their lives.”

            I typed this quote into my computer and underneath it typed a "note to self": I think these three questions continue to inform research project on hip-hop, including mine. "Teenagers in the ghetto" … translates now to "young people everywhere who are struggling to create something meaningful, artistic, and exciting with their lives."

            Hager was born in 1951. He began worked as a reporter for The New York Daily News in about 1978, and was laid off around mid-1981. At that point, he embarked on a freelance career and became more deeply involved in chronicling hip-hop's early roots. I began working in journalism in 1985, about a year or so after Hager's book was released. Reading through his stories, I recognized many conventions of journalistic writing that seemed particular to the "new journalism" forms of narrative of that time. I wondered why I hadn't known about Hager earlier or why his stories hadn't been used in the classes and writing workshops I attended through the 1980s and 1990s. As the afternoon wore on, I also started to detect in Hager's writings a narrative voice that tends to turn me off. It's hard to define that voice: male, a bit arrogant and authoritative, tough, boisterous.

            But I do look forward to digging out and finding the book.