By Chet W. Sisk

Recently, I went to my youngest son, Maliq’s, high school to take care of some business with him and the school. He came out of class and said “Dad, I’ve got this hip-hop CD you’ve got to listen to. You’ll love this.”  My son knows I’m a big fan of what used to be called “conscious” or “positive rap,” so I figured it was something like that. True to form, the CD contained cut after cut of some of the best rap and hip-hop I’ve heard since the golden age of rap (1987–1994). We sat in my truck during the lunch hour, nodding our heads and talking about what we liked about the tunes, the lyrics, the MCs and the DJs. The lyrics to one rap I heard went like this:

“I’ve got knowledge that I’m getting to my people, whether they’re Black, African, Asian, Indian, Caucasian, or Latin, man and woman, know what’s happenin’, the answer is knowledge of self, but who’s askin’?”

I love that kind of empowerment message. Listening to the CD confirmed to me what I and so many other people already know – there isn’t a shortage of good rap and hip-hop, it’s just that it’s not getting any broad industry level support.

After sending my son back into school, I said to myself with a bit of cynicism, “this stuff will never see the light of day on popular radio.” My sons have often told me that the best hip-hop and rap in the world is all underground because artists who talk about things other than hos, bitches, pimps and players can’t get any real on-air love, while the deconstructive material is plentiful and consistent.

I read a newspaper report that said the critics are turning their attention to rap music, now that Don Imus has been fired for his reckless statement on the air. The article frustrated me because of how it left out the most important part of this so-called debate. Over 350 years ago, a culture was developed here in the States that systematically used the terms “bitch,” “whore,” “nigger,” “motherfucker,” “bastard” and “son of a bitch.” This system was calculated and intentional with the purpose of making it and its language self-perpetuating.

The developers of this culture have been successful.

Of course, the culture was slavery and the fruit of that culture is what we see today showing up in some parts of rap music. What we often call “pimp rap” is nothing more than the continued extension of the culture that was thoroughly and thoughtfully created by the people who saw the economic benefit of keeping people in on-going self-hate. It was designed to keep the property from seeing itself as valuable, which would cause problems for those who owned these people. There has never been a formal break from this culture for African Americans; thus, what we in the African-American culture would often call “Black Folk Stuff” is really slave culture by default. The way that many Black people discipline their children, the on-going skin color debate, the “good hair, bad hair” conflict, our liberal use of curse language, and yes, it’s manifestation in rap and hip-hop, is nothing more than the continued life of a culture that has a 350-year legacy.

Where we run into what I call a level of madness is when we engage in a circular revolutionary discussion about this. Something will happen that will bring this discussion to the forefront of pop culture, and the debate is always on “why can’t Black people behave better?” Even the Don Imus debate is quickly moving to a discussion of Black people and their bad behavior. Black people themselves are usually leading this debate, and often with a great deal of venom. I would say the reason why this debate continues to haunt us is because we have yet to leave the parameters of the debate, as set up by the very system that created it in the first place. Breaking the revolutionary cycle of this debate means looking at the source and context for which it all began, and realizing there is a lot of cultural support designed to keep it going on and on.

Doesn’t sound quite right, does it? I mean, who would want to keep a deconstructive culture in place for any length of time? Of course we know the answer to that question – the very people who are benefiting from the exploitation of this culture. I submit that’s where the gatekeepers come in. Those gatekeepers have decided that there is more money in the exploitation of people than in the empowerment of them.

Sounds too heavy? Maybe. But I still can’t find a regular, steady diet of empowerment and positive rap and hip-hop on my radio.

I’ve spent the past five years working with homeless people and people in transition, here in Denver and around the world, to help them transfer out of a life of despair and hopelessness, so I have some context for my comments. Here are four things I discovered from my experience in working with people from the most tragic and desperate of lives:

• Negative pessimism is a way of life that can be exited, but only if you challenge the very core of what you think you know to be true.
• Popular culture remains the single most effective tool in perpetuating damaging ideas.
• The rewards of living in an affirming life of intention are very significant.
• Whatever you believe deep down inside will become true for you, one way or another.

I’ve developed a method from my experience that I hope to provide as one of the many tools that can help break this revolutionary cycle, so that there can be an evolutionary beginning for people who are simply tired of the same process. I feel my method, along with many others, can have a significant impact in breaking this cycle of madness in the Black community – indeed, all communities. I believe the key to any of these methods is not to get caught up into the cyclical discussion of why Black people don’t behave better. This conversation must change.

What’s at play in our society is the maintenance of a slave culture that has yet to be formally dismantled by Black and white people alike. Just as formal slavery locked all of us into a cesspool of degradation, none of us can get out of this thing unscathed until we start to focus on what’s really at stake here – the definition of who we are as a people.

Until that dismantling takes place, I’ll stick to the underground rap and hip-hop recordings my son slips to me from time to time.

I send crazy love to you undergrounders – you’ve got a supporter in me.

Editor’s note: Chet W. Sisk is author of Seven Steps To Success I Learned From Homeless People (Stratford Press). His new book, The Window Effect, is scheduled for release this fall.