The Duality
I’m in my car when my song comes on. Right now it’s Juvenile’s “Rodeo”. I smile, turn up the radio and do my little dance, you know, that I’m-really-feeling-this-song-but-I’m-in-the-car-and-not-in-the-club dance. Then, out of nowhere, it hits me – the duality. As I’m dancing and feeling like going out with my friends, Juvenile rhymes, “I can’t deny that you’s a beautiful bitch,” and stops me dead in my tracks. It happens every time. It’s like somebody slapped me, and instead of finishing up my little dance, I’m trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
I can’t pretend that I’m a hip hop authority. Unlike most people my age, I got full off of Aretha and Gladys, and Whitney and Mariah. Tupac and Biggie, and Jay-Z and Nas were like side dishes to my main course. In my opinion, there’s nothing like a good soul tune to get me feeling good. That’s not to say that I don’t love Hip Hop, because I do. It’s just that lately my little feminist feelings are getting hurt in a major way.
I mean, what happened? When was there a cosmic shift in the axis that made bitch and ho synonyms for woman? Inquiring minds want to know. Who decided that it was ok to use such dangerous terminology when describing a sista? It’s everywhere, too. It’s slandered in the music, it’s shaking in the videos, it’s even posing half naked on the cover of the magazines. This misogyny is corroding the images of Black women and even shaping the way we see ourselves. It’s forcing us into that duality of being simultaneously female and fans of Hip Hop.
And so often I find myself afflicted by that duality. It often hits at the most inopportune of moments and plunges me into feelings of confusion and guilt. See, on the one hand, I want to dance and bop my head with the best of them. I want to be able to have a good time, without feeling like I’m being untrue to my sistas and to myself. But all too often the duality strikes, leaving me waffling in its aftermath.
A few weeks ago a few friends and I go to a club downtown. I’m dancing with this fine brotha when I hear DJ Paul of Academy Award winning rap group, Three Six Mafia say, “you leave your girl around me and she bet she gonna get stuffed.” I pause. In one fell swoop the song forces me to focus on the derogatory content rather than the fierce beat. I don’t know what to do. I feel fake, like a poser. What kind of feminist shakes her ass to the rhythm of a man objectifying her and making references to sex sans consent?
As I continue to back that thang up I wonder, what do you do when you hear something like that? Should you stop dancing or should you continue on as if this Negro didn’t just assault your womanhood? I mean he’s talking about sex with no consent – that’s rape. By continuing to dance, I feel as if I’m cosigning to this verbal attack.
I often wonder if this is really the way those black and brown brothas spewing this stuff think about us. I mean, does 50 really think I’m a bitch? And in real life would Luda really call me a ho to my face? If so, what kind of mama taught them that this was ok? And if not, then why are they perpetuating these offensive phrases and terrible stereotypes? Jill Scott was right when she asked, “Do You Remember Me?” When did our brothas forget about us? On the rise to the top, did we become too heavy a weight to carry? Or maybe we’re a stepping stool, a rung for Black men to use to make it to the next level on that ladder of success.
But no, I can’t put all the blame on the brothas. That would be like blaming the leaf for being a part of the tree. In reality, they are products of the America in which they were raised. This America that still rewards its male citizens with higher pay than its females, that is so fond of the nuclear family with its bread winning male and his good wife behind him, and where all happy endings involve a man saving a woman from something she could have fixed herself. This America is the one that has shaped Black men and has added gas to the Hip Hop engine. To blame the brothas for something that’s running rampant in the all of society would be like putting a band-aid on a gun shot wound – maybe it might stop some of the bleeding, but in the long run it wouldn’t do much.
That’s not to say that these brothas aren’t responsible for what they let shoot from their mouths. Sexism stinks. While those lyrics are certainly making ol’ boy rich, they’re stealing something so special from baby girl listening. See, it’s like mental abuse on a way bigger scale. If you keep being told that you’re a ho, then you start to believe it. There are little girls worldwide who grew up with the idea (being pounded in their head with a tight beat) that in order to be somebody, they have to, “shake that thang,” and “work that thang,” and “let (in this case 50 Cent) see it go up and down.” These girls believe that their worth lies in their ability to shake their ass and titties, and not the knowledge in their minds.
And it’s not just little girls feeling this way either. Those little girls with low self-esteem and negative self image grow into women with the same issues. Everybody talked about Shaniqua when she a fast little girl with a bunch of “boyfriends”, now as a woman the fellas call her hot and know that she can give ‘em what they want. It’s sad. Women have always been accused of trying to trade sex for love, but never has it been so internalized that that’s all we’re worth.
My boyfriend and I are on his couch watching videos. Beyonce is in front of us doing the booty dance that every Black girl from Shay-Shay down the block to Oprah Winfrey to even me is trying to master. As she shakes it real fast I ask him if he likes that. His wide eyes and smile tell me yes. I ask him if he thinks it’s like, bananas that she feels she has to shake her ass in order to sell records, when the girl has skills. He says, “Did you ever think that maybe it’s just choreography?” I leave it at that. He doesn’t get it.
What’s really bananas is that so many males are like him in their view of sexism in Hip Hop. “It’s just choreography,” translates as, “It’s just the way it is.” And, “It’s just the way it is,” means that it has been accepted and often internalized. What men see shaking on a TV screen, spread eagle in a magazine or hear moaning on a radio shapes their view of women and how they should behave. Young boys and men are becoming desensitized to sex and sexual imagery and as a result are expecting what they saw on Uncut last night to happen on the date they have tonight. Young brothas are getting from the music that sistas are objects meant for sexual pleasure, rather than human beings with real thoughts, emotions and dreams, and are acting accordingly.
On a recent trip to the gas station, my best friend Jasmine and I are filling up our respective tanks. A group of guys pulls up next to our cars, bumping Bubba Sparxxx’s new song “Ms. New Booty” and spitting what they think is some good game – basically a bunch of trifling and offensive sexual references that neither of us want to hear. The one in the driver’s seat is focusing on me.
“Hey lil’ Mama,” he croons, peering over my body, “You got some big ol’ sexy legs. What can you do with dem legs gurl?” Sadly, he looks as though he actually expects an answer. When I roll my eyes and turn my back to him, he seems offended.
“Stuck up bitch,” he yells as he pulls away, his crew laughing at the whole scene.
Situations like this are all too familiar. I’d be lying if I said Hip Hop was the sole cause. What has led to this blatant disrespect of females? I wish I knew, because then, maybe I would know how to respond. In reality, when that duality creeps up and I’m feeling confused and offended, not dancing or turning down my radio is doing very little, if anything at all.
So, I guess, when I’m in my car bumping the Ying Yang Twins’ “Whisper Song”, and that duality starts to arise, getting me all offended and unsure of the appropriate way to demonstrate that anger and sadness in my core, I’ll just let it pass until I can figure out something to do that will actually make a difference.
