A Reflection on Hip-Hop and Learning

by Daniel The M.C.

Ten years ago, I was a student in Mr. Balaven’s BlendED Hip-Hop class at Urban High School. Back then, I never imagined that the beats, rhymes, and lessons we explored would stay with me for a decade. Yet here I am, still returning to the music I created in that course, and still hearing the echoes of the questions it raised for me.

For most of my childhood, I wasn’t especially interested in history or culture beyond what I needed for school. But in high school, something shifted. When I started making my own music, I began to see how Hip-Hop could be more than entertainment—it could be education, reflection, and even healing. Writing rhymes forced me to wrestle with ideas I had never considered before.

Hip-Hop, as I came to learn, was born in the Bronx but carries global roots. It is a culture that thrives on storytelling, honesty, and creativity. In class, we studied artists like KRS-One, Lauren Hill, and Nas. Their songs weren’t just a part of playlists—they were lessons. Each track carried history, philosophy, and lived experience. I remember being struck by Professor A.L.I.’s album XFactor, which we studied in detail. Hearing that it was even used as a framework for a UC-approved history course showed me how powerful music could be when paired with intentional teaching.

Through songs like Diasporal Histories, I began to understand stories of migration, struggle, and resilience in ways no textbook had ever made me feel. Hip-Hop gave me access not only to knowledge, but also to emotion—an entry point into empathy. It showed me that education doesn’t always happen in the traditional classroom; sometimes it comes with a bassline.

Looking back, I realize that class gave me permission to ask bigger questions: Who am I? What does my voice add to the world? How can I create something that uplifts instead of divides? I didn’t leave with all the answers, but I did leave with the tools to keep searching.

Today, when I revisit the tracks I recorded as “Daniel The M.C.,” I smile (and cringe a little; my voice has changed quite a bit). The rhymes may not be perfect, but they capture a moment when music helped me grow. Hip-Hop taught me about peace, love, unity, and joy—not just as slogans, but as a way of living.

And every time the beat drops, I’m reminded of a classroom where music and education blended together, and of the teacher who believed that learning could move to the rhythm of a drum.

From Rhymes to Resilience: A Conversation with Kalyan Ali Balaven on the Legacy of Professor A.L.I.

Interview with Kalyan Ali Balaven by Khan Y. Umbasikditri

The story of Professor A.L.I. is less about a stage name and more about a movement. For Kalyan Ali Balaven, it was never just about rhyming—it was about creating a pedagogy rooted in authenticity, love, and intellect. Seven years ago, he stepped away from the mantle, leaving it for his students to carry forward. Today, as a Head of School, he reflects on that journey and its echoes in progressive education.


Q: When you first created the identity of “Professor A.L.I.,” what was your vision?

A: At its heart, Professor A.L.I. was about marrying the educator with the M.C. Hip-Hop became my classroom, and rhyme became my chalkboard. But more than that, A.L.I. stood for Authenticity, Love, and Intellect—values I wanted to center in my work as both a teacher and an artist. Over time, it grew into more than just my nom de plume; it became a collective space for artists to hone their storytelling craft.

Seven years ago, I stepped away from the mantle. I wanted my students—who had been inspired by this fusion of education and art—to carry it forward. Professor A.L.I. no longer belongs to me; it belongs to the movement of young artists who continue to use rhyme as a vehicle for truth.


Q: You also created a groundbreaking course: “Beats, Rhymes, and Life.” Can you talk about that?

A: That course was an extension of the same philosophy. Beats, Rhymes, and Life became the first UC-approved course on Hip-Hop History, and it’s now more than a decade old. I designed it not just to study music, but to study life—the politics, social justice struggles, and identities woven into Hip-Hop. Through the Blended Consortium, students across schools were able to take it, making Hip-Hop an academic subject without losing its authenticity.

The goal was always to elevate Hip-Hop as both art and history, while also giving students a mirror in which they could see their own stories reflected.


Q: You once sat down with Kevin Powell for a conversation on Hip-Hop. What stands out from that exchange?

A: Talking with Kevin Powell was a full-circle moment. He embodies Hip-Hop’s social conscience, and our dialogue touched on how deeply the art form is tied to identity, justice, and culture. Hip-Hop has never just been entertainment; it has always been a form of testimony.

Watch the interview here:
Whole Student Podcast Episode hosted by Kal Balaven with Kevin Powell


Q: What have you been up to more recently?

A: These days, my work looks different but is deeply connected to that same philosophy of Authenticity, Love, and Intellect. I lead Dunn School as Head of School, where I’m focused on progressive education and the whole student approach. It’s about shaping not just learners, but whole human beings with a sense of belonging, identity, and purpose.

I also recently published Speaking Truth, Teaching Humanity: What I Learned from Mr. Lindsey to Teach and Lead in the Age of AI, which you can find at teachinghumanity.com. The book was even featured on Daily Kos’s list of Top 10 Books on AI.

Ironically, it was at San Francisco State—at an event called Original Rap—inspired by my teammates who threw their names into the hat, that I first began to rhyme. My mentor, Mr. Lindsey, later encouraged me to merge my love of education with the craft of Hip-Hop. That decision eventually led me to create Professor A.L.I. What’s beautiful now is seeing my students step into that space, creating art of their own. That’s the legacy I cherish most.

Beyond writing, I am still podcasting. The Whole Student Podcast just wrapped its last season, which was co-hosted by Mo Pritzker. We had phenomenal guests like Glenn Close and Isiah Thomas– and the show itself has naturally evolved into The Education Equation co-hosted by Mo and me.


Q: Do you still rhyme?

A: I do—but today, it’s mostly in the service of students. The mic for me was always about teaching, and now I use it when it helps amplify their voices. From rhyming graduation speeches for students as part of my time at The Athenian School, to what I do for whole classes during commencement at Dunn School– I love to take my passion for writing rhymes to showcase our students’ authentic journeys.

Here’s an example of that work:
Kalyan Balaven Speaking at Commencement 2023

Kalyan Balaven Speaking at Commencement 2024 (w/ a special nod to Mr. Lindsey)

Kalyan Balaven Speaking at Commencement 2025


Closing Reflection

The mantle of Professor A.L.I. may have been set down seven years ago, but the values it stood for—Authenticity, Love, and Intellect—remain at the core of everything Kalyan Balaven does today. From pioneering Hip-Hop in the classroom to leading a school with a whole student vision, his journey shows how art and education are never separate. They are, and always will be, braided together.

The Economics of Hip-Hop: Understanding the Social Conditions of Communities Through ‘Rapitalism’

By Khan Y. Umbasikditri

The Wu-Tang Clan popularized the acronym C.R.E.A.M., meaning “Cash Rules Everything Around Me,” a phrase that encapsulates the economic reality of the Hip-Hop industry. Hip-Hop emerged as a cultural response to the socio-economic barriers that excluded marginalized communities from mainstream entertainment. This grassroots movement created alternative forums such as community centers, block parties, and gatherings in abandoned lots, challenging established entertainment venues. As Hip-Hop grew, it transformed into an economically viable industry, emphasizing the role of cash in its dissemination.

As money intertwined with music, it introduced a dynamic that exploited the creators of this culture, exacerbated social inequities, and seeded division and violence for profit. This phenomenon, termed “Rapitalism,” describes how Hip-Hop, initially a form of communal economic resistance, became commodified. The focus shifted from local community expression to creating commercially viable products, attracting commercial interests and radio play, and ultimately leading to mainstream success stories like Afrika Bambaataa’s Soulsonic Force and the Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight.”

Historic Overview of the Development of Rapitalism

Rapitalism refers to the historical process whereby the cultural expressions of Hip-Hop were operated solely for profit. From 1971 to 1979, Hip-Hop music began to be recognized as a marketable product, shifting the motive behind its creation. Early small businesses like Winley Records and Sylvia Robinson’s Sugarhill Records capitalized on this new market, leading to broader commercial interests and the integration of Hip-Hop into mainstream media.

As the commercial appeal of Hip-Hop grew, corporations sought to market it to wider audiences, often diluting its localized messages for broader appeal. This commodification process provided economic opportunities for local artists but also led to their departure from economically and socially disenfranchised communities. The resulting divestment perpetuated the cycle of exploitation, as artists were often left with little ownership over their intellectual property while record labels profited.

The Rise of Pimperialism

“Pimperialism,” a term coined to describe a process akin to imperialism, extends the power of individuals or corporate entities over others through manipulation or force for economic exploitation. This concept highlights the exploitative relationships between record companies and Hip-Hop artists, mirroring the dynamics of urban centers in the 1970s. Artists were often left with minimal returns while their intellectual property enriched record labels, perpetuating a cycle of economic disenfranchisement.

The etymology of “pimp” and its historical context are crucial to understanding this dynamic. The brutal reality of pimping involves dehumanizing others for profit, a process mirrored in the exploitation of Hip-Hop artists. This relationship was perpetuated by the commodification of Hip-Hop, where the term “pimp” evolved from a symbol of exploitation to one of endearment within the genre, reflecting the Stockholm Syndrome-like relationship between artists and their exploiters.

Conclusion

The commodification of Hip-Hop, or Rapitalism, underscores the socio-economic conditions that influenced its emergence and evolution. As Hip-Hop transitioned from a form of communal resistance to a commercially viable industry, it revealed the complexities of economic exploitation within marginalized communities. The rise of Pimperialism further illustrates how Hip-Hop artists were manipulated for profit, drawing parallels to historical patterns of exploitation. Understanding these dynamics provides a critical lens through which to analyze the social conditions of communities that have used Hip-Hop as a means of communication and cultural expression.

The Whole Student and Hip-Hop Education

by Kalyan Ali Balaven

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The moment above was filled with equal parts pride and sadness. Here I was graduating one of my favorite students, Carter Wilson, who I had met four years earlier when I first began my journey in the independent school world. Up until then, I was a public school kid who ended up working in public schools and public charter schools, but never thought that the artist within me had a place in the classroom. Even when I won an Urban Teacher Award from Cal State Hayward in the late 1990’s, I never imagined the idea of Hip-Hop Education. It was students like Carter who became ambassadors to me in the independent school world and introduced me to the freedom of innovation in education when it is centered on the student and this idea forced the collision of the artist and educator within me.

Professor A.L.I., where the A stands for authenticity, L for love, and I for intellect; these respectively spoke to the idea of being true to oneself, expressing empathy, and exercising the mind.  These in turn introduce three methodologies in Hip-Hop Education which speak to developing a sense of self-awareness, while understanding and sharing the perspective of others, and expanding ones own mind.  I began to frame my approach to teaching in this way, while constructing whole courses on Hip-Hop History using blended learning to introduce students to the concepts of culture, cultural syncretism, layers of history, voice, literacy, spirituality, and globalism.  It was an effective approach because it considered the student as a whole.

This website/blog, social media, albums, and writing would follow, all centered on the idea of educating through the music and art of Hip-Hop. Hip-Hop Education was wholistic in spirit, and the artist-educator in me thrived being able to tell the story in so many ways.  Whether I was teaching AP History or one of my famous seminars, I found ways to touch the senses of the students such that they experienced history–and to do so without taking a particular stance– to me, the primary source was up for interpretation and my role was to help students make their own connections and find their voice in talking about it all.  This was whole student in spirit, and it was “Hip-Hop” to the core.

One etymology of the term Hip-Hop is that it is a form of intelligent movement; the idea here is that “being hip” is vernacular for being in the know, to have gnosis, or knowledge of something, and that “hop” is a verb that means to move, and that together they speak to this idea of intelligent movement.  Hip-Hop Education is truly about moving students in this way–and its something I’ve wholly embraced in my career–after all I realized a scholar may have knowledge, but an M.C. has the audience, and Professor A.L.I. could be both.

So back in 2012, as the June sun beamed down upon our heads, Carter would walk across the stage; and in The Athenian School tradition he picked an instructor to give a one-minute graduation speech on his behalf.   Carter chose me and I chose to deliver the speech as a rap, sans beat; it seemed appropriate since Carter was at the time an up a coming rapper in his own right–one who has now established his credibility as a lyricist and artist in the Seattle area.

At Athenian, both Carter and I had become suns; we found a supportive community, one that encouraged artistic expression and explored ways in which educators and students could be learners outside of the traditional classroom setting.  My time in the independent school world had melted the icy wall I had created between my artistry and role as educator within.  The Google searches that easily revealed the presence of my artist alter ego, followed by the calls to recite spoken word and acapella poetry, had already blown my carefully constructed cover as a mild mannered educator.

When this happened I saw an immense swell of support and love from a community that stood by its own.  Carter saw that too, and as he started to take the lyrics from his notepad to the mic, he too found his strongest support coming from the Athenian campus family.  Artistry thrives when it is cultivated with love, and we both found that from our respective peers.  So we too began to shine in our own light.

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