I Have Insomnia, So I Cannot Dream

Minister Martin Luther King, Jr. preaching at an event

I Have Insomnia, So I Cannot Dream

A modern interpretation of Martin Luther King’s famous “I Have a Dream Speech” by artist and educator, Professor A.L.I.

I have seen and heard “I Have a Dream” by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. countless times and yet it still gives me the same spine tingly chills that I had when I first heard his soulful voice as a snotty-nosed, wide-eyed youngster in the third grade. For the longest time I thought those involuntary goose bumps came each time his bass filled voice echoed in my skull because I knew that I was listening to a martyr speaking passionately not too long before his inevitable assassination. I even postulated that when the fine hairs on my skin bristled that it was surely due to his eloquent oratory and the way in which he delivered his words, from his pulsating heart into the chambers of mine. Perhaps, the historian in me wondered at times if my reaction was not due to the context of his era; one I knew from the grainy black and white images on fast-clicking filmstrips that captured the brutality of bombed churches, fire hosed marchers and the viciousness of Billy clubs and rabid police dogs. While all those things continue to make MLK’s speech one that enthralls every fiber of my being, I have found that I still shiver when I hear his words, because I know that MLK is dreaming, and that his dream is an aspiration for the future, but in the words of Langston Hughes, Dr. King’s dream today, remains a dream deferred.

A Dream Deferred

There are those who will read that last line and automatically respond in their minds with pseudo-intellectual arguments, which are textbook examples of deflection like “but Obama is president” or “look how much Lebron James makes” or “how about Beats by Dre or the financial success of Jay-Z?” or simply, “Oprah!” As much as I would like to believe that we have advanced towards MLK’s dream, these perceptions are far from the truth of our times. The numbers don’t lie; holistically the Black community is worse off than it was at the time the speech was given, as exemplified by facts like blacks are at a greater risk than whites to suffer due to poverty from homelessness, illness, malnutrition and disease and as recent as 2012, Black men and women still earned less than their White counterparts with the same education, and they are more likely to lose their jobs during economic downturns. Even when you consider improvements, like the prior emblematic examples of Obama, Lebron, Jay-Z and Oprah, you realize these are exceptions to the rule and that the disparity between Blacks and Whites has only grown in the United States since MLK’s dream, and that furthermore the statistics that enumerate the divide are nightmarish—the exact opposite of the dream. The New Jim Crow by Michele Alexander outlines this nicely, outlining how amongst other policies the so-called “War on Drugs” was a direct war on the Black community—and systematically undermined the dream. When MLK spoke his words students in America were segregated by race, however soon thereafter, it seemed that with the passage of the Civil Rights Act students would soon be integrated. This certainly seemed like a step towards the dream, but even here re-districting, the aforementioned wealth disparity and school board politics nullified what should have been great gains, and is shown in the fact that in 1968, 76.6 percent of Black children attended segregated schools and in 2012, it was still 74 percent!

Insomnia

I find it hard to sleep in these times, and my sister and fellow educator Dr. Heidi Mirza knows why, as she lamented last year in a piece on how MLK’s dream of a world free from “discrimination, intolerance, prejudice and extremism” has been replaced with one that is seriously considering candidates like Donald Trump, Geert Wilders and Marine Le Pen in the so-called-West while remaining silent on genocides perpetrated by extremism and carried out in Burma, Bahrain and Yemen, to name a few places in the ‘Orientalist’ East. How can I sleep, let alone dream in this reality as a global Black man or a Muslim, or even a conscious human being? Shall I give into the fear that fuels ignorance or try to fight an ever-inclining uphill battle? I’ve diagnosed myself of having some form of spiritual insomnia—I am incredulous as I watch the news media unquestioningly giving airtime rhetoric that seems to echo Mein Kampf verbatim, save for Tavis Smiley who was lampooned by Trumpites on Twitter for his recent attempt to challenge their apathetic ranting, which seems to increasingly pass as normal reporting amongst the sheeple. I look to my brothers Deray Mckesson and Ameer aka Left of the University Of Left, who have become more authentic voices for the happenings of our time and try to make sense of it, as our cognizance of MLK’s dream continues to unravel. The dream seems dead. The dreamers lay bleeding on the concrete, their last act in life is usually raising their hands in the air, and when those that notice and care, like Patrisse Cullors, Opal Tometi and Alicia Garza and state that these innocent lives had value, and try to create a movement to highlight this fact, the naysayers come forth and mis-hear a phrase like Black Lives Matter as “Only Black Lives Matter” and thereby impugn attempts for solidarity and ultimately change. If only these dream-killers would’ve championed “All Lives Matter” when they heard of the countless extra-judicial murders in this country carried out by police officers—then perhaps little White and Black children could be found playing together as in the hopeful imaginings of Dr. King, but instead we are living in a nightmare in which teenagers are murdered in cold-blood and people seem to be able to stomach the justification given for their murders. It is a world where even the dream is slaughtered—where bullets can snuff out the life of a sleeping seven-year old girl (Aiyana Jones) by officers during a police search and there is no (official) national outcry.

Nas postulated on NY State of Mind off of his Illmatic album that “sleep is the cousin of death.” Yet we find the converse to be true, for in order to dream in the literal sense, one must sleep—however I find myself unable to sleep these days, with a deluge of death on ones newsfeed, hence my play on Dr. King’s words, “I Have Insomnia, So I Cannot Dream.”

martin-luther-king-jr

I Have Insomnia, So I Cannot Dream

I’m a light sleeper to begin with, so even a mere gasp–

A last breath, by one being choked upon the asphalt,

For selling cigarettes illegally, keeps me awake; let alone,

News of twelve year olds, shot dead, playing with toy guns.

The firearms echo inside the memory folds of my brain.

They awaken screams of Louima, and even Diallo’s pain!

Gone are sounds of chains, replaced by the din of skittles,

As they bounce off the concrete. Black life is now riddled,

With bullets from pistols (legal for white privilege to wield).

The NRA sponsored the Mulford Act, just ask Bobby Seale.

Dr. King, its hard to dream when one cannot fall asleep.

For even sleeping fauns like Aiyana Jones are targeted when they dream.

Hard to scream with broken neck, the sky seems Freddie Gray;

Will I dream in a Walmart coffin like John Crawford one day?

If I fake like I’m asleep, they’d Grant me an Oscar in fact,

Which I’d refuse, and instead ask for justice for Oscar Grant!

#BlackLivesMatter is a phrase for the nightmare to which we wake;

Does the dream of children holding hands involve a police state?

When one’s hands are up in the air, how can they join other hands?

Its hard to sleep, to dream when the days are Sandra Bland.

How can freedom ring, when injustice is protected by false justice?

And Dr. King, how can it be just when its set prey upon just us”

How can the imprisoned sing “free at last!?”—I cannot fall asleep.

This is why I have insomnia and have lost the opportunity to dream.

The dreamers are dead, and the dream is a nightmare, so I how can I sleep—even as I find myself tossing and turning, wondering as a law-abiding educator, who will try to break in and steal me away? It is a provocative thought, and yet, it’s so rooted in the reality of our time that it doesn’t seem like something unlikely for one of my faith or complexion. Guantanamo is just one notable example and while it is an ugly one, the ugliest is our domestic prison industrial complex. MLK spent time behind bars—many freedom fighters have, but fifty years later even his dream is imprisoned. When Dr. King dreamed back then, I don’t believe he could’ve fathomed that the incarceration rate amongst Black folk would be three times higher when I would write these words.

<Click for free download>

The Pen or the Pen(itentiary)

I wrote and recorded “The Pen” to introduce my audience and students of Hip-Hop in general to the concept of the double entendre and coded language in our (Hip-Hop) culture, while at the same time provide them with a critique of ignorance, which I believe to be the antithesis of Hip-Hop, which is defined by our community as “intelligent movement”, because one must be “Hip” or “in the know” to understand it and “hop” or move in order to live it, and ignorance is unintelligent and unmoving, and as a Hip-Hop artist and cultivator of this culture, I see ignorance as a tangible prison that diminishes our humanity and snuffs out our light as potential learned beings of this universe.

“The Pen” is a piece that asks the listener to stand in-between a sense of hope and a cloud of cynicism, hinging on how one perceives the word “pen”; it can either be a writing instrument representing knowledge or a slang-abbreviation for penitentiary, which is a prison. So the pen respectively represents the freedom of speech on one hand, and on the other it is confinement to a cage, which hinders both movement and speech.

I wrote this piece lamenting the existence of this very fork in the road for youth in America, and as an educator and artist I have seen too many young people from amongst my own peers in public schools situated in gang infested ‘hoods to my own students attempting to navigate this fork, two decades later, only to choose the path of the pen that is clouded by cynicism, which ends with them in prison as opposed to the path of the pen, which leads to wisdom and knowledge; at the same time the piece represents a larger historical conversation and a clash that our world is experiencing right now—an actual battle of survival between the people of knowledge and the people of ignorance.

Those who know me know that I abhor violence and increasingly as of late senseless violence born of ignorance have besieged my newsfeeds and timelines, filling them with egregious, gory examples of sick depravity. This plague has a common thread and it is that violence is constantly being aimed at sources of knowledge or legitimacy, whether it be those who hold the narrative truths or those that pose questions, and that these acts are carried out by the ignorant, willfully or otherwise.

Ironically, those that escape the actual prison, make it out of confinement through knowledge and those that avoid it altogether are those that embrace/ed the pen as a tool for wisdom. Old cliché’s inform us that this pen is mightier than the sword, but it is the sword that is being used as a blunt instrument throughout the world to write a modern narrative using innocent blood, seemingly pitting East against West, but in reality its inviting all the “crazies” or extremists to sully forth and use it to write their own narrative, and as the hemoglobin of innocence flows, so does our own faith in each other, polarizing our world into an endless clash of the “uncivilized”.

The Pen performed Live with Jazz Horizons in Oakland, California

In the end to paraphrase the words of Assata Shakur, the only difference between those in prison and those on the outside is that those inside can see the bars, while we operate under the illusion that we are free, as evidence by our inability to dream. We are not free to dream—but like Dr. King I do long for a day where I can say, at the top of my lungs, with my children that we are indeed free at last—and until then, I’ll remain awake.

With Peace & Love.

professoralimlk

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Hip-Hoponomics & Rapitalism

HipHopEd Unit1

Hip-Hoponomics & Rapitalism

By Professor A.L.I.

The Wu Tang Clan helped popularize the acronym C.R.E.A.M., meaning, “Cash Rules Everything Around Me”, and perhaps a more appropriate phrase summarizing what some would call the “rap game” has never been spoken. Hip-Hop as a ‘kulture’ began in response to the simple fact that the doors to mainstream forms of entertainment were closed and so “the people” sought alternative routes. The barrier before them was socio-economic in nature and the forums that arose, they created to serve those for whom the traditional doors would not open. Those who were weaving this ‘kulture’ together presented a form of communal economic resistance to the norms established by the mainstream. The community center at Sedgewick Avenue, block parties, and gatherings in abandoned lots were an affront to the clubs and established entertainment centers; and as Hip-Hop grew, this new venue/paradigm shift began to transform into an economically viable one in its own right. Cash did indeed rule, and it began to become a growing factor in the dissemination of this ‘kulture’.

As money mixed with the music, it enforced a pimping dynamic upon the progenitors of this ‘kulture’, exacerbated existing social inequities, seeded and exploited division and violence for profit and finally exported real Hip-Hop ‘kulture’ overseas while a minute sliver of original Hip-Hop ‘kulture’ remained alive in independent artistry. Rapitalism is a unit in my Hip-Hop History course, and also describes a quartet of songs on the XFactor album in which Hip-Hop Economics is the central theme (King Solomon’s Mines feat. Kam, Hip-Hoponomics feat. Chino XL, Beef Stew feat. Canibus, and Pimperialism).

Part I: Historic Overview of the Development of Rapitalism

Capitalism is defined as an economic system in which trade and/or industry is operated for profit. Rapitalism is a term that I am using to describe a historical process in which the kultural expressions of Hip-Hop started to be operated solely for predatory profit and as the system took hold, Hip-Hop would cease to exist in its original form, which was founded in opposition to the closed doors of the status quo’s economic structures. Hip-Hop, and specifically the expression of music, in a period from 1971 to 1979, started to become recognized as salient product worthy of monetary exchange. This was the first phase of Rapitalism.

This initial phase inserted a wholly new motive to the lyricism and deejaying that helped produce music and the intention for production began to shift to create something economically viable. In the initial stages it was to produce something for the local community. This was a time that small businesses like Winley Records or Sylvia Robinson’s Sugarhill started to make money and cut or create a new market share in music sales in urban markets. This attracted commercial interests and radio play that went beyond a DJ Hollywood spinning records Uptown or Mr. Magic’s late night/early morning show. This created Mr. Magic’s Rap Attack and it led to the creation of records like Afrika Bambaata’s Soulsonic Force and the Sugarhill Gang’s hit “Rapper’s Delight”.

As the music became commercial and its appeal grew, it was in the economic interests of small businesses, and then larger corporations to market it to larger more economically viable audiences. In the process, it was increasingly important for these corporations to make sure that the content that was produced would have the widest appeal.

Rapitalism is therefore the commodification of an art form, which includes a process to divest it of a localized message in order to make sure it has a wide appeal. The effect of Rapitalism on the community is also one that it provides inurement to local artists that it should then build these communities up, however confronted with the realities of living in economically and socially disenfranchised spaces, these artists leave. Whether this is caused by the threat of living in a space while a hyperbolic illusion of wealth is perpetrated into the media and thereby where one lives, or whether the process of producing this economically viable product lures these artists out of their communities outright, the end result is the same, which is one of divestment.

Finally, the entire process was modeled on the same economic relationship as was prevalent in urban centers in the United States in the 1970’s, that of the pimp. Record companies, who themselves were often subsidiaries of larger corporations, began to pimp artists and their material for profit. Often times these relationships led to the artist being left with very little, not even their own intellectual property, and the record labels became rich. Even the early demise of an artist did not lead to a loss of profit because of the ownership of intellectual property and in some instances even created more profit; furthermore if an artist died, there was so much available in hungry talent in the inner-city that it did not matter.

Part II. The Rise of Pimperialism

Pimperialism is a term coined by me to describe a process that is akin to imperialism, which is the policy of extending a nation-state’s power/influence through diplomacy or military force. The word pimperialism is imagined to mean the process by which an individual or a corporate entity extends their power/influence over other human beings through manipulation or force, for the purpose of economic exploitation. It is no accident that the word contains within it the term ‘pimp’, for a pimp’s ultimate goal is to use their power/influence in order to control other human beings in order to inure economic benefit through their exploitation.

Pimperialism has three parts and the first examines the concept of “pimping” in its most essentially brutal form. This is a historic analysis and does not indulge in the argument that the word has been reclaimed, since it still retains the original definition alongside other vernacular interpretations. So the first verse of the song opens with etymology and history: “the etymology of pimp, origin: Middle French: a scoundrel to be lynched, a wimp, and a snitch; In Swahili in the sixties, its impimpsi: insensitivity to a symphony of sins (see); simply dollar signs, ignore greater signs, the science behind the mind, slaves to life of crime…” The verse goes on to describe the process of dehumanizing another in order to make profit off of their suffering. This is essentially the occupation of a pimp, but it doesn’t describe being a pimp in the context of the global realities that created the position in the first place. The hook, further elaborates on the meaning and begins to foreshadow how the term begins to transition into one used to describe a figure or object to be admired stating “to be pimp is to floss, but its a façade; a definition that was born of pimpin’ Hip-Hop. To pimp, is to signify materialism, but they pimp your material, that’s Pimperialism.”

Pimperialism is ultimately a method of programming, in which the subject begins to relate to the oppressor and the oppression and begins to use language and methods that repeat the same level of oppression in order to achieve perceived social mobility; so to argue that it could be construed as having been produced by a Stockholm-esque Syndrome, is not, in my mind far from the truth. The second verse continues to delve into the historical context and uses Iceberg Slim’s text Pimp for lyrical fuel, analyzing the motivations of the characters as well as the context that Slim so masterfully weaves into his autobiographical tale stating, “So peep this allegory, its Sweet’s (referring to a Master Pimp in the story) rundown: ocelot on his lap, royalty uncrowned. He spits truth to an Iceberg, about pimpin’, in this white man’s world; he claimed to have flipped it. “The black woman’s raped already, since slavery, they oversee: pimpin’ your whole family tree, supposebly free, one step from being hung on a tree, learn they’re methods, get a pimpin’ degree and charge a fee. So we can be, where we ought to be; Slim dreams: he’s rich, beating women, till his momma screams.” This verse traces the arch lessons behind pimping, taught to Slim, and juxtaposes it with the cost it bears on his psyche, but underlying it all is that pimping is a learned occupation in the black community and has antebellum origins.

Pimping, is as old a profession, I imagine as prostitution—however the argument that modern pimping, is derived in its urban application from practices born during chattel slavery finds its roots in the way captives or slaves where broken and how slave masters profited off of their suffering.

This context is crucial in order to understand the third verse and ultimately the core argument of this lyrical essay. Quoting from Ralph Ellison’s Battle Royale, which would later become chapter two of his seminal work Invisible Man in alternating lines of this Pimperialism verse, contrasting with the imagery of Hip-Hop’s relationship with the music industry it becomes abundantly clear that Ellison’s formula for the dehumanization of the black man for the entertainment of whites, describes pimping in its essential form, and this formula is the precise blueprint for how Hip-Hop, like Rock, Blues and Jazz, was pimped by corporations for profit—essentially profiting off of the suffering of black artists, who create art, only for it to be taken from them, so that the pimp can profit. “An invisible man, a man of substance, flesh and bone, Hip-Hop was sub-altern, till that Sugarhill song. A scholarship awaits him, at a white mans club. Hip-Hop got into clubs, based off its buzz. First they objectify a woman, sexualize her form. Hip-Hop video vixens, and pimpin’ verses are born. They make him fight his brothers, physical display. Beef between artists, (the) Labels still get paid. They throw counterfeit currency on a carpet, targets, contracts promise, but leave nothing for the artist. Electrified, they shriek, fried, they ask him to speak, left weak, Hip-Hop, became pop in defeat.” The song ends in the grand irony of the word pimp becoming a term to aspire to within the Hip-Hop genre and in urban communities. Beyond the imagery of Ice-T or Schooly D verses, the term pimp in Hip-Hop slowly became one not of exploitation but of endearment and just like the blackexploitation films of the 1970’s, was so visually hyperbolic, that the pimp became an almost superhero or mythic figure. Imagine that, a superhero whose superpower was his (since the term is essentially paternalistic) ability to exploit his own people economically—see Jay Z’s Big Pimpin’ as an example and search his life and relationship with Def Jam for the irony.

Coming soon:

Part III: King Solomon’s Mines: The Wealth of Knowledge of Self 

Part IV: Preparing Beef Stew: Low Intensity Exploitation and Economics

Part V: Summarizing Hip-Hoponomics with Chino XL