One Womanist’s Outlook on “An Odd Future for Faith in Hip Hop”

I used to love hip-hop.

I don’t remember the day I fell out of love, but one day it suddenly didn’t matter that I knew who DJ Kool Herc was, or that like some hip-hop griot I could explain how sampling was born, or expound on the anger and angst that fueled a graffiti artist’s civic rebellion. One day I woke up (Spike Lee style) and didn’t care what mix tape was about to drop, which album leaked or who the Source awarded 5 mics to.

I do, however, remember fighting for hip-hop. I remember trying to justify its contradictions, and like many women I tried to stay in love with its “potential” despite its flagrantly abusive qualities. But at the end of the day, our love affair ended. (I’ve learned that it’s hard to save something or someone that doesn’t want to be saved).

After much reflection I realized that I was in love with hip-hop before I knew what “Big Pimpin'” really meant. I was in love with hip-hop before I accepted that when rappers were addressing women as “bitches and hos” they were actually talking to me (and my sisters). I loved hip-hop before the vulgarity of Lil’ Kim’s Hardcore album cover was ascribed as having feminist power. Before the unrealistic photo-shopped and saline injected bodies adorned covers of hip-hop magazines. I was in love before I read Their Eyes Were Watching God, Delores Williams and Alice Walker. I loved all of hip-hop before my seminary classes with Dr. Carpenter, Dr. Bellis, Dr. Sanders and Dr. Wiley.

In short, I was in love with hip-hop before I recognized my female self to be a reflection of the Divine.

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