Nah, That’s Ours.
I can recall bits and pieces of my childhood, but I can vividly remember reciting “Aint Nuthin’ but a G thang” at six years old word-for-word. It sticks out because I made the assumed fatal mistake of saying the lyrics out loud. My mother overheard me recite one of the lines, and as soon as I said it, she looked at me with a mix of
-Curiosity
-general confusion.
The song is filled with spirited language, and somehow, someway my six-year-old self heard the song enough to memorize the lyrics with no clear understanding of what those words meant.
I hadn’t fallen in love with Hip-Hop at that point, but it was coming. There was something about the cadence and artists’ ability to find pockets in songs during that time that grabbed me; it still does. At the time, I couldn’t adequately comprehend where Hip-Hop would go over the next 5–6 years, but it was Dream Hampton who showed me there as a space in this world for me. Her friendship with Biggie, her interviews with Pac and an assortment of monumental pieces reinforced the importance of the Hip-Hop culture for me. I’ve also got to mention Jay-Z here: Reasonable Doubt changed my life and on days good or bad, this is played at unreasonable levels. Hip Hop became so much more than the words or shiny suits worn by Puff Daddy, for me it created a sense of belonging — even from a far
Fast forward a few years, and I’m writing about it myself. The blogging era created a new generation of artists, writers and “influencers.” In various spaces I put pen to paper discussing artists early in their careers. Their music was certainly different from what I’d grown up on but felt more aligned with from a life experience perspective. From the contagious instrumentals of 40 (Noah Shebib), to the frustrated genius of Wale to introspective freestyles over early 90’s beats by everyone who ascended past the stepping stone of a XXL freshmen cover (Everyone hopped on ’93 to infinity)– it gave me a sense of “damn, them too?”
But things change as they always do. I stopped seeing artists I would place on a pedestal or those who reflected my life experience; the culture was changing, and I wasn’t ready for it. I looked at XXL Freshman covers and knew no one. I listened to the lyrics and legitimately couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was frustrating because this thing, my generation’s thing, was now different. We’d grown up in it, but now it was transforming into something else.
As I sit here on recalling the previous three Wednesday’s (1/6, 1/13, 1/20), I know for sure there are people who feel the same way about America. More than 75 million people voted for Donald Trump and a few thousand of them stormed the Capitol of the United States of America to make their voices heard.
I don’t want that sentence to take over this piece…I mean really? The United States Capitol? My initial thoughts of a ragtag bunch of protesters who simply wanted a tour were wrong, there were plans in place that were much more sinister than I had imagined.
Through interviews or verified social media posts I continually hear a recurring theme of “My Country.” I’ve lived in this country my whole life. I’ve recited the pledge thousands of times. I’ve put two feet in the Oval Office and took one for the gram in the Press Briefing Room. I’ve worn a tattered jersey in Turn 3 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. I’ve mourned the loss of soldiers and law enforcement officials. I’ve chanted out the bum-bum-bum in that “Sweet Caroline” song. I’ve shot-gunned more beers than I care to admit. I’ve volunteered and given back to this country in numerous ways.
But…
I’ve never said, “this is my country.”
While I’m certainly entitled (such a fascinating word) to say so, I never have, as I look at America, or at least the idea of America as “ours.” While those from minority backgrounds are certainly entitled to say it as well, I’ve never heard anyone of the many minorities in my life use the phrase, “my country.” It may not be anyone’s intention to give off bad vibes in using the phrase, but it does. For people that look like me, our participation in American society has been marred by White Supremacy, slavery, Jim Crow, Reaganomics, and most notably blatant economic injustices that have impeded upward mobility for generations. Google it — these are facts that can be researched. While I know it may suck to hear the rose-gold colored version of America is faulty at best for some, its time to acknowledge it.
Our country realized awhile ago that something wasn’t right. Our country realized inclusiveness and diversity is a gift, not to be included as an aside, but as a foundational part of everything we do. Our country is tired of hearing everything’s all good when we know it isn’t. Our country realizes there are certainly anomalies and exceptions to the rules. Our country is ready for tough conversations and action centered around equity and empowerment. Our country doesn’t want a handout, but we do want a fair shake.
Our country isn’t just made up of people who look like me, think like me or worship like me. Our country is filled with people of various backgrounds and identities. It’s time we look at our differences as opportunities for growth. It’s all too easy to generalize groups of people if you’ve never been in the same space with them. Have you ever been in a room where you were the “only one?” — it leaves little room for ignorance and stupid comments. And if you want to exist in your bubble that’s cool, but it ain’t. Its not sustainable. Change is only scary for people who benefit from the status quo and those who have haven’t been exposed to new ideas.
Seeing the thing that I grew up with change was scary, but I realize it had to. I realized opportunity wasn’t a pie, its infinite if you shift your focus. These new artists deserved a shot and while most of it isn’t for me, I’ve slowly found bits and pieces I like. I began to expose myself to the unique ways they’re marketing themselves and found an appreciation for their ability to define their own realities. I didn’t want to be the old guy pointing my figurative cane at the kids — its just not a good look. As a student of history, I’ve seen where this goes — it takes America awhile, but the pie gets bigger and those who have been historically shut out, they eventually walk through those figurative doors. I want to be the kind of person who opens doors, not the person that bolts the door. What about you?
