Length:         3-5 pages      or           750 words < your paper < 1250 words 

Read the interview between Angela Davis and Ice Cube (O’Shea Jackson).

Davis and Jackson discuss many topics.

Please make sure to have at least three paragraphs in your essay addressing the following three topics. 

Assessing Content of the Article

1) In your opinion, summarize what you think the most important takeaways from this interview are. Use a musical example from class to help illustrate your assessment of what the main points are. Why do think these points are important takeaways? 

Re-Imagining Time and Place 

2) This interview took place in 1991, almost 30 years ago. Imagine if it were to take place right now in 2020. What questions and topics would you discuss? What if you took the perspective(s) of Angela Davis? Of Ice Cube? 

Personal Thoughts and Reflections 

3) Any other things about the article that you think are important, stand out to you, and are worth discussing. Use musical examples if and when appropriate. 

Please cite quotations from the interview, as well as any outside references to musical examples. Below are links to the Purdue Owl with how to cite various things in MLA style. You do not have to use MLA style. Use whichever citation documentation you are comfortable with (MLA, APA, Chicago, or something else), however, use it accordingly. (If you click on the links below then look to the outline on the left of the page, there are tabs for other citation styles).

Here is the Works Cited entry for the article in MLA style – 

                Cube, Ice, and Angela Y. Davis. “Nappy happy.” Transition 58 (1992): 174-192.

song playlists

Week 1 Playlists – 

YouTube Playlist 1

Spotify Playlist – Classic Funk Breaks

Spotify Playlist – Diggin’ in the Crates

Week 2 Playlists – 

Records of 1980

Records of 1981

Records of 1982

Records of 1983

Records of 1984 

Records of 1985

Records of 1986

Janet Jackson Control – 1986

Week 3 Playlists

Records_of_1987

Records_of_1988

Records_of_1989

Week 4 Playlists

1988 – Spotify

1989 – Spotify

1990 – Spotify

1991 – Spotify

1988 – YouTube

1989 – YouTube

1990 – YouTube (looks like this list has had a few deleted)

1991 – YouTube (same here)

Journal Week 5

1992 – Spotify Playlist

1993 – Spotify Playlist

1994 – Spotify Playlist

1992 – YouTube Playlist

1993  – YouTube Playlist

1994 – YouTube Playlist

Journal Week 6 

Spotify – Rap, Hip Hop, and Protest

Spotify 1995

YouTube 1995

YouTube 1996

YouTube 1997

More lists from week 7 – 

“Underground” – around 2000

– Spotify 

Queerness and Hip Hop around 2000

– Spotify 

Early Asian Representation in Hip Hop (mostly c. 2000)

– Spotify

Hutchins Center for African and African American Research at Harvard University

Nappy Happy
Author(s): Ice Cube and

Angela Y. Davis

Source: Transition, No. 58 (1992), pp. 174-192
Published by: Indiana University Press on behalf of the Hutchins Center for African and
African American Research at Harvard University
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Transition

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T R A N S I T I ON Conversation

NAPPY HAPPY

A Conversation with Ice Cube and Angela Y. Davis.

You may love him or loathe him, but
you have to take him seriously. O’Shea

Jackson-better known by his nom de mi-

crophone, Ice Cube-may be the most
successful “hardcore” rap artist in the re-

cording industry. And his influence as a

trendsetter in black youth culture is un-

rivaled. According to some academic
analysts, Ice Cube qualifies as an “or-
ganic intellectual” (in Antonio Gramsci’s

famous phrase): someone organically
connected to the community he would

uplift.

He is, at the same time, an American

success story. It was as a member of the

Compton-based rap group NWA that he

first came to prominence in 1988 at the

age of 18. Less than two years later, he

left the group over a dispute about
money, and went solo. Amerikkka’s Most

Wanted, his gritty debut album, went

platinum-and the rest is recording his-

tory.

Ice Cube is also a multimedia phe-
nomenon. Artless, powerful perfor-
mances in films by John Singleton and
Walter Hill have established him as a

commanding screen presence. That,
combined with his streetwise credibility,

has been a boon for St. Ides malt liquor,

which has paid generously for his ongo-

ing “celebrity endorsement.” Naturally,

it’s a relationship that has aroused some

skepticism. While Public Enemy’s
Chuck D, for example, has inveighed
against an industry that exacts a tragic

toll in America’s inner cities, even suing

a malt liquor company that used one of

his cuts to promote its product, Ice Cube

defends his role in touting booze in the

‘hood-even though, having joined the
Nation of Islam, he says he’s now a tee-

totaller. “I do what I want to do,” he says

of his malt liquor ads.

Some of his other celebrity endorse-

ments have raised eyebrows as well. For

example, at the end of a press conference

last year, Ice Cube held up a copy of a
book entitled The Secret Relationship Be-

tween Blacks and Jews, which purports to
reveal the “massive” and “inordinate”

role of the Jews in a genocidal campaign

against blacks. “Try to find this book,”

he exhorted, “everybody.”

But then Ice Cube is no stranger to

controversy, and his second album Death

Certificate has certainly not been without

its critics. The album, which has sold

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over a million copies, delivers a strong

message of uplift and affirmation . . .

unless you happen to be female, Asian,

Jewish, gay, white, black, whatever.

So, for instance, in the song “No Va-
seline,” Ice Cube calls for the death of

Jerry Heller, his former manager, and

imagines torching NWA rapper Eazy-E

for having “let a Jew break up your
crew.” In “Horny Lil’ Devil,” Cube
speaks of castrating white men who go
out with black women. (“True Niggers

ain’t gay,” he advises in the course of this

cut.) In “Black Korea,” he warns Korean

grocers to “pay respect to the black fist,

or we’ll burn your store down to a
crisp.” You get the picture. Not exactly
“It’s a Small World After All.”

Still, Ice Cube’s champions-and
stalwart defenders-are legion. “I have

seen the future of American culture and

he’s wearing a Raiders hat,” proclaimed
the music criticJames Bernard. “Cube’s

album isn’t about racial hatred,” opined
Dane L. Webb, then executive editor of

Larry Flynt’s Rappages. “It’s about have-

nots pointing fingers at those who have.

And the reality for most Black people is
that the few that have in our communities

are mostly Asian or Jewish. And when a
Black man tells the truth about their

oppressive brand of democracy in our
community, they ‘Shut ‘Em Down.'”
“When Ice Cube says that NWA is con-

trolled by a Jew,” Chuck D protested,
“how is that anti-Semitism, when Heller

is a Jew?” The journalist Scott Poulson-

Bryant pointedly observed that most of
Cube’s critics are unconcerned when he

advocates hatred and violence toward

NAPPY HAPPY 175

Angela Y. Davis

and Ice Cube

(O’Shea Jackson)

Courtesy Set To Run

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other blacks. “All the cries of Ice Cube’s

racism, then, seem dreadfully racist
themselves,” he argued. “Dismissing the

context of Death Certificate’s name-
calling and venom, critics assume a
police-like stance and fire away from be-
hind the smoke screen.”

Not all black intellectuals have been as

charitable. Thus Manning Marable, the

radical scholar and commentator, ques-

tions the rap artist’s “political maturity

and insight” and insists that “people
of color must transcend the terrible ten-

dency to blame each other, to empha-
size their differences, to trash one

another. … A truly multicultural de-

mocracy which empowers people of
color will never be won if we tolerate

bigotry with our own ranks, and turn

our energies to undermine each other.”

And what of the legendary Angela Y.

Davis? In some ways, hers, too, was an

American success story, but with a twist.

Raised in Birmingham, Alabama, Davis

went on to graduate magna cum laude
from Brandeis University and work on
her doctorate under Herbert Marcuse at

the University of California, San Diego,

and teach philosophy at the University of

California, Los Angeles. In a few short

years, however, her political commit-
ments made her a casualty of the gov-

ernment’s war against black radicalism:

the philosopher was turned into a fugi-

tive from justice. In 1970, by the age of

twenty-six, she had made the FBI’s Ten

Most Wanted List (which described her

as “armed and dangerous”) and appeared
on the cover of Newsweek-in chains.

Now a professor in the History of
Consciousness program at the Univer-
sity of California, Santa Cruz, Davis has
made her mark as a social theorist, elab-

orating her views on the need for a trans-

racial politics of alliance and transfor-

mation in two widely cited collections
of essays, Women, Race, & Class and
Women, Culture, & Politics. Cautioning

against the narrow-gauged black nation-

alism of the street, Davis is wont to decry

anti-Semitism and homophobia in the
same breath as racism. “We do not draw

the color line,” she writes in her latest

book. “The only line we draw is one
based on our political principles.”

So the encounter between them-a

two hour conversation held at Street

Knowledge, Cube’s company offices-
was an encounter between two different

perspectives, two different activist tradi-

tions, and, of course, two different gen-

erations. While Davis’s background has

disposed her to seek common ground
with others, these differences may have

been both constraining and productive.

Davis notes with misgivings that Death
Certificate was not released until after the

conversation was recorded, so that she

did not have the opportunity to listen to

more than a few songs. She writes:
“Considering the extremely problematic

content of ‘Black Korea,’ I regret that I
was then unaware of its inclusion on the

album. My current political work in-
volves the negotiation of cross-cultural

alliances-especially among people of
color-in developing opposition to hate
violence. Had I been aware of this song,

it would have certainly provided a the-

matic focus for a number of questions

that unfortunately remain unexplored in
this conversation.”

Angela Y. Davis: I want to begin by
acknowledging our very different posi-

tions. We represent different generations

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and genders: you are a young man and I
am a mature woman. But I also want to

acknowledge our affinities. We are both
African Americans, who share a cultural

tradition as well as a passionate concern

for our people. So, in exploring our dif-
ferences in the course of this conversa-

tion, I hope we will discover common
ground. Now, I am of the same gener-

ation as your mother. Hip-hop culture is

a product of the younger generation of

sisters and brothers in our community. I

am curious about your attitude toward

the older generation. How do you and
your peers see us?

Ice Cube: When I look at older people,
I don’t think they feel that they can learn

from the younger generation. I try and

tell my mother things that she just
doesn’t want to hear sometimes. She is so

used to being a certain way: she’s from

the South and grew up at a time when the

South was a very dangerous place. I was

born in Los Angeles in 1969. When I
started school, it was totally different
from when she went to school. What she

learned was totally different from what I
learned.

AYD: I find that many of the friends I

have in my own age group are not very

receptive to the culture of the younger

generation. Some of them who have
looked at my CDs have been surprised to

see my collection of rap music. Invari-

ably, they ask, “Do you really listen to
that?” I remind them that our mothers

and fathers probably felt the same way
about the music we listened to when we

were younger. If we are not willing to

attempt to learn about youth culture,
communication between generations

will be as difficult as it has always been.

We need to listen to what you are
saying-as hard as it may be to hear it.
And believe me, sometimes what I hear

in your music thoroughly assaults my
ears. It makes me feel as if much of the

work we have done over the last decades

to change our self-representations as Af-

rican Americans means little or nothing

to so many people in your generation. At

the same time, it is exhilarating to hear

your appeal to young people to stand up

and to be proud of who they are, who we

are. But where do you think we are right

now, in the 1990s? Do you think that

each generation starts where the preced-

ing one left off?

The war against gangs is
a war against our kids

IC: Of course. We’re at a point when we

can hear people like the L.A. police chief

on TV saying we’ve got to have a war on

gangs. I see a lot of black parents clap-

ping and saying: Oh yes, we have to have

a war on gangs. But when young men
with baseball caps and T-shirts are con-

sidered gangs, what these parents are do-

ing is clapping for a war against their

children. When people talk about a war

on gangs, they ain’t going to North of

Pico or Beverly Hills. They are going to

come to South Central L. A. They are go-

ing to go to Watts, to Long Beach, to

Compton. They are going to East Oak-
land, to Brooklyn. That war against
gangs is a war against our kids. So the
media, the news, have more influence on

our parents than we in the community.

The parents might stay in the house all

day. They go back and forth to work.

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They barely know anybody. The gang

members know everybody up and down
the street.

AYD: During the late sixties, when I
lived in Los Angeles, my parents were

utterly opposed to my decision to be-
come active in the Black Panther Party

and in SNCC [Student Nonviolent Co-
ordinating Committee]. They were an-

gry at me for associating myself with

what was called “black militancy” even

though they situated themselves in a pro-

gressive tradition. In the thirties, my

mother was active in the campaign on
behalf of the Scottsboro Nine-you
know about the nine brothers who were

falsely charged with raping three white

women in Scottsboro, Alabama. They

spent almost all of their lives in prison.

My mother was involved in that cam-

paign, confronting racism in a way that

makes me feel scared today. But when

she saw me doing something similar to

what she had done in her youth, she be-

came frightened. Now she understands

that what I did was important. But at the
time she couldn’t see it. I wish that when

I was in my twenties, I had taken the ini-

tiative to try and communicate with my
mother, so that I could have discovered

that bridging the great divide between us

was a similar passion toward political ac-
tivism. I wish I had tried to understand

that she had shaped my own desire to
actively intervene in the politics of rac-

ism. It took me many years to realize that

in many ways I was just following in her

footsteps. Which brings me to some ob-

servations about black youth today and

the respect that is conveyed in the pop-
ular musical culture for those who came

before-for Malcolm, for example.
What about the parents of the young

people who listen to your music? How
do you relate to them?

IC: Well, the parents have to have open

minds. The parents have to build a bond,

a relationship with their kids, so Ice Cube

doesn’t have control of their kid. They

do. Ice Cube is not raising their kid.
They are.

AYD: But you are trying to educate
them.

IC: Of course. Because the school sys-

tem won’t do it. Rap music is our net-

work. It’s the only way we can talk to
each other, almost uncensored.

AYD: So what are you talking to each
other about?

IC: Everybody has a different way. My

first approach was holding up the mir-

ror. Once you hold up a mirror, you see

yourself for who you are, and you see the

things going on in the black community.

Hopefully, it scares them so much that

they are going to want to make a change,

or it’s going to provoke some thought in
that direction.

AYD: Am I correct in thinking that
when you tell them, through your mu-

sic, what is happening in the commu-
nity, you play various roles, you become
different characters? The reason I ask this

question is because many people assume

that when you are rapping, your words

reflect your own beliefs and values. For

example, when you talk about “bitches”

and “hoes,” the assumption is that you
believe women are bitches and hoes. Are

you saying that this is the accepted lan-

guage in some circles in the

community?

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That this is the vocabulary that young

people use and you want them to observe

themselves in such a way that may also

cause them to think about changing their
attitudes?

IC: Of course. People who say Ice Cube
thinks all women are bitches and hoes are

not listening to the lyrics. They ain’t lis-

tening to the situations. They really are

not. I don’t think they really get past the

profanity. Parents say, “Uh-oh, I can’t
hear this,” but we learned it from our

parents, from the TV. This isn’t some-

thing new that just popped up.

AYD: What do you think about all the
efforts over the years to transform the

language we use to refer to ourselves as

black people and specifically as black
women? I remember when we began to

eliminate the word “Negro” from our
vocabulary. It felt like a personal victory
for me when that word became obsolete.

As a child I used to cringe every time
someone referred to me as a “Negro,”
whether it was a white person or another

“Negro.” I didn’t know then why it
made me feel so uncomfortable, but later

I realized that “Negro” was virtually
synonymous with the word “slave.” I
had been reacting to the fact that every-

where I turned I was being called a slave.

White people called me a slave, black
people called me a slave, and I called my-

self a slave. Although the word “Negro”

is Spanish for the color black, its usage in

English has always implied racial inferi-

ority.

When we began to rehabilitate the
word “black” during the mid-sixties,

coining the slogan “Black is beautiful,”

calling ourselves black in a positive and

self-affirming way, we also began to crit-

icize the way we had grown accustomed

to using the word “nigger.” “Negro”
was just a proper way of saying “nig-
ger.” An important moment in the pop-
ular culture of the seventies was when

Richard Prior announced that he was

eliminating “nigger” from his vocabu-

lary.

How do you think progressive Afri-

can Americans of my generation feel
when we hear all over again-especially

in hip hop culture- “nigger, nigger, nig-

ger”? How do you think black feminists

like myself and younger women as well

respond to the word “bitch”?

IC: The language of the streets is the only

language I can use to communicate with

the streets. You have to build people up.

You have to get under them and then lift.

You know all of this pulling from on top

ain’t working. So we have to take the
language of the streets, tell the kids about

the situation, tell them what’s really go-

ing on. Because some kids are blind to
what they are doing, to their own ac-

tions. Take a football player-a quarter-

back. He’s on the field, right in the ac-

We have a lot of people
out there just looking to get

paid. I’m looking to earn,
but I’m not looking to

get paid

tion. But he still can’t see what’s going

on. He’s got to call up to somebody that

has a larger perspective. It’s the same
thing I’m doing. It’s all an evolution pro-

cess. It’s going to take time. Nothing’s

going to be done overnight. But once we

start waking them up, opening their
eyes, then we can start putting some-

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thing in there. If you start putting some-

thing in there while their eyes are closed,

that ain’t doing no good.

AYD: Your first solo album, Ameri-

kkka’s Most Wanted, went gold in ten days

without any assistance from the radio

and the normal network, and went plat-

inum in three months. Why do you think

young sisters and brothers are so drawn

to your voice, your rap, your message?

IC: The truth. We get a lot of brothers

who talk to a lot of people. But they ain’t

saying nothing. Here’s a brother who’s

saying something- who won’t sell him-

self out. Knowing that he won’t sell him-

self out, you know he won’t sell you out.

We have a brother who ain’t looking to

get paid. I’m looking to earn, but I’m not

looking to get paid. You have a lot of
people out there just looking to get paid.

We’ve got a lot of people in the position

of doing music, and all they want to talk

about is “baby don’t go, I love you,”
“please come back to me,” and “don’t

worry, be happy.”

AYD: What’s the difference between

what you tried to do on Amerikkka’s Most

Wanted and on Death Certificate?

IC: Well in Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, I
was still blind to the facts. I knew a few

things, but I didn’t know what I know

now. I’ve grown as a person. When I
grow as a person, I grow as an artist. I

think that this new album, Death Certif-

icate, is just a step forward.

AYD: Perhaps you can say how this al-

bum is evidence of your own growth and

development in comparison to Ameri-
kkka’s Most Wanted.

IC: I think I have more knowledge of
self. I am a little wiser than I was. In

Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, even though it

was a good album-it was one of the best

albums of the year-I was going through

a lot of pressure personally. With this

new album, Death Certificate, I can look

at everything, without any personal
problems getting in the way. It’s all
about the music.

AYD: I am interested in what you’ve
said about the difference between side A

and side B.

IC: Death Certificate is side A. Most peo-

ple liken it to “gangster rap.” “Reality

rap” is what it is. Side A starts off with

a funeral, because black people are men-

tally dead. It’s all about getting that
across in the music. A lot of people like

the first side. It’s got all that you would

expect. At the end of the first side, the

death side, I explain that people like the

first side because we’re mentally dead.
That’s what we want to hear now. We

don’t love ourselves, so that’s the type of
music we want to hear. The B side-

which is the life side-starts off with a

birth and is about a consciousness of

where we need to be, how we need to

look at other people, how we need to
look at ourselves and reevaluate our-

selves.

AYD: Let’s talk about “party politics.”
When kids are partying to your music,

they are also being influenced by it, even

though they may not be consciously fo-

cusing on what they need to change in
their lives.

IC: I wouldn’t say my music is party mu-
sic. Some of the music is “danceable.”

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But a lot of it is something that you put

on in your Walkman and listen to.

AYD: But what kind of mood does it

put you in? Isn’t it the rhythm, the beat

that captures you, that makes you feel
good?

IC: You should feel good when you
learn it.

AYD: I have talked to many of my
young friends who listen to you and say,

“This brother can rap!” They are really

impressed by your music, but they
sometimes feel embarrassed that they
unthinkingly follow the lyrics and some-

times find themselves saying things that

challenge their political sensibilities. Like

using the word “bitch,” for example.
Which means that it is the music that is

foregrounded and the lyrics become sec-

ondary. This makes me wonder whether

the message you are conveying some-
times escapes the people that you are try-

ing to reach.

IC: Well, of course it’s not going to reach

everybody in the same way. Maybe the

people that are getting it can tell the
brother or the sister that ain’t getting it.

I think what my man’s trying to say here
is called breakdown. You know what I’m

saying? Once you have knowledge, it is

just in your nature to give it up.

AYD: I took your video-“Dead
Homies”-to the San Francisco County

Jail and screened it for the sisters there

who recently had been involved in a se-

ries of fights among themselves in the

dorm. They had been fighting over who

gets to use the telephone, the micro-
wave, and things like that. The guards

had constantly intervened-they come in

at the slightest pretext, even when some-

body raises their voice. Your video, your

song about young people killing each

other, provided a basis for a wonderful,

enlightening conversation among the
women in the jail. They began to look at

themselves and the antagonisms among

them in a way that provoked them to
think about changing their attitudes.

IC: Let me tell you something. What we

have is kids looking at television, hearing

the so-called leaders in this capitalist
system saying: It’s not all right to be

poor-if you’re poor you’re nothing-
get more. And they say to the women:

You got to have your hair this way, your

eyes got to be this way. You got to have

this kind of purse or that kind of shoes.
There are the brothers who want the

women. And the women have the atti-

tude of “that’s what we want.” I call

it the “white hype.” What you have
is black people wanting to be like
white people, not realizing that white
people want to be like black people. So
the best thing to do is to eliminate that

type of thinking. You need black men
who are not looking up to the white
man, who are not trying to be like the
white man.

AYD: What about the women? You

keep talking about black men. I’d like to

hear you say: black men and black
women.

IC: Black people.

AYD: I think that you often exclude
your sisters from your thought process.

We’re never going to get anywhere if
we’re not together.

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IC: Of course. But the black man is

down.

AYD: The black woman’s down too.

IC: But the black woman can’t look up
to the black man until we get up.

AYD: Well why should the black
woman look up to the black man? Why

can’t we look at each other as equals?

IC: If we look at each other on an equal

level, what you’re going to have is a di-
vide.

AYD: As I told you, I teach at the San
Francisco County Jail. Many of the
women there have been arrested in con-

nection with drugs. But they are invis-

ible to most people. People talk about the

drug problem without mentioning the

fact that the majority of crack users in our

community are women. So when we
talk about progress in the community,
we have to talk about the sisters as well

as the brothers.

IC: The sisters have held up the com-
munity.

AYD: When you refer to “the black
man,” I would like to hear something ex-

plicit about black women. That will con-

vince me that you are thinking about
your sisters as well as your brothers.

IC: I think about everybody.

AYD: We should be able to speak for
each other. The young sister has to be

capable of talking about what’s happen-
ing to black men-the fact that they are

dying, they’re in prison; they are as en-

dangered as the young female half of our

community. As a woman I feel a deep
responsibility to stand with my brothers
and to do whatever I can to halt that vi-

cious cycle. But I also want the brothers

to become conscious of what’s happen-

ing to the sisters and to stand with them

and to speak out for them.

IC: We can’t speak up for the sisters until

we can speak up for ourselves.

AYD: Suppose I say you can’t speak up
for yourselves until you can also speak up
for the sisters. As a black woman I don’t

think I can speak up for myself as a
woman unless I can speak up for my
brothers as well. If we are talking about

an entire community rising out of pov-

erty and racism, men will have to learn

how to challenge sexism and to fight on
behalf of women.

IC: Of course.

AYD: In this context, let’s go back to
your first album. I know that most
women-particularly those who identify
with feminism or with women’s move-

ments-ask you about “You Can’t Faze

Me.” Having been involved myself with

the struggle for women’s reproductive

rights, my first response to this song was

one of deep hurt. It trivializes something

that is extremely serious. It grabs people

in a really deep place. How many black

women died on the desks of back alley

abortionists when abortion was illegal
before 1973? Isn’t it true that the same

ultraright forces who attack the rights

of people of color today are also calling
for the criminalization of abortion?

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Women should have the right to exercise

some control over what happens to our
bodies.

AYD: What do you think about the
“don’t do drugs” message you hear over

and over again in rap music? Do you
think that it’s having any effect on our

community?

IC: Maybe, but it’s message without ac-

tion.

AYD: Message without action?

IC: We’ve got to start policing and
patrolling our own neighborhoods.
There’s got to be a day when we go into

the drug house and kick down the door.

Snatch the drug dealer, take his drugs.

Destroy his drugs. Take the money and

put it into the movement. That’s what

we gotta do. We can’t dial 911, call Sher-

iff Bill or Deputy Tom who don’t care

about the community or the drugs.

AYD: But where are the drugs coming
from?

IC: Oh, it’s coming from them.

AYD: So don’t you think that Bill will
always be able to find someone who will

be able to do their dirty work?

IC: Yes, but there’s got to be a time
when we say: You can do your dirty
work but you’re not going to do it here.

You are not going to occupy our court.

AYD: Let’s get back to your music.

Would you say that you’re trying to raise

people’s consciousness?

IC: We get the minds open so we can
start feeding into them, break down. The

mind revolution has to go on before any-

thing happens.

AYD: So how does the song “Us” help
us to achieve this mind revolution?

IC: It makes us look at ourselves again.

AYD: Talk about that.

IC: “Us” is a record saying: Look at who
we are. Let’s look at ourselves. Because

every time you look at the other man
you’ve got to look at yourself, too. See

how we reflect him. They fight each
other, that’s why we fight each other.
He’s still in our mind. No matter how

much we deny it, he’s still in our mind.

As long as we accept this mentality,
we’re going to do exactly what the slave
did when the master said “I’m sick,” and

the slave said, “We’re sick.” The house

is burning and he tries to throw water on
the house faster than the slave master

does. They put us in this trap. Now
we’re living just like they’re living.

AYD: What is the role your music plays

in assisting young people to develop an

awareness of the self-hatred that they

have grown up with? Whether you like

it or not, you’re out there as a teacher.

IC: My job is to teach what I know and

then point to my teacher.

AYD: And then there will be the sister

or brother who listens to you and who

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will use your message as the basis for
teaching somebody else.

IC: Of course. And then they will point
that someone else to their teacher, and

then I’ll point them to my teacher.

AYD: So what you’re talking about is
education.

IC: Of course, the revolution.

AYD: So education is the mind revolu-

tion.

IC: That’s right, education is the mind
revolution.

AYD: There’s a long tradition of music

as education and of situating education at

the center of our social struggles. Fred-

erick Douglass, for example, talked
about how important it was for enslaved

black people to educate themselves. Be-

cause once they began to educate them-

selves they would no longer be slaves.

IC: But we wouldn’t educate ourselves:

we wanted the slave master to educate

us.

AYD: But we created our own schools.

Immediately after the abolition of sla-

very, we began to create our own
schools.

IC: But you’re still being taught by the
slave master. Because whoever’s the

teacher had to be affected by slavery in

one way or another. Reverend Pigfeet
ain’t giving us what we need to know.

He’s not telling us what we need to know

about who we are. He telling us about

the life after this one. Why can’t we have

heaven right here? Why can’t we have
heaven here and heaven in the life after?

AYD: What do you think about our Af-

rican American history, and the contem-

porary lessons we can learn from our his-

tory? I raise this question because we

often fail to grasp the complexity of our

own culture. The comment you just
made about the role religion has played

in our history has also been the basis for

an unfounded criticism of the spirituals

that were created and sung by slaves.

When, for example, slaves sang “Swing

low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry

me home,” they may have appeared to

be evoking freedom in the afterlife, but

wasn’t it true that they were also singing

about Harriet Tubman-the chariot,

Harriet, who rescued so many women
and men, helping them to discover free-
dom in this life? How do we remember

what came before us? How do we main-

tain a historical memory that helps us to

build on the accomplishments and in-
sights that came before us-even if we

adopt a critical attitude toward those ac-

complishments. How do we avoid rein-

venting the wheel over and over again?

As a rap artist, what do you think about

the images and icons representing histor-

ical personalities that abound in hip-hop

culture? Take Malcolm, for example.

IC: Malcolm’s a student. You don’t

know about Malcolm until you go to
Malcolm’s teacher.

AYD: I know that as a result of rap mu-

sic young people, especially young Af-
rican Americans, became interested

enough in Malcolm to read his autobi-

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ography. This is important, because
there is a generation between my gen-

eration and yours who didn’t know who
Malcolm X was-had never heard of

him. Now the younger generation at
least knows his name, has read the au-

tobiography, and perhaps knows a little

of the surrounding history. The question

I want to ask you is whether you think

it is necessary to probe more deeply into

our history, to go beyond the music, as

many young people have been stimu-
lated by the music to read Malcolm’s au-

tobiography? And especially to look at
the women who have still not become a

part of our collective historical memory.

To look, for example, at Ida B. Wells,
the black woman who was the single

most important figure in the develop-

ment of the campaign against lynching.

To encourage, for example, an aware-
ness of this woman who traveled all over

the country sometimes nursing her baby

on stage, organizing throughout the
black community, in villages and towns.

Ida Wells was responsible for black peo-

ple realizing that we can stand up and say

that we were not going to allow the Ku
Klux Klan to deliver tens of thousands of

brothers and sisters into the hands of

lynch mobs . . .

IC: Like I said, you’ve got to go to the
teacher. Malcolm was a student. You’ve

got to teach all these kids that they can

become Malcolm, but you’ve got to go
to the teacher. Malcolm can teach you

what he knows, but he should point you
in the direction of the teacher. Same

thing with me and my process. I’m just

now starting to look at the Nation of Is-
lam. That’s how I’ve learned all that I

know, indirectly. So in “Watch Out” at

the end of my record, I point to my
teacher.

AYD: Continuing the discussion of
your latest album, what is “Lord Have
Mercy” about?

IC: “Lord Have Mercy” is like a prayer,

but it’s a rap song. This song evaluates
the situation and asks the Lord to help us

in our struggle. It’s saying, when he
sends down the ladder, don’t forget us.

AYD: Where do the ideas expressed in

this song come from?

IC: They come from my belief in God.

Today, they say you’ve got to go to a
church. I think I’ve been to a church six

times in my life. A church should not be

like-shhhh quiet, you’re in a church-
you know what I mean?

AYD: But there are some churches that

don’t require you to be quiet. In the Af-

rican tradition, a church is a place where

you dance, you move, you sing, where

you celebrate in a collective spirit.

IC: Yes.

AYD: Also, in our history, the church is

the site where we organized and planned
our rebellions.

IC: But we could have done that any-
where.

AYD: What do you mean we could have

done it anywhere?

IC: I mean we could have done it

anywhere-in the house . ..

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AYD: I’m talking about slavery. The re-

ligious gathering was the only place we

had that was collective and not subject to
surveillance. The church had to become

a lot of things. That’s why ministers be-

came social, political leaders. I know
there are a lot of your “Reverend Pig-
feet” around. But there is also another

tradition . . .

IC: But now, in the 1990s, are they real
leaders?

AYD: What do you think about Rev-
erend Jesse Jackson?

I don’t believe Jesse

Jackson is a leader. I call

him “Messy Jesse”

IC: I should say this to him in person,

though I don’t know when I’m going to

see him. But I call him “Messy Jesse.” I

don’t believe Jesse Jackson is a leader. I
don’t look at him as a leader. I look at

him as a follower, but he’s following the

wrong leader. I’m a follower, but I be-

lieve I’m following the right leader.

AYD: Well, what do you think about
running for political office in more gen-

eral terms? Jesse Jackson’s claim to lead-

ership is based on the fact that he ran

twice for president on the Democratic
ticket.

IC: That’s cool, as long as you don’t be-

come a puppet. As long as you don’t be-
come a token. I look at him, the rela-

tionship between him and Minister Louis

Farrakhan. The FOI [Fruit of Islam] se-

curity was protecting Jesse with their

lives and Jesse publicly denounced Far-
rakhan, at the same time that he was

meeting with Farrakhan behind closed

doors, in the alley, in the back ways of

South Side Chicago. Around the same
time, he shook hands with George Wal-

lace. How can you not talk publicly to a

man who protected your life, but shake
hands on TV with a man who murdered

your people?

AYD: Are there any black politicians
you respect-who you feel are doing a
good job? Take Ron Dellums for exam-

ple. During the late sixties, he was
elected to the Oakland City Council and

then to Congress based on the work he

did in defense of the Black Panther Party.

IC: I really don’t follow politicians. I
really can’t talk to a politician who would

hold up the flag.

AYD: What about the ones who don’t?

IC: Who don’t hold up the flag? Are they

down for the movement? Down to get

our people right? Or are they using them

as a stepping-stone for themselves?

AYD: I would say that there are a few-
like Dellums and Maxine Waters-who

are not out for themselves, but for the

people. But people shouldn’t expect
them to accomplish anything progres-

sive without the community demanding
it. The election of Maxine Waters to

Congress was an important moment
in our history. A progressive black
woman, solidly backed by her commu-

nity, whose record as an elected official

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in California is as strong as it can get.

People in South Central Los Angeles can

vouch for that. We also need organizers.

IC: Of course, our leaders are orga-
nizers.

AYD: Often the leader or the spokes-
person can’t do everything, and we don’t

often give credit to those who do the
backstage work of organizing. It’s un-

glamorous work, it is not work that peo-

ple read about. And who usually does
that work? Who usually does that house-
work of the movement?

IC: The people do that work. They need
a sense of direction. That’s all we need to

give our kids-is a sense of direction, a

goal that you want them to meet, that

you demand them to meet. So then the

housework gets done.

AYD: But that work requires you some-

times to learn the skills necessary to do it.
You have to learn how to do it.

IC: You have to be taught, you need
guidance, direction.

AYD: Take Rosa Parks, for example.
People usually think of her only as the
woman who refused to sit in the back of

the bus in 1955. According to the myth-
memorialized in the Neville Brother

song “Sister Rosa”-she was tired. But
she had been tired for a long time and was

therefore not only motivated by her feel-

ings. She made a conscious political de-

cision, as an organizer. Rosa Parks is a
woman who helped pull the community

together, who therefore did the work of

the backstage organizer. We need to
learn how to respect those who do that

behind-the-scenes work in the same way

that we respect the orators, the theorists,

the public representatives of the move-

ment. Often, the people who do the or-

ganizing, the people who don’t get credit

for their work are women. Everybody

knows Dr. Martin Luther King as the

There’s the chicken and

the chicken hawk. They are
enemies by nature. That’s

what we got to instill
in our kids

public representative of the civil rights

movement, but not very many people
know that it was a group of women who

organized the boycott in Montgomery.

If it hadn’t been for them, nobody would

have ever known who Dr. King was.
Shouldn’t we pay tribute to those
women, whose names are known by
only a few of us, and realize that we need

organizers in the tradition of the Mont-

gomery women today as well?

IC: You have people who fight for in-
tegration, but I’d say we need to fight for

equal rights. In the schools, they want

equal books, they don’t want torn
books. That was more important than
fighting to sit at the same counter and
eat. I think it’s healthier if we sit over

there, just as long as we have good food.

AYD: Suppose we say we want to sit in

the same place or wherever we want to
sit, but we also want to eat food of our

own choosing. You understand what

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I ‘

x :.a

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I’m saying? We want to be respected as

equals, but also for our differences. I
don’t want to be invisible as a black

woman. I don’t want anyone to tell me

I have to eat like white people eat, or
have the same thoughts, or do my aca-

demic work only in the tradition of
Western European philosophy. Which
doesn’t mean that I am not interested in

Western philosophers, but I am also in-

terested in African philosophical tradi-
tions and Asian and Native American

philosophies . . .

IC: It’s all about teaching our kids about

the nature of the slave master. Teaching

them about his nature, and how he is al-

ways going to beat you no matter how

many books you push in front of him, no

matter how many leaders you send to

talk to him, no matter how much you try

and educate him. He’s always going to be

the same way. We’ve got to understand

that everything has natural enemies.
There’s the chicken, and the chicken

hawk. The ant and the anteater. They are

enemies by nature. That’s what we got to
instill in our kids.

AYD: Would you say that there are crea-

tures who are “friends by nature.” As

human beings, how do we recognize our
friends? Shouldn’t we be friends with

Native Americans?

IC: Oh yes. But that isn’t who I’m talk-

ing about. You have people trying to
love their enemy. That’s where the prob-

lem is: trying to get them to accept us,

trying to get them to “get together” with
us. It has never been the intention of the

government of the United States to in-

tegrate white and black people.

AYD: It may be the government’s
intention today to integrate a certain
kind of black person into the power
structure-the Colin Powells and the

Clarence Thomases . . .

IC: What everybody thought would
work is not working. What you have is

people who go to school and go to col-
lege, and they are running from their

people when their people need them the
most.

AYD: Speaking of school, what d9 you
think about the fact that in some schools,

rap music is being academically studied.

My niece Eisa is a student in Harvard.

She wrote herjunior thesis on rap music.

So what do you have to say about the

way hip-hop culture is now being exam-

ined and analyzed in the context of uni-

versity studies?

IC: Rap music is a school system itself,

and one of the best school systems that
we have. It’s entertainment, but it’s also

a school system. Right now we are more
unified on the surface than we have been.

I’m not just saying that we know the

I’m nappy happy.
You know what I’m saying?

I’m nappy and happy

same thing, but the brothers that got
the bald head in New York are the same

people that got the bald head in Missis-

sippi, the same brothers who got the bald

head in Los Angeles. All over, we’re
starting to know the same thing, we’re

starting to say: Hey, we’re trying not to

identify with the slave master. Putting

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Pamela Springsteen

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the contacts in, the jheri-curls in, trying

to be like somebody you shouldn’t ever
want to be like, ain’t cool. Cut ’em off.
Take ’em out.

AYD: Is that why you cut off your
jheri-curl?

IC: yes, that’s why I cut off my jheri-

curl. I was trying to identify with the

slave master. I like it now. I’m nappy

happy. You know what I’m saying? I’m

nappy and happy.

has said that if it hadn’t been for the fact

that we organized a powerful anti-
apartheid movement here in the United
States, it would have taken them much

longer to get to where they are now. If
we don’t do what we can-and I would

say that African Americans have a special

responsibility here-to continue to en-
courage a political consciousness in favor

of an end to the white regime and for a
free and democratic South Africa, it will

probably take them a lot longer to
achieve these goals. My position is that

we need to stand up and

say no.

AYD: So am I.

IC: You know that’s the thing that we

got to break down. We’ve got to break

that down, and start teaching about our-

selves, and stop teaching us about who

they are. They learned civilization from

us. Once you instill that in black kids and

let them know who they are and who we

are, all the problems will start improve.

AYD: So what responsibilities do we
have to Africa? South Africa for exam-

ple?

IC: We can’t help South Africa. That’s
just like the blind leading the blind. We

can’t help them because we can’t even
help ourselves.

AYD: If you were to talk to Nelson
Mandela, he would say that the solidarity

of African Americans has been extremely

important. The work of anti-apartheid

activists here was certainly not the pri-

mary factor that led to Mandela’s release,

because black people inside South Africa

had been fighting for his freedom for
twenty-five years. But Mandela himself

IC: It’s true, we do need to stand up and

say no.

AYD: You were saying that nothing has

been offered to us on a silver platter-we

have always had to fight for what we
have achieved.

IC: It’s all about taking. They ain’t never

going to give us nothing. Nothing but

heartaches and the blues. That’s the only

thing they are ever going to give to us.

AYD: We have already taken quite a bit.
But it seems that the more we take, the
more we lack.

IC: We’ve taken a whole lot, but more is
ours. More is ours. We deserve more.

We ain’t taken enough.

AYD: So how do you think we can con-

vince our young people to realize that in-

stead of directing so much of their rage

and violence against each other …

IC: They have to learn how to love
themselves. They don’t love themselves.

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If they don’t love themselves, how are

they going to love me and you? We need

an organization that teaches them to love
themselves.

AYD: How do we build this organiza-
tion? Although I personally doubt that

history can be repeated, there are people

who say that we need another Black Pan-

ther Party. They point out that during

To me, the best
organization around for

black people is the
Nation of Islam

the late sixties there was an abundance of

gang violence between some of the same

gangs that are around today in South
Central Los Angeles-the Bloods, the
Cripps, etc.-and the Black Panther
Party eliminated gang antagonisms. The

more widespread the influence of the
Black Panther became, the more the

gang structure began to collapse. I can
say from personal experience that it was

empowering to witness young black
people give up gang violence and begin

to respect each other, regardless of their

neighborhood allegiances.

IC: Did anybody in the Black Panther
organization smoke?

AYD: I’m sure they did.

IC: Did anybody drink?

AYD: I’m sure they did.

IC: That ain’t loving yourself.

AYD: Well, people didn’t know that
then.

IC: But now we do.

AYD: I’m not arguing that we need an-

other Black Panther Party, because I
think that would be a simplistic solution.

History is far more complex. Each gen-

eration has to find its own way. You are

standing on our shoulders and it is up to

you to reach much higher.

IC: And somebody is going to end up
standing on ours, and build something
better than what we had. It’s all about

having a Black Panther Party, just mak-

ing a more advanced Black Panther
Party. Do you know what I mean? A
more organized Black Panther Party.

That’s the key. More people in the party.

AYD: Would you say that your music
calls upon young people to move from a

state of knowing, a position of being ed-

ucated, to a state of doing and a position

of political activism, a position of trans-

forming this society?

IC: Yes, of course. To me, the best or-

ganization around for black people is the

Nation of Islam. It is the best organiza-
tion: brothers don’t drink, don’t smoke,

ain’t chasing women. They have onejob.

They fear one person, though I wouldn’t

say it’s a person-they fear Allah, that’s
it.

AYD: What about the women in the

Nation?

IC: They fear Allah. Don’t drink,
don’t smoke. Know who they are. Love

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themselves. Respect themselves. Love

each other, respect each other. You
know what I mean? That’s what we

need. But we don’t need no Rodney
Kings. I mean we won’t have that inci-

dent. You pull your piece and try to take

my brother’s life, you going to have to

take all of our lives. That’s how it’s got

to go.

AYD: What is the difference, as you see

it, between your role as an artist and your

role as a political teacher-as a purveyor

of political consciousness? You create
and perform your music and at the same

time you have a political agenda. How
do you negotiate between the two posi-
tions?

IC: It is very delicate. I can’t preach, so

to speak, because I don’t want to turn

people off. I have to walk a thin line. I

have to sneak the message in there until

they open up. When they open up is
when I get to shove. You know how you

open babies’ mouths? Until they open
up, you can just get a taste on their lips,

but when they do open up, you just put

it in there. It makes them feel good in-
side.

AYD: So what can we expect from you
as an artist, as a musician?

IC: It’s going to be raw. I’m starting to

get that baby’s mouth open. Now it’s all

about me learning and studying so I can

know the right thing to put in it-and so

I can know more as a person. I have to

learn more as a person before I can pass

it on to the kids who are buying my
music.

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• Contents

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• Issue Table of Contents

Transition, No. 58 (1992), pp. 1-192
Front Matter [pp. 1-161]
Position
Passing for White, Passing for Black [pp. 4-32]
The More Things Change [pp. 34-66]
Apartheid on the Run: The South African Sports Boycott [pp. 68-88]
Under Review
Review: A Prophet Is Not Without Honor [pp. 90-113]
Review: African Athena? [pp. 114-123]
Review: C. L. R. James Misbound [pp. 124-136]
Review: The Making of an African Cinema [pp. 138-150]
Review: The Closing Door [pp. 152-160]
Review: Working Women [pp. 162-168]
Review: All in the Family [pp. 169-173]
Conversations
Nappy Happy [pp. 174-192]
Back Matter

GradingRubric for MUS 81A Written Work

Criteria Excellent
Above
Average

Average
Below
Average

Failing

Format:
10 points
possible

10 points 8 points 5 points 2 points 0 points

Name on paper
Required length
Name in file name
Sent as required
Follows specified format
with intro, body &
conclusion
Neat appearance
Proper citations and
Documentation
(Works Cited or
Bibliography)

Missed one of
the formatting
requirements

Missed two of
the formatting
requirements

Missed three or
four of the
formatting
requirements

Did not follow
format
directions.
No name on
paper
No name in file

Content:
80 points
possible

80 points 70 points 60 points 40 points 0 points

The focus is on
specific topics or
items presented in
the class or
assignment(s).

The introduction is a
short overview that
hits the high points of
what you intend to
say.

The body is a focused,
clear, well organized
discussion with
supporting examples.

Your conclusion
summarizes the
points you made.

The essay lacks
focus,
specificity, or
clarity.

The essay could
use some
improvement in
organization or
depth of
discussion.

The examples
are adequate
but do not
strongly
support the
points you are
making.
Perhaps more
examples or
more specific
examples
would help.

The intro and
conclusion
follow the
guidelines.

The essay lacks
focus,
specificity, or
clarity.

The discussion
is not well
organized.

The examples
may not
support the
points you are
making.

The intro
and/or the
conclusion are
weak.

The essay lacks
focus,
specificity, or
clarity.

There is little
discussion of
specific topics.

The paper is
not well
organized.

There are few,
if any, examples
of how the
topics relate to
you personally.

The intro &
conclusion are
very weak.

The document
does not focus
on specific
topics or items
presented in
the class.

The
introduction is
absent.

The discussion,
if any, does not
relate to the
assignment.

The conclusion
(summary of
your points) is
absent.

Grading Rubric for MUS 81A Written Work

Grammar,
Spelling
and
Punctuation:
10 points
possible

10 points 8 points 5 points 2 points 0 points

No errors:

§ complete

sentences, no
fragments

§ no run-on

sentences

§ subject and verb

agreement

§ present/past tense

consistent

§ no spelling

errors

§ appropriate use of

all punctuation,
especially
apostrophes

§ proper paragraphs

Few (2-3)
grammar, spelling
& punctuation
errors:

§ complete

and easily
understood
sentences

§ few

punctuation
errors

§ easy to read

Several (4-8)
grammatical,
spelling or
punctuation
errors:

§ misspellings

or typos

§ occasional,
(often
repeating)
grammatical
errors

§ not easy to
read

§ occasional

punctuation
errors

Many errors
(8-10)

§ grammatical

errors

§ spelling
errors and
typos

§ errors in
punctuation

§ incomplete
or run-on
sentences

§ improper
use of tense

Filled with errors:

§ incomplete
sentences,
difficult to
follow, riddled
with
grammatical
errors

§ filled with
spelling errors
and typos

§ obviously not
proofread nor
spellchecked

§ misuse of
punctuation –
especially
capitalization
and
apostrophes.