This article was orginally posted at:

http://www.wiretapmag.org/activism/43223/

and at

http://www.thenation.com/doc/20071001/kilwaukee


September 7, 2007

"Imagine us in that bottom on that PCP.
Walkin' to school wit a tool,
who gon' beef wit me.
Got addicted to sellin' drugs,
marijuana and coke.
Momma, she washed
her hands, and let me go.
The rest you know.
I aint gotta explain,
I been a man, since I went got my own."
Lil Boosie, "My Struggle"

The roots of despair

When 16-year-old Preston J. Blackmer was murdered outside of his foster mother's home in Milwaukee in April of 2005 most people living in the midsized Midwestern city barely noticed. After all, death is almost an every-other-day occurrence in "Kilwaukee." Especially in Blackmer's neighborhood where teenage drug dealers often sell dimes, sacks of crack and weed to their extended family members to keep the fridge full.

The fear of death is a fact of life for many young African-Americans living here. There have been nearly 1,500 murders in this city of 650,000 people since George W. Bush took over the oval office. Most of the victims have been Black folks living in a small concentration of census tracts on the city's segregated North Side.

But violence is nothing new to Milwaukee. African-Americans have been dying at the hands of their peers at alarming rates for the last 25 years. It's just that today both the victims and perpetrators are getting younger.

Born at a time when their parents and grandparents were facing Depression-era joblessness and underemployment, Blackmer's Milwaukee is not the same attractive industrial boomtown that once pulled tens of thousands of former sharecroppers out of the South in the 1950s. Not only have many of the social safety networks -- that once protected youth like Blackmer from the harsh realities of poverty -- have disappeared, but also the rapid disappearance of work has weakened the bonds of black kinship networks.

Few politicians and community leaders want to admit it publicly, but children and young adults currently living in many of Milwaukee's inner city neighborhoods are now more likely to go to prison than graduate from high school. Forget about college.

But Blackmer's story is not unique to Milwaukee. All across the country, former industrialized metropolises like Philadelphia, Cincinnati and Pittsburgh have been hit by a wave of violence. But what's causing the increasing death toll? Has the Hip-Hop Generation finally hit the self-destruction button?

Rethinking 'Murder Was the Case'

Of course, there is not just one source of urban America's social woes. There are many issues at play including hypermasculinity. In his recent WireTap article "Murder Was the Case," author Matthew Birkhold highlighted that there's "a link between the construction of masculinity and the emergence of murder." Birkhold argues that in an attempt to act 'hard,' "many men spend entire lives trying to prove their manhood, hurting others in the process."

But while Birkhold's analysis raises some important points about how institutional racism has historically worked to exclude African-Americans from fully participating in society, he never truly gives a voice to the institutionalized powerlessness that is running rampant among today's youth. Because unlike their parents or grandparents, who once shouted that they were "black and proud," many young folks have never had a vision of self-empowerment.

Nothing for us

"Man, you can have all the rallies you want, but you are never going to stop violence. I mean, not unless you are stopping poverty, racism and all that other stuff. You can't stop that, so mufuckas is going to keep dying," says 21-year-old Jeffery Cannady aka DJ Willie Shakes, a popular DJ and youth organizer in Milwaukee. "It's like you just got to live your life man, because I mean these times are written in the Bible. We only got so much time left."

This sense of hopelessness isn't unique to DJ Willies Shakes. In fact over the last three and a half years since moving back to Milwaukee, I've talked to thousands of young people like DJ Willie Shakes who just don't believe that life is going to get better.

"There is nothing out here for us," said 19-year-old Lanisha Martin, an aspiring rapper who is also an organizer with a group called the Campaign Against Violence. (Editor's note: The author is also an organizer with the Campaign Against Violence). "Of course people are going to get killed. I mean I've lost a lot of friends. And it's sort of crazy to realize that I will never see them again."

My story vs. the game

Either way you look at it, the odds of Blackmer making it out of his stomping grounds were more than stacked against him. Born at the height of the federal government's War on Drugs, Blackmer was a product of the crack epidemic. Not only had he never met his drug-dealing father, but also Blackmer's mother was addicted to the street life and all its fatal trappings. For most of his short years on earth, this invisible man-child had to fend for himself.

And survival meant bouncing from couch to couch and occasionally getting off dime packs of crack and weed to keep food in his stomach and clothes on his back. Without a "wicked jump shot" or the extra support needed to succeed in the public school system, Blackmer spent many a school day locked up in the county juvenile detention facility. By the time he passed away the young man was just another statistic; just another black boy lost.

Sadly, Blackmer's story is no different than his killer's. Murdered in what appeared to be a crime of passion, Blackmer's killer was a small-time hustler who was jealous that the handsome boy was spending time with his girlfriend. Like his victim, it is obvious that this young man had very few reasons to believe that his life was going to get any better.

While conservative talking heads would have you believe that young African-Americans are the source of their own woes, the truth is that the game of life is fixed against many young people. Living in cities where vast bureaucratic infrastructures are dedicated to maintaining the prison industrial complex, millions of well-meaning Americans throughout the country make their living off the warehousing and storage of black youth. And like the big-box retail stores that seem to be popping everywhere, youth incarceration is big business. This year it will cost Milwaukee County nearly $95,000 a year to lock up a juvenile offender.

"The biggest hustle on earth is you," says nationalized recognized spoken word artist Muhibb Dyer to a group of young African Americans at SEIU Local 150's sponsored conflict resolution training in Milwaukee in late July. "Everybody is making money off you. Doctors who stitch up bullet wounds make money off of you. Funeral homes make money off you, and lawyers and judges make money off you. So my question to you is, do you think people really want this to stop?"

It's at that moment that the many of the kids realize that the prison industrial complex is working exactly as planned.

It's on you!

If we are going to truly come up with proactive solutions to inner city violence, we must first understand that the issues that young African-Americans are facing in black America are not new. Since the early 20th century, black folks living in urban areas have suffered from extreme levels of poverty and drug use.

Pick up Claude Brown's Man Child in the Promise Land, Nathan McCall's Make's Me Wanna Holler, or even Malcolm X's autobiography, and you'll see that young African-Americans living in urban areas have been facing many of the same issues for nearly a half century. Sure, poverty, the "gangsta aesthetic" and the drug trade may indeed be influential factors in pushing many young people to embrace violent behavior, but these variables do not alone explain the increase in violence in urban America.

Of course today the consequences of these social woes are becoming more drastic. Prior to an influx of heavy narcotics in the 1970s, the black family protected young folks like Blackmer. Never as formal as the monolithic nuclear families seen on television, extended kinship networks consisting of friends, neighbors and family members have always ensured that children could survive the often-harsh realities that African-Americans have faced throughout history. Yet in the 21st century, after a generation of systematic attacks on the black community, these kinship networks have grown weak and inefficient.

And it doesn't look like they will be revitalized anytime soon. Not only is the political climate becoming more tolerant of the criminalization of youth, but the generational rift between the Hip-Hop Generation and Civil Rights Generation that Bakari Kitwana first wrote about in his influential text Hip-Hop Generation: Young Blacks and the Crisis in Black America is having a drastic effect on the quality of life of post Hip-Hop millennials.

That's why it's up to us to have rich and diverse discussions around the issues of urban violence. In my opinion, the issue highlights how truly broken urban America has become. Not only was the War on Drugs a quick-fix solution to deindustrialization but it has also had a tremendously negative impact on all aspects of American life. At the end of the day the rising trends of urban violence all across America highlight that the failed campaign has neither ended drug use nor made life safer for urban Americans.

If we are going to truly impact urban violence we must give voice to those that are living and dying on the streets. We must be able to hear their stories and be empathetic to their perspectives. Otherwise, we will never be able to empower young people to come up with creative solutions to their communities' problems. Because there have been enough Preston J. Blackmers. It's time for us to start stepping up.

Autumn Blaze is one of the Midwest's top spoken word artists. Tuesday she rocked the crowd at Bronzeville own's Poetry Unplugged at Soche Milwaukee. Yeah, Bronzeville's back!

Make sure you come every Tuesday to see the nation's top spoken word artists and musicians do their thing. Next week Def Poetry Jam's own Triple Blak will be on the stage. And it only costs $10.

biko

White Folks Only?
You got to give it to Rolling Stone. For the last 40 years the music rag has been the standard bearer of pop culture magazines. Yeah they mostly write about rock music, but over the years Rolling Stone has done a halfway decent job of covering other genres of music, including hip-hop. (Remember several years back they even turned heads with their investigative story about the death of Tupac and Biggie?)

That's why it's interesting that the magazine didn't interview one person of color for their special fortieth anniversary issue. The commemorative issue highlights the impact that famous baby boomers have played in shaping society since Rolling Stone started in 1967.
But while folks like Mick Jagger, Jane Fonda and Michael Moore were asked about their perceptions of important events like the Vietnam War and the War in Iraq, the magazine's editors must have forgotten about the impact that people of color have had on the socio-cultural landscape of the country. Not one black, brown or yellow person's work was featured in the anniversary issues. Not one!

Come on Rolling Stone you know better! That would be like if 25 years from now The Source forgot to mention the role that Eminem, Rick Rubin and/or Marc Echo played in shaping the hip-hop life style. Yeah, black people have dominated the genre, but people of other backgrounds have had a tremendous influence over the culture. (Really, it's even worse with Rolling Stone, because most of the people they covered in the issue repeatedly gave credit to the Black musicians who inspired their careers.)

Of course, the magazine could argue that many of the generation's most famous cultural icons like Jimi Hendrix and James Brown have passed away. But what about stars like Tina Turner, Aretha Franklin or Carlos Santana whose musical influence continues to have a tremendous impact on society. There are far too many important 60s era icons of color still living for the magazine to have not included one person in their anniversary issue.

We Are the Ones
Allied Media Conference 2007
Robert "biko" Baker

As a student of movement history I am often times frustrated by how my generation perceives the powerful work of the Civil Rights Generation. While many of us, especially us activists, are keenly aware of the historic efforts of groups like SNCC, the Black Panthers or SDS, our perception of the Civil Rights Movement has been tainted by "super hero" narratives that tend to focus on the actions of great individuals.

Far too often our history is taught from the perspective that change is only made by strong primary leaders. Just think about it, when was the last time you saw a movie, read a book or even watched a PBS documentary that wasn't overwhelmingly told from the perspective of the individual. Yeah, good people's histories exist, but more times than not we study histories of individuals and their ideas and actions. (For a while it was only white males that made history, but as more women and people of color have entered the academy, our historical super heroes have become more diverse.)

The super hero narrative especially dominates our memory of the Civil Rights Movement. Part of this is because of the powerful iconic images that have been captured by television cameras. It's hard for us genX and millenials to believe it, but the mid twentieth century was the first time that history could be documented by capturing moving images.

But we must never forget that the people in front of the camera were not the only change agents during the era. If it were not for the collective efforts of the day's countless faceless organizers, neither Dr. King nor Malcolm X would have had such a powerful bully pulpit. After all, for every strong primary leader there were hundreds of secondary leaders who made sure that people turned up for actions and that the events ran smoothly.


Of course, I am not saying this to diminish the great work of individuals like King or Malcolm X. In fact, without their courageous leadership the important victories of the movement would not have been possible. These two great leaders stepped up and voiced their opposition to the injustices of the day at a time when both assassination and McCarthyism had silenced many of the era's strongest voices. When leaders like King and X spoke out, they did so knowing that their lives could very well be cut short. This fearlessness must have been inspiring to the average American.

Yet, because the historiography of the Civil Rights Movement is overwhelmingly marked by stories of strong primary leaders, we often forget that it is the collective activity of everyday Americans that the bad guys fear. I often use this example when working with young people, but just imagine if King would have the given his "I Have a Dream" speech in front of any empty Lincoln Memorial. Would the administration have been so quick (some would say that it was still not quick enough) to push the Civil Rights Act of 1964 through Congress? Of course not! Powerful individuals fear the collective voice of the masses.

As 21st Century organizers we have almost all but given up on collective direct action. Perhaps it is because we believe that we are not important enough to become change makers. In all reality there are very few Malcolm X's and Martin Luther King inspiring us to dig in for a an organized fight against the political and economic structures that hold us in chains. Yeah, we will sign an online petition, or maybe even attend an anti-war rally. Some of us have even done some voter registration. But rarely have we had an organized and collective vision of what change can look like.


But let me tell you, it's about time that we begin dreaming big. We must believe in our own leadership and the leadership of our peers enough to begin believing that we already have the power to change our communities. And we can't just believe that change can happen, we actually have to begin working towards a collective vision of change.

One of the difficulties of not having iconic leaders is that there is no one voice strong enough to bring us all together. One of the greatest things about Dr. King's leadership was that he was a great facilitator. King was great at managing conflicting interests and interpersonal dynamics. Trust me, like us, the Civil Rights generation was filled with over zealous leaders and greedy organizations.

But all across the country there are great facilitators who have perfected the art of getting everybody on the same page. This skill set must not be undervalued in our movement. We don't need to have a Malcolm X or Martin Luther King Dr. to begin having these discussions.


In fact, we can't wait because it is highly unlikely that there will be a Malcolm X or Martin Luther King 2.0 for three very important reasons.



First, corporate America is not going to televise our revolution. It hurts their profit margins. For example, when was the last time you saw a protest of the WTO or IMF on your nightly news. All over this globe people are struggling against oppression and yet their efforts go ignored by mainstream media outlets

The second reason why there won't be a second coming of either Malcolm of Martin is because America's political leaders are no longer interested in trying to cover up our country's contradictions. We always have to remember that the Civil Rights movement took place during the Cold War. Civil Rights organizations had leverage because America was in the early stages of exporting its brand of "democracy" (ahmm capitalism) to the rest of the world. There was no way that LBJ or even Richard Nixon was going to let a bunch of black activists hurt the country's image. Yet today, American officials, at least those in the current administration, are no longer worried about what consumers in other markets think about us. We already have monopolized the market

The final reason why there won't be another version of Malcolm and Martin is because we are the most individualistic generation ever. It's hard for me to imagine that in this era of ipods, portable video game players, and a million cable channels that enough of us would buy into the vision of a messianic leader like King or X. It's not in our nature to believe in other people enough to actually respect the authority of leaders like they did during the Civil Rights Movement.

And that's okay. We don't need to believe in the leadership of one super hero, we need to believe in ourselves. This conference is a perfect example of how a collective vision of a group of individuals can produce transformative energy. This isn't Jenny Lee's or Mike Meadow's event, this a group effort put on by individuals who are more worried about change than individual accolades.

But we can't stop at conferences. We have to begin changing our communities from this type of selfless perspective. No one else is going to step up and lead us but us. We are all Malcolm. We are all Martin. And until we really begin believing that we will never be able to conquer the insurmountable odds that are up against us.

But we can and we will. Because we are all makers of history, it's time for us to start acting like it.

It's crazy seeing adults talking about putting kids in handcuffs.

4 Mics
Production: Artist, DJ Khalil, Alchemist, DJ Babum. Sid Roams(Joey Chavez & Bravo)

Few MCs in the game are more underrated than Evidence from Dilated Peoples. While he is best known for his laid back lyricism, over the last several years Evidence has quietly won the respect from his peers for his work behind the production boards. On his first solo album, The Weatherman LP, "Mr. Slow Flow" once again proves that he is one of the game's brightest double threats.

On the album's opening cut "I Know," Evidence spits 3 venomous verses over his own track. Half way through the soulful banger it becomes clear that this Los Angeles representative has some pent up aggression that he has to let loose: "What's it come to?/What else to say?/ Shaq's a cop?and the Laker's ain't runnin L.A?/ Shit is crazy out there/they pulling 180s out there / I guess I'll never change my ways.

But while this Cali native is quick to throw up the W, the album's best song is the Jake One produced, "Down in New York City." Here, Evidence lets the world know just how appreciative he is of the Big Apple.

While fans of Dilated Peoples may miss his tag team partner Rakaa Iriscience, (although he shows up on "Perfect Storm") Evidence recruits many of the game's brightest spitters, including Atmopshere's Slug, Planet Asia, and Little Brother's Phonte to balance his monotone delivery. And although it may never get the respect it deserves from mainstream critics, The Weatherman LP proves that quality hip-hop records are still being made.

Missing You
10 years after his passing, Hip-hop is still mourning the death of The Notorious B.I.G.

"Cause the greatest rapper of all time died on March 9th
God bless his soul…rest in peace kid
It's because of him now at least I know what beef is"—Canibus "Second Round K.O"

If hip-hop is dead, it died on March 9th, 1997 at Los Angeles' Cedar Sinai Hospital. No disrespect to the countless MCs who have picked up the mic since The Notorious B.I.G passed away, but the death of Brooklyn's finest has left hip-hop with a humungous void that has yet to be filled.

Unlike Tupac whose lyrics were punctuated by his very honest and sometimes intensely expressive energy, Biggie was a much more reserved lyricist who used semi-autobiographical (but mostly fictional) narratives to bring the inner city blues to life. Like an African griot entrusted with keeping his people's oral history, Biggie used carefully crafted wordplay to win over his listeners. Line after line, double entendre after double entendre, B.I.G. quickly proved he was the greatest rapper alive.

In contrast to the previous generations of MCs who graced the mic before him, Biggie had such personality that he was never trapped by labels that sometimes prevent great MCs from being embraced by mainstream listeners. He could make a ghetto love song like "Fucking You Tonight" and then on the very same record go line for line with Bone-Thugs N Harmony. He was the complete package. And yeah, he was "Black, fat and ugly as ever", but behind the mic he was bigger than life.

Unfortunately, it may just be that the next generation of hip-hop fans will remember B.I.G. more for his Frank White persona than his lyrical skill. In fact, record labels have repeatedly tried to replicate Biggie. First there was Shyne whose vocal inflection, Caribbean pedigree, and ability to spin street yarns was so close to The Notorious B.I.G. that his entrance into the rap game was marked by a million dollar bidding war. Then there was Guerilla Black, who not only sounded like Biggie, but also looked like him. And 10 years after his death, a new sub genre of rap music, Cocaine Rap, has spun off a whole new generation of Biggie wannabes. While these MCs maybe talented, they are nowhere near the original.

In fact, Biggie's greatest attribute as a lyricist was that he never took himself too seriously. While songs like "What's Beef" and "Warning" were overtly violent and fatalistic, the way Biggie told his stories you could tell that they were still fantasy. Like a great novelist or screenwriter, B.I.G. was more focused on his craft as a narrator of street life than actually trying to live out his violent lyrics. Sadly, this is something that has been lost on "gangsta" rappers since Biggie's passing.

In fact, the most tragic aspect of Biggie's death is that he was never allowed to mature as an artist. And this is the very reason why his death has had such a lasting impact on rap music. Like Pac, Biggie was shot down before he was able to fully experience adulthood. Not only had Biggie become a better lyricist between his first and second albums, but you could tell that he was out growing the nihilistic soliloquies that dominated Ready to Die. Not coincidentally, Biggie's second album was titled Life After Death, and featured a young man who was just beginning to become empowered as a man and as an artist.

Just imagine if B.I.G. would have been allowed to see 30! Like his friend Jay Z, B.I.G. would have likely grown bored with the monotony of the ghetto and would have become more introspective as his horizons expanded. Just think how different rap music would be if Biggie would have been allowed to tackle important topics such as Hurricane Katrina and/or the War in Iraq. And what if he would have been allowed to take his story telling talents to the big screen? It's hard to deny that the landscape of hip-hop and thus the perspective of rap fans would be completely different if he had lived. Sadly, we will always be forced to imagine. Our generation's greatest story was never given an opportunity to write his final masterpiece.

Of course, we'll never know how large an impact that the loss of Pac and Biggie has had on hip-hop. But today, 10 years after The Notorious B.I.G was murdered, it clear that hip-hop has been forced to grow up without mentorship and leadership. We've been thrust into adulthood without guidance. And like a fatherless child, the culture is constantly second guessing itself. Hopefully, one day we'll let go and finally grow up.

Since her nighttime escape from prison 27 years ago, Assata Shakur has been one of the most controversial figures in American popular culture. While the hip-hop generation has embraced the former Black Panther and godmother of Tupac as an icon of the Black Power movement, the mainstream media has painted Shakur as an unrepentant cop killer and urban terrorist.

Over the last several months the battle over Assata has been heating up--especially because it looks like Cuban President Fidel Castro is in his dying days. Since 1984 Shakur has been living in the Caribbean country as the official guest of the revolutionary leader. But now with Castro's fate uncertain, many activists groups fear that the Cuban government will be forced to extradite Shakur back to the U.S. once the leader dies.

Last month the controversy surrounding Assata reached a boiling point at City College New York after the NY Daily News ran a news story entitled "Terrorist" Lauded at CCNY: Trooper's Fugitive Killer Treated as College Hero." While the title itself is a mouthful, the piece criticized City College officials for allowing the students to name their student center after Shakur and Puerto Rican activist Guillermo Morales. Even though CCNY students named the center after the activists 17 years ago, Daily News writers Mike Jaccarino and Karen Angel, pressed university officials to justify the name. They even called on local police unions to chime in: "It's disgusting that an institute of higher learning whose main goal is to educate people would dedicate a room to a person whose main goal in life was to take lives, especially those of people who wear the uniform," said the president of the New York Patrolmen's Benevolent Association.

At first the university officials supported the students and said "..we believe the university is a place to discuss and argue ideas, some of which are not widely supported." But the very next day the administration came in and took the name down. Best believe The Daily News was more than happy.

But the newspaper's crusade against Shakur didn't stop at CCNY. Later in the week the Daily News went after Bronx high school teacher Adam Feinberg, who assigned Shakur's biography to his students. The story was titled: "BX. TEACH IS FAN OF KILLER ON THE Run." And once again the paper enlisted police for secondary commentary. ""No wonder why the graduation rate is so low in the Bronx..They're teaching fairy tales," said the New Jersey State Troopers Fraternal Association."

Of course, it's ridiculous for a New Jersey police official to be commentating on a Bronx's public school policy. But than again, bad journalism is bad journalism. Lets see how long it takes before other mainstream media outlets use similar tactics to attack Shakur.

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