JAY-Z Read online

  King taught us to forgive our way to freedom, to love our way to justice. The same should hold for him. He knew he was far from perfect, and yet, even in his imperfections, he forged ahead to make real change. When we think of King in the late fifties and sixties, heavily drinking, deeply depressed, intensely grappling with the unseemly ubiquity of death so that we wouldn’t have to die, we can, and should, forgive him. This is not the same, by the way, as pretending those sins—those great flaws and profound offenses—don’t exist, or overlooking the harm that he may have caused. But he is not here to ask for forgiveness himself, in part because he died for us, a death that freed many of us to learn about ourselves so that we could embrace the freedom to criticize him in good conscience and just deliberation.

  King’s face in the famous photo was stoic as the cop manhandled him and pinned him down. Too often our faces have looked the same as we have attempted to pin down our just reactions to the tragedies that have come our way. Like King, we must steel ourselves to face down the forces of social and personal injustice as we come to grips with our own complicity in the suffering we see.

  JAY-Z has had to face his own demons too, but in a far more public way than the fallen leader he often cites in his lyrics. In a way, JAY-Z’s courage in confronting his sins and imperfections suggests a way forward for our understanding of King too. The vulnerable rapper of “4:44” paves the way posthumously for a hobbled King to reclaim his humanity and dignity despite his grave mistakes.

  Look, I apologize, often womanize

  …

  I seen the innocence leave your eyes

  I still mourn this death and

  …

  I apologize ’cause at your best you are love

  And because I fall short of what I say I’m all about

  Your eyes leave with the soul that your body once housed

  And you stare blankly into space

  Thinkin’ of all the time, you wasted it on all this basic shit

  So I apologize

  Jay is teaching in a lot bigger classroom than I’ll ever teach in … For a young person growing up he’s the guy to learn from.

  WARREN BUFFETT

  Highlighting the social stereotypes superimposed on African Americans in hip hop, JAY-Z states that despite his success in corporate America, as both artist and executive, that he is a “nigga.” Using this term of endearment used between many African American men and women in African American culture as well as hip hop, JAY-Z aligns himself with the continued struggles of many black subjects who follow him aspiring to rise above their social conditions and to obtain the wealth and success that he models in his career.

  NICOLE HODGES PERSLEY

  EPILOGUE

  “What’s Better Than One Billionaire?”

  In June 2019 Forbes magazine announced that JAY-Z was a billionaire, the first hip hop artist ever to attain that status. The news was widely applauded in black circles because Jay is only the fifth black billionaire in the land, joining Robert F. Smith, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jordan, and Dave Steward. The pride black folk take in Jay has more to do with his origin story than with mere wealth, although Jay has become a vocal evangelist for developing generational wealth in black communities. It is Jay’s story of uplift from the gutter to the heights of global acclaim and vast riches that makes his success irresistible. The fact that a former street hustler and crack dealer has cracked the top echelon of wealthiest citizens is simply miraculous.

  Of course, there are those in black life who will contend that Jay’s success is little more than a black face on capitalism, the vicious consequences of which have often ruined black life. That is true. But it is also true that Jay’s ascent is a token of the irrepressible spirit of black folk in the face of impossible odds. Having been a poor black boy without resources or help from privileged black circles, he is truly free to celebrate his success as a nod to the folk from the bottom who gave him hope and inspiration, including those folk with whom he hustled in the street. If anything, Jay’s success is an argument against respectability politics. It is eloquent witness against assailing poor blacks who have been abandoned by most of society.

  JAY-Z’s status is driven not only by his entrepreneurial genius—unlike many wealthy folks, he made it through his own hard and inventive work—but by his uncrushable desire to use what God gave him to lift himself and those who look like him. It is not that becoming a billionaire vindicates Jay’s hustling, his poetry, or his politics; it is that it offers him an even more visible platform to amplify his voice to speak about black love, black struggle, black death, black success, black wealth, black overcoming, and black thriving. Instead of shutting up, the richer he gets the louder he speaks; instead of receding, the wealthier he becomes the more visibly he gets involved in speaking for the vulnerable.

  In the end, it is not his wealth that has made JAY-Z but his hustling ethic, his poetic invention, his political savvy, and his business acumen. It may be that Diddy soon, and perhaps Dr. Dre someday, will join JAY-Z as black billionaires who hail from hip hop. Until then, JAY-Z will continue to work to inspire others to catch his vision and do what he does. He said it best.

  What’s better than one billionaire? Two (two)

  ’Specially if they’re from the same hue as you

  Y’all stop me when I stop tellin’ the truth.

  No, the proliferation of black billionaires can’t save us. No, they can’t compensate for the justice due to the masses of black folk. (Although it is encouraging that Jay has become a brand strategist for the cannabis company Caliva, advocating for increased representation and participation of formerly incarcerated folk who are blocked in large numbers from the weed business.) No, they are no proxy for reparations. No, they are no replacement for the systemic overhaul of institutions that harm us. No, they are no substitute for challenging over-incarceration, the criminalization of the black poor, the dehumanization of the black masses, police brutality, systematic disenfranchisement, and every other problem we face.

  Neither can becoming a black billionaire spare one from cultural blowback. In August 2019, Jay’s company Roc Nation announced a partnership with the NFL to advise the league on live music and entertainment and projects of social justice. Jay was dubbed a hypocrite and a sellout for pivoting from his principled defense of former NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick to doing business with the very league whose teams were accused of colluding to banish him for kneeling during the national anthem to protest racial injustice. Jay had even worn Colin’s jersey while performing on Saturday Night Live and advised other artists to boycott the Super Bowl halftime show. In an interview announcing the partnership, when asked about Kaepernick, Jay said, “I think we’ve moved past kneeling. I think it’s time for action.”

  The ensuing verbal lashing of the legendary rapper reminded me of Malcolm X’s attacks in 1963 on Martin Luther King, Jr. Malcolm, who advocated armed self-defense of black folk in the face of white supremacists, flayed King, who preached nonviolent resistance to social injustice. “The white man pays Rev. Martin Luther King, subsidizes Rev. Martin Luther King, so that Rev. Martin Luther King can continue to teach the Negroes to be defenseless,” Malcolm charged. King was a “modern Uncle Tom.” Malcolm also dubbed King “the best weapon that the white man … has ever gotten.”

  Kaepernick and JAY-Z are not the modern-day equivalents of Malcolm and King, but those pairs reflect an eternal tension—between the outside agitators who apply pressure and the inside activators who patrol the halls of power, bringing knowledge and wisdom—in civil rights and black freedom movements. King worked with the Eisenhower, Johnson, and Kennedy administrations to better conditions for black folk and to craft civil rights legislation. Jay, for his part, as I have discussed, has advocated for social justice in his music and beyond the stage for more than two decades. The choice between Kaep and Jay, between Malcolm and King, is a false one. We need all of them, and it is far too early to judge what Jay will make of this opportunity with t
he NFL.

  Jay’s action fits into a tradition of social protest, forged by Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, that extends King’s work: You protest a company—say a shoemaker or an auto dealership—for its unjust practices; you force those involved to acknowledge the error of their ways; you negotiate for better terms of engagement; you interact with the folk you once protested against in the effort to make progress. This reflected a shift in civil rights strategy from street protests to suite participation. Jackson leveraged the threat of boycotts and the rhetoric of persuasion to get more blacks placed on corporate boards, compel banks and major companies to direct more business to minority-owned contractors, and help integrate more black and other minority folk into the nation’s economic power base.

  It is true that the NFL did not explicitly acknowledge wrongdoing in Kaepernick’s case, though the league did settle his lawsuit in February 2019, suggesting that it recognized his claim of collusion as a real legal threat. Jay cannot make a team hire Kaepernick, although perhaps Roc Nation could have refused a contract until Kaepernick got a job, which would have been a just outcome. But it is also true that social justice doesn’t hinge exclusively on Kaepernick’s employment. It would be a good thing for Kaep to rejoin the league, but his return wouldn’t solve the oppression and injustice that his kneeling sought to highlight. Other efforts at both protest and policy were always called for and are still needed. Moreover, the fact that many team owners support an openly racist president demands an attempt to grapple with them. And it may be a sign of progress that those same owners got into business with a rapper who calls President Trump a “superbug.” Jay’s noisy opposition to white nationalism is just as important as how his partnership may provide the league cover.

  Jay did not write off protest when he said we are “past kneeling.” He simply cast Kaepernick as a runner in a relay race rather than a boxer fighting alone in the ring. The Players Coalition, for instance, was founded in 2017 by Philadelphia Eagles strong safety Malcolm Jenkins and former receiver Anquan Boldin to tie kneeling to serious and thoughtful action. It promotes social justice advocacy, education, and distribution of resources on the local, state, and federal levels. When it accepted nearly $90 million from the NFL to advance its agenda in November 2017, then 49ers safety Eric Reid, Kaepernick’s courageous compatriot, called the thoughtful Jenkins a “sellout” and a “neocolonialist.” But consider the coalition’s efforts so far. As part of the $89 million that the players got the NFL to commit over a seven-year period, $8.5 million was allocated in 2018. The Players Coalition also does advocacy work with—and gave $2 million in grants to—the Advancement Project, the Center for Policing Equity, the National Juvenile Defender Center, the Justice Collaborative, Year Up, and Communities In Schools. After Trump canceled a White House invitation to celebrate the Eagles’ 2018 Super Bowl victory, Jenkins skipped a traditional news conference and drew attention with a series of signs clarifying that player protests weren’t about the national anthem but about social inequality.

  When white institutions and individuals ask for help (the request may or may not begin sincerely, but may evolve with more contact and better understanding), it is a good thing to supply it. Malcolm X once famously rebuffed a young white student who tracked him down in New York to ask what she could do to help the cause. His response took her aback: “Nothing.” It makes for great theater and dramatic storytelling, but it was the wrong answer.

  Things are never ideal, and systems of white oppression co-opt us all: teachers, advocates, athletes, organizers. I don’t spare myself. I have spent nearly five decades—in speeches, books, and college courses—advocating for social justice. Yet I teach at Georgetown University, a school that sold 272 enslaved souls, including children, to bankroll its future. This is how the world works: All of us have blood on our hands and dirt beneath our nails, and we can scarcely afford to reject every institution we encounter as irretrievably tainted. The charge of being a sellout, and the instinct to “cancel” people indicted in this way, often comes full circle. (Malcolm was later deemed a traitor to his cause and murdered by members of his own group.) The language of betrayal cannot provide lasting moral satisfaction. Instead, as JAY-Z has amply provided, we need a vocabulary of moral accountability and social responsibility that is nuanced and capacious, giving us air to breathe and room to grow.

  Jay’s deal with the NFL represents a valid and potentially viable attempt to raise awareness of injustice to black folk, and to inspire the league to embrace just action for the black masses. Alongside scolding, resisting, protesting, and cajoling, there is a need for strategy, planning, listening, learning, and testing the application of principles embodied by people like Kaepernick.

  The history of social justice advocacy is rich: King, Rosa Parks, the NAACP, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, the Freedom Riders, the Congress of Racial Equality, and a host of other organizations occasionally bickered over methods and messaging and strategy. But they were all motivated by grand ideals and good ends. Malcolm X, once he freed himself from his earlier narrow views, concluded that “Dr. King wants the same thing I want—freedom!” So does Colin Kaepernick. So does JAY-Z. And so should we all.

  * * *

  What JAY-Z symbolizes is a sweet spot in the culture’s evolution as we continue to lay claim to what we are owed, forging ahead with a vision given to us by our ancestors.

  NOTE

  Annotated Discography

  1 With two exceptions, this discography provides citation information and annotations for each of JAY-Z’s formally released studio albums. One exception, Jay-Z Unplugged, is his only live studio album. The second exception is Watch the Throne, Jay’s collaborative effort with fellow rapper Kanye West.

  ANNOTATED DISCOGRAPHY1

  REASONABLE DOUBT, Roc-A-Fella/Priority Records, 1996.

  After the buzz surrounding JAY-Z’s 1995 independent single “In My Lifetime,” the rap world was ready to hear what he could produce over an entire album. Released independently on June 25, 1996, Reasonable Doubt did not disappoint. JAY-Z’s first studio album was dripping with golden era hip hop production provided by DJ Premier, Irv Gotti, Ski, and DJ Clark Kent. Reasonable Doubt has several standout tracks, including “Dead Presidents,” “Can’t Knock the Hustle,” and “Ain’t No Nigga”—a breakout single introducing the world to femcee (female emcee) Foxy Brown. Reasonable Doubt offers a glimpse into JAY-Z’s life as a drug dealer/hustler turned rap artist. Other notable songs from the album include The Notorious B.I.G. collaborative effort “Brooklyn’s Finest,” “D’Evils,” “Politics as Usual,” and “Can I Live.”

  The album teems with every poetic device imaginable. That includes allusion, on “Can’t Knock the Hustle,” when Jay’s narrator nods to Psalm 23:5 and proclaims “My cup runneth over with hundreds”; double entendres and puns, such as “Stop screaming, you know the demon said it’s best to die/And even if Jehovah witness, bet he’ll never testify” on “D’Evils.” The luxurious metaphors flow on “Cashmere Thoughts”: “Uhh, I talk jewels and spit diamonds: all cherry/Like a hymen, when I’m rhyming with remarkable timing/Caviar and silk dreams, my voice is linen/Spitting venom up in the minds of young women/Mink thoughts to think thoughts type similar/Might you remember, my shit is cold like December”; and the similes pour smoothly like the best wine on “Dead Presidents II,” where his narrator brags, “By the ounce, dough accumulates like snow/We don’t just shine, we illuminate the whole show.”

  In 2002, six years after its release, Reasonable Doubt was finally certified platinum. With several subsequent documentaries explaining the process and importance of Reasonable Doubt, the album is now considered a seminal contribution to the art form and stands the test of time like few (hip hop) albums can.

  IN MY LIFETIME, VOL. 1, Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam Records, 1997.

  Released on November 4, 1997, In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 sold over 138,000 copies in its first week. With radio-friendly singles such as “Who You Wit II,” “
(Always Be My) Sunshine,” featuring R&B impresario Babyface and Foxy Brown, and “The City Is Mine,” featuring singer-songwriter-producer Teddy Riley’s second notable group (after Guy), Blackstreet, JAY-Z’s second effort came off without a hint of the sophomore slump. The record offered commercial appeal while not undercutting Jay’s street credibility. Although the singles did not necessarily strike a chord with fans, almost every other song on the album stands out. Tracks like “I Know What Girls Like,” featuring Puff Daddy and Lil’ Kim, and “Face Off,” featuring Sauce Money, were confirmed dance club hits.

  However, the anchors of In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 are the songs that extended the essence of the hustler-turned-rapper experience. The DJ Premier–produced tracks “Intro/A Million and One Questions/Rhyme No More” (and its slather of metonym and synecdoche, “I got mouths to feed ’til they put flowers on me/And kiss my cold cheek/Chicks crying like I was Cochise/Tombstone read, ‘He was holdin’ no leaks’”) and “Friend or Foe ’98” are boom-bap classics. Then too, the penetrating “Rap Game/Crack Game” and the searing “Where I’m From” further cement JAY-Z’s reputation as a brilliant poet and wordsmith. “Streets Is Watching” finds JAY-Z flowing effortlessly over Ski Beatz’s paranoid production. This is the only track from the album that Jay was able to share with Biggie before his murder in March 1997. Interestingly, “Streets” shares something in common with a track, “Gimme the Loot,” from Biggie’s first album, Ready to Die: it appears in censored form even on the album’s explicit version. “Streets” uses a sample from the 1975 song “I Got The,” by the British musician Labi Siffre, who refused to clear the sample unless the profanity was purged. (Eminem used the sample on his breakthrough track “My Name Is,” curses and all.) Jay’s lyrics summoned a cinematic experience so vivid that he and his label partners shot and produced a film of the same name. Streets Is Watching (the film) was released on May 12, 1998. In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 debuted at #3 on the Billboard charts and was certified platinum.