Angel Haze speaks up about being sexually abused on her
powerful new track, and her testimony couldn't have come at a more urgent time.
Angel Haze
Last week on the Tonight Show, President Obama had to point out that "rape is rape" for the second time in three months. This time, Obama was stating the seemingly obvious in response to Republican Senate candidate Richard Mourdock, who said he opposed abortions for rape victims because "even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that is something that God intended to happen." Last time, the impetus was Republican Senate hopeful Todd Akin's proclamation that, "if it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."
MORE ON RAP
The Revenge of Autobiographical Rap
How Jay-Z's 'The Blueprint' Transformed Rap
Rap's Long History of 'Conscious' Condescension to Women
Kanye West's 'Cruel Summer' Prosperity Gospel
We cannot reduce the ignorance of people like Mourdock and Akin to sound bites or place it in the category of election-season inanity. Their statements are the toxic runoff of our culture's failure to prevent and address sexual violence in all its forms. The statistics stun: The high estimate of the number of women raped each year in theUnited States
Given its well-documented and inexcusable problems with sexism, hip-hop might not seem a wise place to look to start making that change. But that fact actually makes the medium more ripe for reformers. Moreover, as one of the dominant, storytelling-driven art forms consumed and made by young people, rap provides a way for survivors and allies to testify, argue, and change hearts and minds. And as a song released this past week by the promising young rapper Angel Haze proves, rap's potential as a weapon against rape culture isn't merely academic.
In recent years, hip-hop controversies have produced some of the most powerful conversations and activism around sexual violence. Last year, Ashley Judd made waves by calling out hip-hop's "rape culture," to the dismay of The Roots drummer ?uestlove and others who are tired of one genre of music being blamed for all of society's ills. More recently, rapper Too $hort caught criticism thanks to shameful comments in a video blog post at XXL Magazine, which included instructions for adolescent boys about how to sexually assault girls under the guise of playfulness. After a tepid apology and mounting pressure from a coalition of black and Latina women called "We are the 44 percent" (44 percent of sexual assault survivors are under 18 years old), Too $hort sat down for a candid interview published by Ebony. He emphasized his previous ignorance, but also seemed genuinely remorseful and shaken, admitting he made a serious and harmful mistake, apologizing, and calling the controversy a "wake-up call."
Into this battleground enters Angel Haze, the acclaimed Michigan-born 21-year-old, who recently released a brilliant and devastating track about her own story as a rape and abuse survivor, called "Cleaning Out My Closet." This is not the first rap song that addresses sexual violence against women. Ludacris's "Runaway Girl" and Eve's "Love is Blind," are two of the more commercially successful examples, though there are countless lesser-known songs, like Immortal Technique's "Dance With the Devil," that critique rape culture unflinchingly. But Haze's song is amplified by the current political context, and differentiated by both tone and content.
"Cleaning Out My Closet" is a hurricane. Haze unapologetically and explicitly tells her story, and her jagged delivery makes listeners uncomfortable even as they appreciate her skills and flow. There are no words for the pain Haze endures, but she makes due, bending each phrase with fury and focus. She describes how the damage of abuse bleeds into every area of her life, including her relationships with future lovers, her family, and her personality, body image, and physical health.
The beat used for "Cleaning Out My Closet" is borrowed from an Eminem song with the same name. It's a subversive move, considering the way Em has depicted and in many respects trivialized violence against women in his music. Haze bravely details the torture she suffered, and importantly, she reveals personal violence as a social phenomenon—everyone knew, but nobody stopped it:
"And then it happened in a home where every fucking one knew/
And they ain't do shit but fucking blame it on youth/
I'm sorry mom but I really used to blame it on you/
But even you by then wouldn't know what to do."
Her tale is personal, but the upshot is wide. In order for rape to be as widespread as it is, it requires more than the actions of attackers. It requires the indifference of countless others, like those held accountable in the Jerry Sandusky case, who bury their heads in the sand as the terrorism continues.
The song ends on a triumphant note, as Haze celebrates her victory over fear and shame, presenting herself as living proof that "there's a way from the ground," and thanking the audience for bearing witness to her catharsis.
The objectification of women and depictions of sexual violence are commonplace in hip-hop, as they are across the landscape of entertainment culture. The vast majority of artists with substantial commercial backing show little public concern for the cancer that is rape culture. But Angel Haze is proof that hip-hop can be both a warzone and a weapon in this fight, especially for young women of color. Despite the sexism they face, engaging rap music is one of the ways these young people come to know themselves and build political consciousness.
Moreover, hip-hop has long rewarded artists who break the silence and speak truth to power, and that may end up being the case again. Groups like Public Enemy started a conversation about police brutality against blacks and Latinos long before data about the racism of "stop and frisk" policies made its way to the public sphere. LGBT hip-hop artists continue to carve out their own spaces and challenge sexism and homophobia, and when those connected to hip-hop communities come out, asFrank
Ocean
Without warriors like Haze, the baseness and sickness of sexual violence remains muffled, and the conversation proceeds on the deranged terms set by Mourdock, Akin, and others who benefit from the status quo. Survivors' stories move us away from clarification and apology, towards righteous anger and action, and hip-hop can help.
Angel Haze
Last week on the Tonight Show, President Obama had to point out that "rape is rape" for the second time in three months. This time, Obama was stating the seemingly obvious in response to Republican Senate candidate Richard Mourdock, who said he opposed abortions for rape victims because "even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that is something that God intended to happen." Last time, the impetus was Republican Senate hopeful Todd Akin's proclamation that, "if it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."
MORE ON RAP
The Revenge of Autobiographical Rap
How Jay-Z's 'The Blueprint' Transformed Rap
Rap's Long History of 'Conscious' Condescension to Women
Kanye West's 'Cruel Summer' Prosperity Gospel
We cannot reduce the ignorance of people like Mourdock and Akin to sound bites or place it in the category of election-season inanity. Their statements are the toxic runoff of our culture's failure to prevent and address sexual violence in all its forms. The statistics stun: The high estimate of the number of women raped each year in the
Given its well-documented and inexcusable problems with sexism, hip-hop might not seem a wise place to look to start making that change. But that fact actually makes the medium more ripe for reformers. Moreover, as one of the dominant, storytelling-driven art forms consumed and made by young people, rap provides a way for survivors and allies to testify, argue, and change hearts and minds. And as a song released this past week by the promising young rapper Angel Haze proves, rap's potential as a weapon against rape culture isn't merely academic.
In recent years, hip-hop controversies have produced some of the most powerful conversations and activism around sexual violence. Last year, Ashley Judd made waves by calling out hip-hop's "rape culture," to the dismay of The Roots drummer ?uestlove and others who are tired of one genre of music being blamed for all of society's ills. More recently, rapper Too $hort caught criticism thanks to shameful comments in a video blog post at XXL Magazine, which included instructions for adolescent boys about how to sexually assault girls under the guise of playfulness. After a tepid apology and mounting pressure from a coalition of black and Latina women called "We are the 44 percent" (44 percent of sexual assault survivors are under 18 years old), Too $hort sat down for a candid interview published by Ebony. He emphasized his previous ignorance, but also seemed genuinely remorseful and shaken, admitting he made a serious and harmful mistake, apologizing, and calling the controversy a "wake-up call."
Into this battleground enters Angel Haze, the acclaimed Michigan-born 21-year-old, who recently released a brilliant and devastating track about her own story as a rape and abuse survivor, called "Cleaning Out My Closet." This is not the first rap song that addresses sexual violence against women. Ludacris's "Runaway Girl" and Eve's "Love is Blind," are two of the more commercially successful examples, though there are countless lesser-known songs, like Immortal Technique's "Dance With the Devil," that critique rape culture unflinchingly. But Haze's song is amplified by the current political context, and differentiated by both tone and content.
"Cleaning Out My Closet" is a hurricane. Haze unapologetically and explicitly tells her story, and her jagged delivery makes listeners uncomfortable even as they appreciate her skills and flow. There are no words for the pain Haze endures, but she makes due, bending each phrase with fury and focus. She describes how the damage of abuse bleeds into every area of her life, including her relationships with future lovers, her family, and her personality, body image, and physical health.
The beat used for "Cleaning Out My Closet" is borrowed from an Eminem song with the same name. It's a subversive move, considering the way Em has depicted and in many respects trivialized violence against women in his music. Haze bravely details the torture she suffered, and importantly, she reveals personal violence as a social phenomenon—everyone knew, but nobody stopped it:
"And then it happened in a home where every fucking one knew/
And they ain't do shit but fucking blame it on youth/
I'm sorry mom but I really used to blame it on you/
But even you by then wouldn't know what to do."
Her tale is personal, but the upshot is wide. In order for rape to be as widespread as it is, it requires more than the actions of attackers. It requires the indifference of countless others, like those held accountable in the Jerry Sandusky case, who bury their heads in the sand as the terrorism continues.
The song ends on a triumphant note, as Haze celebrates her victory over fear and shame, presenting herself as living proof that "there's a way from the ground," and thanking the audience for bearing witness to her catharsis.
The objectification of women and depictions of sexual violence are commonplace in hip-hop, as they are across the landscape of entertainment culture. The vast majority of artists with substantial commercial backing show little public concern for the cancer that is rape culture. But Angel Haze is proof that hip-hop can be both a warzone and a weapon in this fight, especially for young women of color. Despite the sexism they face, engaging rap music is one of the ways these young people come to know themselves and build political consciousness.
Moreover, hip-hop has long rewarded artists who break the silence and speak truth to power, and that may end up being the case again. Groups like Public Enemy started a conversation about police brutality against blacks and Latinos long before data about the racism of "stop and frisk" policies made its way to the public sphere. LGBT hip-hop artists continue to carve out their own spaces and challenge sexism and homophobia, and when those connected to hip-hop communities come out, as
Without warriors like Haze, the baseness and sickness of sexual violence remains muffled, and the conversation proceeds on the deranged terms set by Mourdock, Akin, and others who benefit from the status quo. Survivors' stories move us away from clarification and apology, towards righteous anger and action, and hip-hop can help.
WHEN WE CAN NO LONGER HOLD IT!
Welcome to another web edition of THINKING OUT LOUD, and I'm
your host, E. L. Pleasant. Thinking Out Loud, they say the Lord helps a child
who has his own. What the hell do that
mean? If it is not in the Bible how can
we quote or begin to speak for God?
Because if I have my own, then I don’t think I would need help from
anyone, but if I don’t have my own then I would be expecting help from God or
who ever he send my way, therefore does that mean he only helps those that
already have and don’t need his help? He
did say, I came to help the sick and not the well, for the well don’t need a
doctor,” something like that; but you get the point right away. People really need to keep their mouths close
when it come to these old foolish sayings that didn’t make sense then nor
today. We bring allot of things upon
ourselves and then look for someone or a reason(s) to blame. Fatherless Children are born every day and
grow up with poor examples of how to be a man.
They hear and see how other guys treat a young lady or woman and emulate
what they see, sometimes knowing it’s wrong because do unto others as you would
have done unto you is always the first thing that should come to mind. We call women our African Queens bitch and
all sorts of degrading things in rap song, and for a chance to get notice;
women enhance their message by appearing in their videos half dressed shaking
their ass. Then the rappers turn around
and sing about it, saying, “That same bitch that looked like this and that was
just in his video is now in my video.
Image is everything and sometimes is you best asset. Still that doesn’t change the facts or excuse
a criminal act when committed. When it
is a male, female, or woman that been violated mentally and physically right
don’t come into play, because no one has the right to bring harm upon/cause to
another person, period. Even if that’s
the way that they have been treated or taught in the past. If you can forget, then you can forgive but if
you can’t forget nor shall you be forgiven.
The Lord said he will forgive you if you ask it of him, but never did he
say he will forget what you have done, so don’t ask or expect it from the ones
you have hurt. For THINKING OUT LOUD, I’m E. L. PLEASANT
STORY BY:
E.
L. PLEASANT
STORY
EDITOR
BRANDON
DE’LEONCE
MUSIC
BY:
BONONIASOUND
SHINERECORDS
ISTOCK
PHOTO
PRODUTION
MANAGER
JOHN
WESLEY
THIS PRODUCTION OF THINKING OUT LOUD IS PROTECTED UNDER THE
LAWS OF THE UNITED STATES AND OTHER COUNTRIES, AND ITS UNAUTHORIZED
DUPLICATION, ELECTRONIC DISTRIBUTION OR EXHIBITION MAY RESULT IN CIVIL
LIABILITY AND CRIMINAL PROSECUTION
COPYRIGHT
© 2012
E’SDROP
PUBLISHING
COUNTRY OF FIRST PUBLICATION UNITED
STATES OF AMERICA
SPECIAL THANKS TO THE FOLLOWING CONTRIBUTORS:
The Bing Corporation
Black Voices
Huffington Post
Yahoo
You Tube
Istockphoto
Bononiasound
Shinerecords
Malcolmxfiles.blogspot.com
Cornel West
AP
NBC
ANGEL HAZE
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