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During a speech class in high school, it was with a racing heart that I stepped on stage and told two jokes I’d found on the Internet. The first was: “How are a bowling ball and a woman alike? You can pick them up, stick your fingers in their holes, throw them in the gutter, and they always come back.” I received an approving round of fraternal grunts from the guys and even some of the chicks cracked toothy smiles. After the room quieted I told the second joke, this one about how alike black people and vending machines are: they never work, but will always take your money. I distinctly remember the quality of light in the room at that exact moment. Standing under the spotlight in that black box theatre, I was the only thing illuminated, and no other world was in motion. Suddenly, I attended class with crickets. No one even dared to breathe until I continued speaking. This, of course, is precisely the reaction I was going for.
It was a simple experiment. Obviously, I took on vastly complex issues and perhaps unfairly targeted the subconscious belief systems of my peers in a context that guaranteed my preferred response. I was no scientist, but the difference in their reactions reflects the values of society on a larger scale. Both jokes were equally distasteful (and embarrassingly uncomfortable to tell), yet one garnered an accepting response, while the other met with silence. The willingness to take seriously the concerns of women is something we lack. Even when placed next to equally important social issues, ladies take a back seat, and often women of color must separate ethnicity from their gender by representing one or the other. I love hip hop because it is a conversation. From the scandalous to the supreme, the busted to the blessed, its contributors renew dialogue about matters with an effect few other music movements in recent times can match.
The discussion of women’s roles in hip hop is going to be everywhere this year. "Essence" magazine has dedicated 2005 to the examination of the depiction of sexuality and character in the media at large. Entrepreneurs are pushing projects and products they believe will expand the function of women in this game. Expect scores of albums and mixtapes to drop from female emcees. All of these actions encourage an exchange of ideas, some of which may conflict.
I asked a few women of different ages and ethnicities to discuss their opinion of how the hip hop community is affected by both positive and negative depictions of women. Most pointed to Lauryn Hill (“She’s the female Rakim,”) Bahamadia and Rah Digga as talented emcees who hold their own and serve as templates for future wordsmiths. Should we hold artists responsible for promoting and furthering degrading images of women? Niz of PDX, a West Coast DJ states, “I see the artist as the friendly face in front of an image created by another party. I feel it is each individual’s responsibility to promote truth, positivity. I see the world as a big complex system of people, all trying to make it, and sometimes dulling their sensibilities to promote an image that they may not have fully considered. We need a reality check—what am I giving up in order to get what I want from this? A friend’s self respect? My own?” LaVicki Moss of Pet Leopard Communications is releasing an all-female mixtape of emcees from the Midwest this spring. She has a slightly different approach, “This is an age-old argument that makes me think of legends like Josephine Baker and Ma Rainy. They were considered risqué or decadent in their day, but look how highly regarded they are now. So, I think we’ll survive what’s happening with women in music and videos today.”
The hottest topic right now has to be the way women contribute to negative images. LaVicki says, “We’re witnessing an interesting brand of self-actualization by many of these young women. Perhaps those with complaints about women exploiting their sexuality should put more energy into fixing the environment that makes these girls believe they have few other choices.” Another suggestion comes from Niz of PDX, “When we sell the exploitative image that pop culture demands before selling our own ability as a musician first, women lose footing as credible artists in the eyes of the men and other women that they work with.” Mariangela Abeo, who heads Seattle-based SCIONtific Records, puts it in the simplest, most effective terms, “Want to make money? Sign the checks of the artists. Book their next photo shoot. Own the hotel they stay in. Be the CEO of the next label they sign to. Your potential is as limitless as the horizon.” Every woman I talked to held strong opinions and gave lengthy responses about the role of women in hip hop, an indication that the way women are represented is a conversation we should have begun long ago. Until we are ready to turn that dialogue into constructive action, hip hop has a long way to go.
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