Posts Tagged ‘Bahrain’

Lamentation of the Hip-Hop Poet: Occupy Oakland & Free Bahrain by Professor A.L.I.

The lamentation of the B-Boy, the MC, DJ, and Graffiti artist seem like they are now, at this moment, one in the same.  They lament in spite of and amidst the crocodile tears of mainstream media that Hip-Hop is dead.  The forefathers of Hip-Hop turn in their graves, while those who helped make it erudite become vengeful ghosts, not holograms.  “Hip Hop Is Dead” becomes an old slogan at a time where every minute there is a new trend.  Social media heads, the spinsters and tweeters prey upon that phrase like its a tired old saying, like it was printed on the back of faded stickers on rusty bumpers of dated hoopties and try to come up with even wittier new phrases like Hip-Hop has reincarnated or Hip-Hop has emigrated… to get a retweet or a like, to validate their egos, all the while, Hip-Hop lives.  Thats the lamentation.

The term Hip-Hop has been co-opted.  One can emulate and market the clothes, the beats, the samples, emulate the moves, and even instagram ones way into the latest trend with a picture of graffiti, but its all form, no substance.  The substance of hip-hop cannot be misappropriated because Hip-Hop is the shadow, it lives in basements and exists as an impression left by those who are voiceless in a world where oppression exists.  The independent artist, not the sensationalized “unsigned hype” that pays for ad space on Hip-Hop rags… but the true independent artist, the griot, continues to write in their pad, spit rhymes to the beats made in the environment, to the pulse of the earth.

It is my goal, as an artist to cultivate that energy, that genuine love for the art, hearkening back to the lost art of telling real stories–not to be gimmicky but to capture what is happening here and now for our own posterity in a voice that they will understand and with a passion, so that they understand our angst and help them revisit our hope that these events do not continue to cycle forward but that a solutions are presented so that the oppression that we document does not ever happen again in any way shape or form towards any person.

While I was making my latest album Emerald Manifesto, two events shook my life.  One half a world away, the other less than half an hour.  First was the genocide in Bahrain, and second was Occupy Oakland.

The genocide in Bahrain truly shook me, because I was watching live footage (I had to look for it of course, since Western media ignored it), of an actual genocide of a minority in Bahrain, an ally of ours, and all our government had to say the entire time was directed at Iran’s alleged nuclear weapons program.  Not even a footnote about Bahrain.  This from a nation that condemned the Holocaust.  Then again this was from a nation which perpetrated what many refer to as the Black Holocaust, i.e. the Middle Passage, and tolerated Black Codes, Jim Crow, lynchings and the like, all the while stealing the land from a people we actively exterminated.  Bahrain was Hip-Hop, its people, those being massacred needed to be acknowledged, their lives needed to mean something and like a modern day griot, the story I hoped to capture and disseminate with the help of my Boston based colleague Yusuf Abdul-Mateen, we created the following video and song to capture and spread the news of what was happening to audiences in the west:

The second was Occupy Oakland–I was not an active participant of Occupy Oakland, but I was out there on several occasions, including when the police first decided to round up everyone at 5 A.M. and kick people out of Frank Ogawa Plaza.  I was there when like a parade, officers from districts all the way from Fremont showed up, in new police vehicles, with, batons, tasters, guns, tear gas canisters, and riot gear.  I watched as University of California at Berkeley Police joined the ranks, and I watched and was pushed and prodded to the other side of Broadway.  Making my way on foot to a ride that was waiting for me, reflecting on the incident, I pulled out my iPhone and began to type away.

I began to write without a beat, and contacted Zumbi of Zion-I, a Bay Area based conscious M.C., and he agreed to participate and collar with the idea.  We documented the events of Occupy Oakland which at that time began to resemble a scene out of war torn Iraq.  Sadly, it was happening in the place I call home, the Bay Area.  Sadly, many even in the Bay moved through life like machines, driving past Oakland not realizing what was happening.  Thanks to friends and colleagues who lived in the area, my own visits to the Occupation and live tweets and words of encouragement from Boots Riley of the Coup… I was able to capture in verse my angst over what was happening and Zumbi and I were able to put together the following video of the events that transpired in our home:

I lament that these things are happening like my fellow MC’s, DJ’s, Graffiti artists, and B-Boys in this day and age, and create like they do to capture in art, in the voice that is Hip-Hop the story of what is happening, only to be told that “Hip Hop is Dead”.  Feel what you want about Hip-Hop but the lives of the human beings in Bahrain and Oakland, are connected in a way, because mainstream media did not and does not depict what is truly happening.  You want to be “hip” to what is really going on?  You want to be part of a movement?  Then, please “hop” on this grassroots train as it navigates through the shadows of a tunnel which leads towards the light of equity and equality, in a world of justice, balance and PEACE.

 

Price We Pay
by Professor A.L.I. & Yusuf Abdul Mateen

Is the price we pay worth it?

When these innocents die, innocence dies,
Incensed we cry, cuz in a sense WE die…
In tents, on the tenth, it was intense
71 bodies limp, one body tense
“Yaa Hussain!” screamed for generations since
Bahrain, it seems that Yazeed is your prince
Understand what this means: O-ppression
Rape children, slice open midsections
Pull out fetus and start over again
Feel justified, Cuz Obama’s your friend
Oops! Did I hurt your virginal ears
You didn’t know your taxes were making these tears
It’s ok–its the price that Shia’s pay
But beware cuz these same Shia’s pray
Glory to the Most High, You cant stand His wrath
Do the math–the meek shall inherit at last!

This piece was dedicated to the innocents whose blood has been spilt in Bahrain and throughout the world simply because the chose to believe in and model their lives after those who similarly were martyred because they spoke out against oppression.

I Am A Protester

Asalaamu’Alaykum I am Fadhel al-Matrook
I am the essence of the lesson inside the holy book
I am the voice of verses; I am the chorus and the hook
I am shivers in your spine, shook, for now I am spook
Cold spirit ripped out of an outer casing, I spit fire
Chased by pigs with rubber in gun chambers, open fired
I am truth spoken clearly that his hidden by liars
I am funeral pall bearer; I am Indian funeral pyre
My soul lifts higher, I see the funeral processions
I am friend of Ali Mushaima, first martyr of insurrection
Insurrection: an organized opposition to authority;
Or a faction trying to wrest control from the majority
Neither, I am a protector of truth that is hidden
I am the Shia Muslims trapped in Bahraini prisons
I am a protestor; I stand before tanks in Tiananmen
I hold aloft a banner, tear gassed, free speech movement
Berkeley in sixties, I am Panther, I am Sioux
I am the children of Egypt who are born anew
I am Hussain at Kerbala, who refused to submit to Yazeed
I am incorruptible by buyouts, my enemy is greed
I am the saddle that is upon the back of the white steed
Of the one who wields the green flag: Imam Mahdi
I am faith; I am brother, a father of a son and daughter
I am a son of Salman, and I am Bahrain’s second Martyr
Shotgun shell separates, skin covering spine, suffering
Severed sinews and cell synapses slowly stop shuffling
Messages to cerebral cortex, cerebellum collapses
Limp body falls back to clay amidst additional flashes
I came to mourn my brother, now others mourn me
No cease and desist orders, no swine warned me
No good byes conveyed to my five and two year old seeds
No final moment given so I can scream, “Peace!!!”
I am the son of Salman; I am the son of Bahrain
I am the son of a nation that mourns for Hussain
I am the son of Egypt, of Tunisia, I am a Libyan
Liberated from this illusionary constructed dungeon
I am a Haitian quake survivor; I am a boy from Qatif
I am average resident of Baghdad, I am an Indian chief
My blood should not be wasted, I hear my father say
Salawaat upon the Prophet, I hear my father pray
Shotgun to the back, to send me back to my Lord
I envision Abbas, giving Hussain back his own sword
I am every martyr since, Bahrain, Egyptian lands
I am every Berber oppressed in the Sahara’s sands
I am a sand n****r, terrorist, an orientalist session
The west calls me Saracen, embargoes and tension
My blood should not be wasted, so learn the lesson
Those who die upon the path, only gain blessings
Of everlasting life, I never wanted strife
I only wanted to live free, not under proverbial knife
Or gunfire or spitfire from mouths of liars, please
I only wanted to live this life in justice and peace
Through my death you will learn of the family’s name
Insha’Allah my blood flows for the blood of Hussain

This is the sound made of many voices—
The downtrodden, oppressed and exploited
Left without choice, save the greatest resistance
Revolution, an ablution from the sweat of persistence

-Professor A.L.I. aka Black Steven