Raiz’n Awareness in da SL ’hood, Emcee-stylee

by Eshantha Peiris





[Maad shout-outs 2 all mah Lankan emcee brothas… why ya’ll be dissin’ da sistas, yo? Ya wanna spread some attitude? How ‘bout get’n down with some respect 4 da ladies??]

A brief history of hip-hop (from my oversimplified perspective) reads something like this: Old-school rap (e.g. Grandmaster Flash from the late ’70s) originated as an underground movement to meet the entertainment needs of a marginalized African-American community in New York City. Conscious rap (e.g. Public Enemy from the ’80s) emerged when emcees (i.e. rappers) became aware of their public visibility and started using it as a platform for speaking out about the harsh realities of their social conditions. Gangsta Rap soon realized that glorified violence and sex translates into record sales (more than US$10 billion per year over the past decade) and sold-out to the formulaic aesthetic now familiar to anyone who listens to commercial radio. The progression to Bling rap (exemplified in the Puff-Daddy to P-Diddy transformation further built on the popular instant-gratification theme by portraying the image of a wealthy, extravagant, promiscuous lifestyle as an ideal state of being.

Much concern has been expressed over the portrayal of women as sex objects in mainstream gangsta rap. Less attention is given to the recording industry that encourages such portrayal as a formula for commercial success, and to the audiences that feed off this material to satisfy their entertainment needs. [White American teenage boys account for the bulk of hip-hop sales]. Educated fans and the artistes themselves are quick to point out that male-female relationships depicted in gangsta hip-hop (in which women are often identified as ‘bytches’, ‘ho’s’ etc.) are to be seen as purely escapist fantasies, and not as guidelines for acceptable social behavior. However, devoid of social context, these misogynist representations only seem to reinforce sexist and racist stereotypes in the minds of hip-hop’s broader global markets. Thus while the music itself may not be creating negative images in the minds of listeners (art doesn’t really work like that), it definitely goes a long way in furthering existing negative stereotypes.

As Sri Lankans, we (both men and women) certainly engage in our fair share of stereotyping, objectifying and subordinating females; through cultural values, religion-influenced segregation, formal educational practices, and through our embracing of western pop culture. The extreme results of this pervasive bias are criminally anti-social: a recent government survey reported that over 60% of Sri Lankan women are victims of domestic violence. Yes, we actually do have legislation meant to dissuade gender-based discrimination, yet as any reformer will tell you, laws alone are not enough: change needs to happen on a level of people’s attitudes and mindsets.

Sri Lankan hip-hop music takes it’s cue from mainstream gangsta rap. In case you couldn’t tell from the lyrics (which are relatively tame, probably thanks to the censor board and our conservative parental generation) try watching local music-videos: e.g. Ranidu’s ‘Unmada Dethol'. If they’re not explicitly promoting the objectification of women, then they’re certainly not helping combat it.

Among the many styles of vocal music out there, rap has a distinct advantage in that its primary focus is on the lyrics (as opposed to say, rock n’ roll, which often draws attention to the melody). Therefore, given enough exposure, it can be a great medium for communicating with the public. Sri Lankan rap artistes, while far from reaching the international markets they desperately crave, have certainly achieved public visibility among local audiences. They’ve captured the loyalty of many fans of western and hindi pop-music, they dominate popular airwaves, pose on billboards and magazine-covers, and host their own TV shows. Their music lives in the computers of a generation of Sri Lankan teenagers. Their rhymes and verses will reach the ears of more youth than any public-awareness campaign could ever hope to. That’s big potential influence right there. And unlike internationally successful rap icons (who’s material is dictated by – surprise - corporate executives at major record labels [i.e. rich white men in suits]), local emcees still have some say in choosing their subject matter, and are therefore ideally positioned to deliver socially responsible messages (such as encouraging respect for women) to nation-wide listeners.

My purpose here is not to criticize Sri Lankan hip-hop for its musical value; in fact, as much as the genre imitates western and Indian stylistic trends, it always retains a distinctively Sri Lankan identity, indicating both its progressive relevance and its roots in tradition: these artistic efforts should be applauded. Rather, my objection is with its lyrical content, which, as far as I can tell, is largely concerned with parties and hot girls. Yes, local hip-hop producers do have a right to borrow ‘culturally sacred’ rhythms/melodies and remix them for their own commercial gain. Yet with this right to borrow from a cultural heritage comes a responsibility to pay it back, a responsibility to invest in its healthy progress and social development.

The Daily News recently spoke to DJ/producer Iraj Weeraratne and ended their interview by asking him why his tracks aren’t based on political or social themes. Iraj’s non-sequitur reply: “I for myself base my productions mostly on themes like youth and love”. How boring. The last time I checked, controversy is a fabulous publicity-generator (assuming that fame is indeed an incentive). Socially-conscious rap that talks about Sri Lankan political issues is largely the domain of expatriate rapper M.I.A… and she’s got her fair share of global hype. And even if local musicians want to avoid trouble by sidestepping overtly political themes, Sri Lanka has no shortage of other social issues that need urgent attention. For starters, how about encouraging some respect for our ladies?


“And uhh, I know they like to beat ya down a lot
When you come around the block brothas clown a lot
But please don't cry, dry your eyes, never let up
Forgive but don't forget, girl keep your head up
And when he tells you you ain't nuttin don't believe him
And if he can't learn to love you you should leave him
Cause sista you don't need him
And I ain't tryin to gas ya up, I just call em how I see em

You know it makes me unhappy (what's that)
When brothas make babies, and leave a young mother to be a pappy
And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies”
--Tupac Shakur, “Keep Ya Head Up”


Citations:

Coomaraswamy, Radhika. “The varied contours of violence against women in
South Asia.” Fifth South Asia Regional Ministerial Conf. Islamabad, Pakistan.
3-5 May 2005.
Lankage, Ranidu. “Unmada Dethol.” Ranidu. Sony BMG India, 2007.
Shakur, Tupac. “Keep Ya Head Up.” Strictly 4 my N.I.G.G.A.Z. Jive, 1993.
Weerasinghe, Chamikara. “Iraj to release album in Dhevehi” Daily News
12 January 2008. dailynews.lk/2008/01/12/fea20.asp>


About the author: Eshantha Peiris is a graduate student in music performance and composition at New York University. He is from Rajagiriya.