Hip-Hop's (Still) Invisible Women

With all the talk about hip-hop activism, I have to ask, "Where is women’s activism within hip-hop?" From my vantage point, what the recent Don Imus affair brought painfully to light is that generally, black women within hip-hop are to be ogled in music videos, insulted in the name of free speech and discussed by pundits, but rarely are they given access to the major media outlets that would allow them to accurately represent themselves, their images and ideas.

There are indeed hip-hop generation women in our communities working to empower their sisters, however in the main there are no concerted efforts, locally or nationally, to address the issues of race, class and gender that create the environments that allows black male rap artists and a white radio show host (both supported by large corporations) to call black women hos in our mainstream media. It is this lack of critical analysis that recently gave New York City police sergeants, at two different precincts license to call women hos. At the 70th Precinct in Brooklyn, three policewomen, two black women and one Latina, were called hos during roll call. Adding insult to injury, a fellow officer interjected that the correct term was "nappy-headed hos." It should not be a surprise that this is the same precinct where the infamous assault of Abner Louima took place.

In a separate incident, a police sergeant threatened to call a black police woman a "nappy-headed ho" if she gave him lip. Should these policewomen assume that men who would denigrate them so callously and publicly can also be trusted to be fair in assessing their job performance and ability to advance in their careers? Within a wider context, is it realistic, given these men’s actions, to expect that on the streets they will justly apply the law regardless of a person’s race or gender? Women should be more vocal in denouncing sexism in rap music and in our society because our livelihood and our lives depend on it. Furthermore, although it appears to be counterintuitive, sexism also threatens the lives and prospects of the black men whom we love (even if they are perpetuating it). As the situation at the 70th Precinct illustrates, wherever you find sexism, it is very likely that you will also find racism. In the words of Frederick Douglass, "Power concedes nothing without a demand -- it never did and never will." Sexism and racism are both vehicles to wield and retain societal power.

Ten years ago, journalists along with average joes and janes were discussing whether or not "hip-hop hates women," and regrettably today many within hip-hop are still debating that same question. In a 1995 essay, Vibe magazine's current editor in chief, Danyel Smith, discussed how hip-hop tended to mirror the biases of the greater society saying, "Women’s versions of reality are somehow suspect; men’s interpretations of women and their motives and ideas are considered more real than women’s declarations."

The title of her article "Ain’t a Damn Thing Changed" about sums up contemporary women’s status within hip-hop. In the intervening years hip-hop generation women have not become visible, insofar that they have not staked out spaces that allow their stories and complex realities to be heard by the masses. Whether it is fear or access to capital or some combination of the two, hip-hop generation women have not created our version of the Lilith Fair to support female rap artists. Similarly, most female rap artists, like their male counterparts have not created independent record companies and touring apparatus that would allow them to control their messages and images, get those messages to the public and make money in the process. Subsequently, male rap artists (aided by their corporate entertainment entities), rather than black women themselves, have largely shaped the image of black women in the United States and in doing so have defined the contours of our public dialogue about black women.