Hip-Hop, Gun Violence, and Misogynoir : An Honest Discussion
I ️ originally wrote this piece in September 2022 when PNB rock was murdered. I held off on publishing the piece because, well, life be life-ing, and I decided to return to this piece following the death of Kirshnik Ball, the artist we all know as takeoff, and the outcome of Tory Lanez's trial.
On September 12, 2022, PNB Rock was murdered following a robbery at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles restaurant in South Los Angeles. The rapper at the time was the latest Hip-Hop artist murdered, raising discussions about the trend of rappers dying to gun violence and if Hip-Hop is to blame for the premature deaths of Black men.
According to a recent article released by CNN, gun violence has killed at least one rapper every year since 2018. And while fans of the genre know many rap artists who have died by gun violence, including those on the rise to prominence, folks are identifying the urgency to address the correlation between gun violence and Hip-Hop. In fact, a 2021 USC report revealed that “The top executives at 70 leading music companies, 86% were men and 86% were white. In those 70 companies, there were only three Black top executives and two women of color.”
Supporters of the generation are calling for a shift in Hip-Hop culture and the urgency to address violence in our community. While other critics call out that the controlled production and executive oversight of Hip-Hop contributes to the promotion of violence in the Black community as the music industry is still a white boys club, and a majority of those who are industry executives are predominately white and male.
As a lover of Hip-Hop’s heritage, I understand the genre was built on the foundation of Black joy and rhythmic word patterns where content, flow, and delivery of descriptive storytelling remain at the forefront of the artistry of rapping. The 1979 release of King Tim III by The Fatband Band (documented as the first Hip-Hop singles recorded) was released a few months before the release of Rapper's Delight by the Sugarhill Gang, which would continue to be known as the first commercially successful hip-hop single. The beginnings of the genre were focused on braggadocio lyrics.
In 1980, Brother’s D “How We Gonna Make the Black Nation Rise” was one of the earliest forms of sociopolitical Hip-Hop songs incorporating rap lyrics about white violence, environmental racism, and decolonization. In 1982, however, The Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, “The Message,” a socially conscious song written in response to the 1980 NYC Transit Strike, became a commercial hit, reflecting on poverty and inter-communal violence. It cemented Hip-Hop’s place as a messenger of social commentary and a mirror into Black struggles in America and beyond.
Hip-Hop has always been a messenger of our Black experiences, including our pain, and this mirror exists at the forefront of Hip-Hop’s community today. It is the epitome of Black American artistic talent, a baby born out of our pain. Author Bakari Kitwana once identified, “hip-hop’s earliest eras reflect the popular culture, globalization, pervasiveness of segregation, racial implications, and quality of life of African-American youth born between the years of 1965 and 1984.”
Hip-Hop and those who are a part of this community serve as a mirror for the various cultures from which they come. They represent a call and response to the challenges of their world and the desire to shift the struggles they witness. At the root of the genre’s foundation, this was part of its purpose to center the experiences of Black people, our needs, and another outlet to express ourselves. As a lover of the genre, I will always hold this understanding because multiple truths of this genre can exist simultaneously.
Since its humble beginnings, the genre has faced its challenges. At the same time, Hip-Hop would evolve to include many subgenres, including gangsta rap, boom bap, jazz rap, etc. In the wake of gaining international notoriety and struggling for acceptance in an industry that refused to look at Hip-Hop as a legitimate artistic platform. Throughout each phase of its identity, the genre must continually address how violence impacted the Black community and the artists who built its foundation.
Violence in Hip-Hop
On August 27, 1987, DJ Scott La Rock passed away in the Bronx, New York, as a result of gun violence. La Rock was one of the founding members of the South Bronx hip-hop crew Boogie Down Productions, alongside the legendary KRS-One and D-Nice, and was a former social worker. At the time, La Rock’s death was one of the first of its kind in Hip-Hop. In the following year, in September 1988, a fan attending the Dope Jam Tour in New York's Nassau Coliseum was killed for his gold chain.
The untimely death of La Rock and the Dope Jam Tour fatality sparked the Stop The Violence Movement created by KRS-One in 1989. The only single to be released by the Movement was “Self-Destruction,” a record released in 1989; the song called out violence in the Black community and was a collaboration of multiple Hip-Hop artists.* The song would become a gold record and raise $100,000 in proceeds to support the National Urban League. As a crucial song to the movement, it wouldn’t be the last time Hip-Hop had to reckon with the impact of gun violence.
*It’s worth noting that at the time of the “Self-Destruction" release MC Delite’s verse on the song included the anti-Black phrase “Black-on-Black crime.” Black-on-Black crime does not exist; it is simply crime, crime of proximity.
Warner Bros. Discovery, Inc. (Screenshot from ID's "Who Killed Biggie and Tupac?")
In 1996 and 1997, following the high-profile deaths of Biggie and Tupac, the Hip-Hop world once again faced devastating loss. Tupac, 25, was shot in a drive-by shooting in Las Vegas on September 7, 1996, and passed away at a local hospital. On March 9, 1997, at the age of 24, Biggie was gunned down in his vehicle shortly after attending an industry event in Los Angeles. As the two most highly profiled Hip-Hop artists of their time, their deaths shifted the media’s coverage of the genre and, rightfully, the industry's culture moving forward. Biggie and Tupac’s death came during Hip-Hop’s growing prominence, tragic media narratives of Hip-Hop beef, and the rising commercialization of Hip-Hop. Author Danyel Smith, reflecting on her experience as a journalist during that era in an interview with The Ringer, said, “There’s no end to that year for me and for a lot of people—it’s still going on for a lot of us,” Smith says. “It was literally a year of pain. And, to be honest, it’s not anything that I speak about lightly or often at all.”
Fast forward to today, the death of a rapper in Hip-Hop is as normal as a trip to the grocery store. It feels like every month; we’re commemorating a rap artist gone too soon and attempting to forget the vivid social media posts that exploit these victims within their final moments. Just as the world continues to exploit Black death, we’re scrambling to make sense of how to stop reliving this trauma time after time. And as a fan of this genre, I observe that while we acknowledge gun violence as a problem in our communities, our responses to it vary depending on the victim and gender.
In an Instagram post on July 15, 2020, Megan Thee Stallion confirmed that she was shot in her feet. That same day, TMZ released videos of Megan's bloody footprints and provided information about her shooting. The caption of the now-deleted Instagram post stated:
“The narrative that is being reported about Sunday’s morning events are inaccurate and I’d like to set the record straight,” Megan wrote. “On Sunday morning, I suffered gunshot wounds, as a result of a crime that was committed against me and done with the intention to physically harm me.
“I was never arrested, the police officers drove me to the hospital where I underwent surgery to remove the bullets,” Megan continued. “I’m incredibly grateful to be alive and that I’m expected to make a full recovery, but it was important for me to clarify the details about this traumatic night. I’m currently focused on my recovery, so I can return back to my life and back to making music as soon as possible.”
The following day TMZ reported Tory allegedly shot Megan during their July 12, 2020 incident.* .After dealing with various rumors on August 20, 2020, Megan went on Instagram live to discuss her experience and admitted Tory Lanez shot her.
*the complete timeline can be followed here.As a result of Megan speaking out, members of the hip-hop community—including rappers who are survivors of gun violence, denigrated and shunned her. When Megan verbally labeled Tory as her abuser, it seemed the violence against her increased. People called her a liar, and Megan's sexual history was scrutinized as she dealt with intrusive questions about her relationship with Lanez and her ex-best friend Kelsey while attempting to survive her harm and protect her privacy. Tory broke his silence in September 2020, disputing Megan’s story, proclaiming his “love” for Black women, and trailing on the Black man vs. Black woman narratives.
For 2+ years, Megan was gaslighted, with even megastars like Drake attacking her through music. For example, in the 2022 release of “Circo Loco,” Drake raps: “This bitch lie about getting shot but she still a stallion / She don’t even get the joke but she still smiling.” During the first day of Lanez’s trial, Megan was asked, “Megan, why you lying on that boy?” by an onlooker. On December 30, 2022, Tory Lanez’s jail call to Kelsey was released, and while it brought truth to July 12, 2020, even through Lanez's guilty verdict, folks are still choosing to attack Megan. On December 23, 2022, a Los Angeles jury found Tory guilty of assault with a semiautomatic firearm, carrying a loaded, unregistered firearm in a vehicle, and the discharge of a firearm with gross negligence.
Throughout her journey as a survivor of gun violence Megan Pete was a prime case of misogynoir and how we love to say “Protect Black Women,” but when it matters the most, we “Fail Black Women.” People second guess Black women, especially when a Black man is responsible for the harm. Doing better for Black women means doing better internally for ourselves and understanding that saying cute mottos without the work literally means nothing to the safety of Black women and the future of our community.
Hip-Hop is no stranger to gun violence or misogyny. Yet, the specific disdain of Black women makes it acceptable for violence against us to occur without consequences. Black women are unsafe outside of our community, and we sure as hell don’t have a gate of protection to walk safely within our own.
In 2020 alone, “the national homicide rate for Black women and girls was eight homicides per 100,000 people. That’s the highest rate among American women and represents a risk of violent death that is four times higher than white or Latina women.” A study released by the Violence Policy Center suggests the number of Black females shot and killed by their husband or intimate acquaintance was nearly four times as high as the total number murdered by male strangers using all weapons combined. Megan Pete could have been a homicide victim.
Our community's struggles with gun violence and how it impacts our lives are not isolated incidents, so they should not be viewed as such. This also means that simply blaming a genre of music as a problem to the violence we see in our community takes too much weight off white supremacy. It takes too much weight off the inadequate access to mental health resources and the lack of addressing the root causes of the problems to end gun violence and violence against women in our community. We can make room to hold artists, the industry, ourselves, and white supremacy responsible.
Just because Hip-Hop is a reflection of our community doesn't mean we must keep staring through broken glass and allowing ourselves to be cut by shards of a white patriarchal society.
