CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : 17th Gwendolyn Brooks Writers’ Conference – Keynote Address: Dr. Donda West (On ”Raising Kanye”)
Hello everybody.
Thank you so much for your warm welcome and for your gracious hospitality, it's always good to be welcomed wherever you go, but it's especially good when you're welcomed when you come home. The over-pouring love and the support you've shown over the years and just the way I was made to feel when I came back on campus yesterday, really gives new meaning to the phrase, "It feels good to be home".
To Haki R. Madhubuti, who had the extraordinary vision to found the Gwendolyn Brooks Center over 17 years ago, and also to have been the person to have founded this particular conference to Gwendolyn Brooks.
We pay honor to Dr Rachel Lindsay who was Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, has always advocated and lent her full support to the center and to all of its undertakings.
To Professor Quraysh Ali Lansana, a former student here at CSU, and now, director of the Gwendolyn Brooks Center and organizer of this great conference.
And to so many others, administrators, the esteemed faculty in the Department of English and Speech, my home for 21 years and to all of the faculty members across this campus. To the administration.
And to all of you. I thank you so much for your support for your support of me for so many years and more importantly, for the work, you continue to do to provide an education that is second to none for students who are second to none, Chicago State University students.
It does indeed, thank you, it does indeed feel good to be home.
When Rachel Lindsay and Quraysh Alansana called and invited me, one of the first questions I asked Quraysh was, "What do you want me to talk about?" Well, he said something that was a little bit dangerous. He told me I could talk about anything.
I wanted to, and you know, I am my son's mother. But Quraysh must have remembered that because quickly, he narrowed the topic down a bit and suggested that I might read excerpts from my book, "Raising Kanye: Life Lessons From The Mother of a Hip-Hop Superstar", and talk about the intellectual prowess as he put it of hip-hop as well as about hip-hop and social justice.
So taking just a bit of poetic license, Quraysh, changing a word or two,
I decided to share excerpts from my book and talk on hip-hop, social consciousness, and why Kanye ain't scared, raising Kanye, life lessons.
What did I teach him? What did I learn?
These are just a few of the thoughts, few of the questions I had pondered, as I began fulfilling the sometimes, arduous task of writing my very first book.
I taught English for 31 years, sometimes teaching courses like feature writing and editing. But how would I approach writing what I hoped would be a New York Times bestseller?
It wasn't the first time I thought of writing a book. Friends and family had encouraged me to do so. And Haki Madhubuti had long since been urging me to write one. He'd even said he'd publish me.
Now with the opportunity staring me in the face once again, it seemed the right time to do it. But I'd never considered that my book would be about raising Kanye.
I thought it might be about my different dating experiences inspired by Haki's poem about women not being loved enough. I was going to share those dating experiences and hopefully come full circle to finding my ultimate soul mates.
But the man I ended up writing about is the man who, in some ways has had the most profound impact on my life.
My son.
And what made the project extra special to me is, I got a chance to share, not only what he has meant to me, but what he has meant to music and to a generation.
With a generous advance finally agreed upon, although I have since had my issues, with large white, publishing houses, and a contract in place, I now have the opportunity to talk about Kanye from my perspective. Not the Press's. To tell the story of how he was raised to thousands of potential readers.
So what exactly would I share and where would I start? At the beginning seemed to be the most logical place. Even before Kanye was born, or before I was for that matter. I wanted to go back at least to the time, my parents were young. Not only because knowing where we've come from, it's critically important to where we must go. But because my parents themselves for as long as I can remember, were not just two people responsible for my birth, but people with incredibly strong shoulders, on which I stood and consequently on which Kanye stands.
As one writer said, "We came from somewhere, not just from the wombs of our mothers and the seeds of our fathers, but from a long line of forefathers of, foreparents. Generations who came before us"
In the book, "Raising Kanye", I did not go back to ancient Africa where it all began. But I did begin with the story of my parents, Portwood and Lucille Williams, who were victims without becoming victimized, Haki. And fighters for social justice for as long as I can remember.
The last time my daddy saw his own father, I write, he was nine years old. He and his two sisters walked their father to the [?] train station in Oklahoma City, where he boarded a train to a destination they would never know.
My dad didn't remember any of the conversation, but he did remember his father reaching into his pocket and giving his older sister a dime, his younger sister a dime and giving him, the only boy, a quarter.
His father turned and walked onto that train and never came back.
My father and his sisters were happy about the money. But inside, they were sad to see their dad leave.
My father's mother had not gone to the train station. When she'd learned about the little excursion, her eyes filled with tears. Maybe she knew that that day would be the last day any of them would see him.
All he left them with was a total of 45 cents.
My father still loved his father dearly.
Later, he asked his mother if she had loved him too, and grandmother Williams said, I worshipped the ground he walked on.
There were two lessons my father took away that day. Two lessons that he pa**ed along to his children.
The first is that no matter what, you never abandon your family. The second was that no matter what you love unconditionally.
That his mother still loved his father, even worshipped the ground he walked on, even after he walked out on the family... shows the kind of love that you just don't find every day.
It is that kind of love that made my father the kind of father and the kind of man he is. He vowed that he would never walk away from his family and he never has.
Continuing, I share this book, this story.
My dad worked for years on jobs where he was called ***** on a daily basis. And when he wasn't being called *****, the word of choice was "Boy". Long before he rose to the honor of being one of Oklahoma City's outstanding businessmen, my dad shined shoes and grinned for tips.
"Yes, sir," he'd say to the white man who on occasion, would spit on him, then he put that dime in his pocket and bring it home to my mom. My dad knew how to take insults and still keep his dignity.
It must have eaten him alive inside, but no one would ever know. Sometimes he had to flee for his very life.
That's the way it was in those days and you if you wanted to provide the best you could for your family, you took it because you had to.
In Capitol Hill, a southern section of Oklahoma City. where my dad worked as a laborer, there was a sign that read:
"No ****s or dogs allowed after sundown"
My dad had to pa** that sign. every time he went to his meager job. But he did whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. And with my mother's help, give us what we needed and wanted.
Continuing in that same chapter, I write, Mother had not always worked as a key punch operator at Tinker Air Force Base.
I'd heard her tell of stories that she done hair and been a domestic. My dad wanted her to stop doing hair though, because she was on her feet too long.
The domestic job? That bit the dust the day my mother went to work and rang the doorbell, as she had done so many mornings to start her work, only to be met by the lady of the house, who I'll call Miss Anne.
Miss Anne had come into some money and had a maid's outfit complete with a little hat ready for my mother.
'Use the back door from now on Lucille', she told my mother.
Well, you'd have to know my mother to know what this triggered inside of her.
After giving the woman a few choice words, she left that house, never to return again. She was never to do domestic work again either.
She was not forced to take the same level of mistreatment my dad had to take. In fact, he would not stand for my mother's being mistreated on a job. Neither she nor my dad were okay, with her being told to put on a little maid's hat and use only the back door.
My mother couldn't and didn't take insults very well when we went on our little bargain basement shopping sprees at Johnny Brown. Mother insisted that we use the white women only toilet, and that we drink from the white only fountain.
She must have had a presence that said to people 'Don't mess with me', because rarely, did anyone say anything to us. They just looked, as if we ought to know better.
What mother knew is that my dad, as he'd often say had picked enough cotton for us all. He picked cotton until his fingers bled And he did it so that ultimately his wife and his children would not have to literally, or figuratively.
I share those particular excerpts from my book because they tell you just a little bit about the grandparents of one who would dare express on National Television his opinion about the President.
These excerpts reflect how things were and are, and if you don't believe it, you have only to look at the Jena Six case to be reminded.
I'm of the opinion that one of the best ways to understand and appreciate social justice is to have experienced firsthand social injustice.
Etched in my memory are the words my dad would speak whenever one of his white customers for whom he now refinished and upholstered furniture, would ask him if he'd seen 'Roots' on television without hesitation.
My dad would tell them no, I didn't see it. I didn't want to see it. You saw 'Roots' on television. I lived it.
My mother and father were no strangers to social injustice. But neither were they strangers to fighting for social justice.
They were active members of the NAACP in the early 50s and they involved all of their children in the fight for freedom. As Kanye says about me in one of his songs, "At the tender age of six, she was arrested for the sit-ins. And with that, in my blood, I was born to be different."
Kanye was born to be different as were other young black, gifted men and women who became more immersed in hip-hop culture. Some of them the sons and daughters of educators, Black Panthers and members of the Nation of Islam came up hearing their mothers and sometimes their fathers talk pa**ionately about their struggle for the social injustices that they speak so poignantly about in their lyrics.
In "The Sound of The Police", KRS-One says:
"Rap is something you do. Hip-hop is something you live".
He continues saying:
There can never really be justice on stolen land
Are you really for peace and equality?
Or when my car's hooked up?
No, you want to follow me, your laws are minimal
Because you won't even think about looking at the real criminal
This has got to cease because we be getting hyped to the sound of the
police
Now
Here's one little truth
Open your eye while you're checking out the boom box
Check out the exercise, take the word over
See you like a sample repeated very quickly in a crew for example
Overseer overseer overseer overseer officer officer officer
Officer
Yeah
Officer from overseer
You need a little clarity
Check out the similarity
The overseer rolled around the plantation
The officer is off patrol and all the nation
The overseer could stop you from what you're doing
The officer will pull you over just when he's pursuing
The overseer had the right to get ill
And if you fought back, he had the right to kill
The officer had the right to arrest and if you fight back
He'll put a hole in your chest
Whoop
They both ride horses
After 400 years - says KRS-One
I have no choices
When I listen to these lyrics of KRS-One and to the lyrics of rappers like Common, Mos Def, Chuck D. Dead Prez, Talib Kweli, Ice Cube, Lupe Fiasco and Kanye West, the feeling invoked in me is all too close to what I felt when my dad would talk about his experiences with the Ku Klux Klan.
I died a thousand deaths, he'd say, but I lived through all of them.
The profound impact my parents had on my life, compel me to begin my book with their story.
It was they who taught me to be confident, strong and unyielding in my own insistence on justice.
Is it any wonder then that I would teach Kanye the same lessons as a single mother raising a male child to be a strong black man? Seek the advice of men I admired and respected. Their input made all the difference.
There are many men who have grown up to be strong, successful and wise without a strong man in their lives, I write, but I think that these men are anomalies. They are the exception, not the rule.
I've heard some women say that they don't need a man. And perhaps for them, that is true.
But if they have children, I beg to differ. Children, whether boys or girls, need men in their lives. This is particularly true of boys.
And if you don't believe it as all of the men who are currently in the prison system. More than 90% of them grew up without a father or a father figure.
It's not just a male that is needed. However, it's a man one who will take time to talk with your child and has something useful to add to the equation.
I was a single mother, but not a single parent. I was fortunate that Kanye spent the summers with his dad and throughout the year he was exposed to other real men. This was key in his journey to manhood. He was able to flex his manhood in ways he would never have been able to without their input.
Sometimes I'm asked what lessons I've imparted to Kanye. It may have contributed to his being the man he is today.
The man I described in the introduction of the book as being so decidedly different, incredibly talented, bitingly frank frequently controversial and surprisingly, arguably humble all at once. And I could never answer readily because the answers are so many and varied besides, much of what we teach our children, we don't even realize. They often learn through what we do, rather than what we say.
Nonetheless, my parenting of Kanye was strategic. I had firm do's and don'ts that I did not waver from but at the same time, I was liberal in my mind.
Both qualities would be critical to the outcome, the list of don'ts, do's and don'ts, the no's in the book, though, not meant necessarily as a roadmap, is very clear.
No riding the L train in Chicago, to me, it simply was not safe. And safety came first. With kids being beaten up and sometimes killed for their jackets or gym shoes, riding the L was just not an option, no matter how uncool not riding the L might be, especially for a preppy kid trying to break into the rap game.
No hanging out on corners with nothing constructive to do. I felt that that could lead the nicest kid to trouble.
No leaving the house without my knowing where you were going and without my telling you what time you needed to be back. It just was not acceptable for me, not to know, or believe I knew anyway, where my child was at all times.
No watching too much network television, only 10 hours a week were allowed. I felt that watching too much television, especially certain shows was dangerous, debilitating even.
No raising your voice or talking disrespectfully, to me or any other a**** at any time for any reason. That was simply not allowed.
On the other hand, there were lots of do's.
To speak your mind freely, raise questions and respectfully disagree was encouraged. To talk about any subject, including sex or drugs, or rap music was welcomed as well. To make good grades in school, was not only a do, but a requirement. And to set the highest of standards and pursue excellence was also imperative.
Most parents have their do's and don'ts and likewise I had mine.
And when the rules were broken the consequences had to be severe enough to be effective. In a word, these are the behaviors I insisted on and others to.
I'm sure I wanted to cultivate in Kanye the ability to think critically and the habits of mind he would need in the continued struggle for decent and fair treatment in this country and in the world. Integrity, respect, self-discipline, commitment and responsibility were key.
And it would be a good idea I thought to start mentally imparting these values while my baby was yet in my womb.
When Kanye was very young, I write in Chapter 5, I began teaching him to love himself by putting images that looked like him around him. It's something I felt I must consciously do.
The low self-esteem he was bound to take on if he looked to the media for validation would only serve to cripple him and make him question himself into oblivion as a Black man, and as a man period, he would need to be strong.
This would not happen if he learned to hate himself. And in a society where our legacy is, surely the love of our forefathers, but also the hate of our slave masters, it is imperative that parents consciously teach the love of self.
Encourage. Teach the courage of Malcolm. The wisdom of of Martin and the tenacity of Marcus.
I believe that unless combated, self-hate is easy to develop and nearly impossible to shed.
Criticize, if you will, those young people who espouse hip-hop and dare to speak the truth to the people as Marie Evans long since called for. But a better approach may be to love and understand them.
Love is fundamental, but it's not enough. It's not enough to make civil rights from civil wrongs and bring this old world to a fair and just conclusion as I say, Davis puts it.
So what is enough?
To my way of thinking, it's only enough for each one of us to become champions in our own right. To question, as the Commons, Tupacs, Talibs, the Ice Cubes, Mos Defs, and Kanyes question, the social injustices that continue to persist in the world.
To question and then act responsibly you're going to have to take my life before you take my drive, because when I was barely living, that's what kept me alive. Kanye says, in his song with Brandy, "Bring Me Down".
And he's equally as forceful in get up, I get down, get up. I get down, get up, I get down. Get up, I get down. Get up. I get get - uh, I get down from my grandfather who took my mother made us sit in that seat. While white people didn't want us to eat. At the tender age of six, she was arrested for the sit-ins And with that, in my blood
I was born to be different. *****s can't make it to the ballots to choose leadership, but they can make it to valleys and to the dealership and on and on and on. He said, racism is still alive, but they just be concealing it
Racism is still alive. But they just be concealing it.
They be putting it in our music They even be taking our music. Like Langston Hughes said, 'They'd taken our blues and gone.'
As I near the end of my remarks here today, I'm mindful of one who Kanye had the awesome privilege of rapping for when he was just 10 years old. And on hearing him, Miss Brooks shared her experience that almost all kids who want to rap but quickly added, he was special.
It is she however, who was the real rapper. Before the term hip-hop was ever codified as a genre or culture, embodying, the real essence of hip-hop.
She wrote about what she saw and heard and the street. It was she who taught us through her words and by example, what it takes to be a champion. And, and the long list of littles that she was so fond of calling them.
The littles who are in fact, very big.
That she wrote speech to the young speech, to the progress toward, say to them.
Say to the down keepers
The sun-slappers
The self-soilers
The harmony hushers
Even if you are not ready for the day
It cannot always be night
You will be right
For that is the heart homerun
Live not for the battles won
Live not for the end of the song
Live in the along
In raising Kanye, I wanted to live in the along. I wanted to cultivate a champion. For I knew the champions are not only necessary, but essential in the world.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you so much for your warm welcome and for your gracious hospitality, it's always good to be welcomed wherever you go, but it's especially good when you're welcomed when you come home. The over-pouring love and the support you've shown over the years and just the way I was made to feel when I came back on campus yesterday, really gives new meaning to the phrase, "It feels good to be home".
To Haki R. Madhubuti, who had the extraordinary vision to found the Gwendolyn Brooks Center over 17 years ago, and also to have been the person to have founded this particular conference to Gwendolyn Brooks.
We pay honor to Dr Rachel Lindsay who was Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, has always advocated and lent her full support to the center and to all of its undertakings.
To Professor Quraysh Ali Lansana, a former student here at CSU, and now, director of the Gwendolyn Brooks Center and organizer of this great conference.
And to so many others, administrators, the esteemed faculty in the Department of English and Speech, my home for 21 years and to all of the faculty members across this campus. To the administration.
And to all of you. I thank you so much for your support for your support of me for so many years and more importantly, for the work, you continue to do to provide an education that is second to none for students who are second to none, Chicago State University students.
It does indeed, thank you, it does indeed feel good to be home.
When Rachel Lindsay and Quraysh Alansana called and invited me, one of the first questions I asked Quraysh was, "What do you want me to talk about?" Well, he said something that was a little bit dangerous. He told me I could talk about anything.
I wanted to, and you know, I am my son's mother. But Quraysh must have remembered that because quickly, he narrowed the topic down a bit and suggested that I might read excerpts from my book, "Raising Kanye: Life Lessons From The Mother of a Hip-Hop Superstar", and talk about the intellectual prowess as he put it of hip-hop as well as about hip-hop and social justice.
So taking just a bit of poetic license, Quraysh, changing a word or two,
I decided to share excerpts from my book and talk on hip-hop, social consciousness, and why Kanye ain't scared, raising Kanye, life lessons.
What did I teach him? What did I learn?
These are just a few of the thoughts, few of the questions I had pondered, as I began fulfilling the sometimes, arduous task of writing my very first book.
I taught English for 31 years, sometimes teaching courses like feature writing and editing. But how would I approach writing what I hoped would be a New York Times bestseller?
It wasn't the first time I thought of writing a book. Friends and family had encouraged me to do so. And Haki Madhubuti had long since been urging me to write one. He'd even said he'd publish me.
Now with the opportunity staring me in the face once again, it seemed the right time to do it. But I'd never considered that my book would be about raising Kanye.
I thought it might be about my different dating experiences inspired by Haki's poem about women not being loved enough. I was going to share those dating experiences and hopefully come full circle to finding my ultimate soul mates.
But the man I ended up writing about is the man who, in some ways has had the most profound impact on my life.
My son.
And what made the project extra special to me is, I got a chance to share, not only what he has meant to me, but what he has meant to music and to a generation.
With a generous advance finally agreed upon, although I have since had my issues, with large white, publishing houses, and a contract in place, I now have the opportunity to talk about Kanye from my perspective. Not the Press's. To tell the story of how he was raised to thousands of potential readers.
So what exactly would I share and where would I start? At the beginning seemed to be the most logical place. Even before Kanye was born, or before I was for that matter. I wanted to go back at least to the time, my parents were young. Not only because knowing where we've come from, it's critically important to where we must go. But because my parents themselves for as long as I can remember, were not just two people responsible for my birth, but people with incredibly strong shoulders, on which I stood and consequently on which Kanye stands.
As one writer said, "We came from somewhere, not just from the wombs of our mothers and the seeds of our fathers, but from a long line of forefathers of, foreparents. Generations who came before us"
In the book, "Raising Kanye", I did not go back to ancient Africa where it all began. But I did begin with the story of my parents, Portwood and Lucille Williams, who were victims without becoming victimized, Haki. And fighters for social justice for as long as I can remember.
The last time my daddy saw his own father, I write, he was nine years old. He and his two sisters walked their father to the [?] train station in Oklahoma City, where he boarded a train to a destination they would never know.
My dad didn't remember any of the conversation, but he did remember his father reaching into his pocket and giving his older sister a dime, his younger sister a dime and giving him, the only boy, a quarter.
His father turned and walked onto that train and never came back.
My father and his sisters were happy about the money. But inside, they were sad to see their dad leave.
My father's mother had not gone to the train station. When she'd learned about the little excursion, her eyes filled with tears. Maybe she knew that that day would be the last day any of them would see him.
All he left them with was a total of 45 cents.
My father still loved his father dearly.
Later, he asked his mother if she had loved him too, and grandmother Williams said, I worshipped the ground he walked on.
There were two lessons my father took away that day. Two lessons that he pa**ed along to his children.
The first is that no matter what, you never abandon your family. The second was that no matter what you love unconditionally.
That his mother still loved his father, even worshipped the ground he walked on, even after he walked out on the family... shows the kind of love that you just don't find every day.
It is that kind of love that made my father the kind of father and the kind of man he is. He vowed that he would never walk away from his family and he never has.
Continuing, I share this book, this story.
My dad worked for years on jobs where he was called ***** on a daily basis. And when he wasn't being called *****, the word of choice was "Boy". Long before he rose to the honor of being one of Oklahoma City's outstanding businessmen, my dad shined shoes and grinned for tips.
"Yes, sir," he'd say to the white man who on occasion, would spit on him, then he put that dime in his pocket and bring it home to my mom. My dad knew how to take insults and still keep his dignity.
It must have eaten him alive inside, but no one would ever know. Sometimes he had to flee for his very life.
That's the way it was in those days and you if you wanted to provide the best you could for your family, you took it because you had to.
In Capitol Hill, a southern section of Oklahoma City. where my dad worked as a laborer, there was a sign that read:
"No ****s or dogs allowed after sundown"
My dad had to pa** that sign. every time he went to his meager job. But he did whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. And with my mother's help, give us what we needed and wanted.
Continuing in that same chapter, I write, Mother had not always worked as a key punch operator at Tinker Air Force Base.
I'd heard her tell of stories that she done hair and been a domestic. My dad wanted her to stop doing hair though, because she was on her feet too long.
The domestic job? That bit the dust the day my mother went to work and rang the doorbell, as she had done so many mornings to start her work, only to be met by the lady of the house, who I'll call Miss Anne.
Miss Anne had come into some money and had a maid's outfit complete with a little hat ready for my mother.
'Use the back door from now on Lucille', she told my mother.
Well, you'd have to know my mother to know what this triggered inside of her.
After giving the woman a few choice words, she left that house, never to return again. She was never to do domestic work again either.
She was not forced to take the same level of mistreatment my dad had to take. In fact, he would not stand for my mother's being mistreated on a job. Neither she nor my dad were okay, with her being told to put on a little maid's hat and use only the back door.
My mother couldn't and didn't take insults very well when we went on our little bargain basement shopping sprees at Johnny Brown. Mother insisted that we use the white women only toilet, and that we drink from the white only fountain.
She must have had a presence that said to people 'Don't mess with me', because rarely, did anyone say anything to us. They just looked, as if we ought to know better.
What mother knew is that my dad, as he'd often say had picked enough cotton for us all. He picked cotton until his fingers bled And he did it so that ultimately his wife and his children would not have to literally, or figuratively.
I share those particular excerpts from my book because they tell you just a little bit about the grandparents of one who would dare express on National Television his opinion about the President.
These excerpts reflect how things were and are, and if you don't believe it, you have only to look at the Jena Six case to be reminded.
I'm of the opinion that one of the best ways to understand and appreciate social justice is to have experienced firsthand social injustice.
Etched in my memory are the words my dad would speak whenever one of his white customers for whom he now refinished and upholstered furniture, would ask him if he'd seen 'Roots' on television without hesitation.
My dad would tell them no, I didn't see it. I didn't want to see it. You saw 'Roots' on television. I lived it.
My mother and father were no strangers to social injustice. But neither were they strangers to fighting for social justice.
They were active members of the NAACP in the early 50s and they involved all of their children in the fight for freedom. As Kanye says about me in one of his songs, "At the tender age of six, she was arrested for the sit-ins. And with that, in my blood, I was born to be different."
Kanye was born to be different as were other young black, gifted men and women who became more immersed in hip-hop culture. Some of them the sons and daughters of educators, Black Panthers and members of the Nation of Islam came up hearing their mothers and sometimes their fathers talk pa**ionately about their struggle for the social injustices that they speak so poignantly about in their lyrics.
In "The Sound of The Police", KRS-One says:
"Rap is something you do. Hip-hop is something you live".
He continues saying:
There can never really be justice on stolen land
Are you really for peace and equality?
Or when my car's hooked up?
No, you want to follow me, your laws are minimal
Because you won't even think about looking at the real criminal
This has got to cease because we be getting hyped to the sound of the
police
Now
Here's one little truth
Open your eye while you're checking out the boom box
Check out the exercise, take the word over
See you like a sample repeated very quickly in a crew for example
Overseer overseer overseer overseer officer officer officer
Officer
Yeah
Officer from overseer
You need a little clarity
Check out the similarity
The overseer rolled around the plantation
The officer is off patrol and all the nation
The overseer could stop you from what you're doing
The officer will pull you over just when he's pursuing
The overseer had the right to get ill
And if you fought back, he had the right to kill
The officer had the right to arrest and if you fight back
He'll put a hole in your chest
Whoop
They both ride horses
After 400 years - says KRS-One
I have no choices
When I listen to these lyrics of KRS-One and to the lyrics of rappers like Common, Mos Def, Chuck D. Dead Prez, Talib Kweli, Ice Cube, Lupe Fiasco and Kanye West, the feeling invoked in me is all too close to what I felt when my dad would talk about his experiences with the Ku Klux Klan.
I died a thousand deaths, he'd say, but I lived through all of them.
The profound impact my parents had on my life, compel me to begin my book with their story.
It was they who taught me to be confident, strong and unyielding in my own insistence on justice.
Is it any wonder then that I would teach Kanye the same lessons as a single mother raising a male child to be a strong black man? Seek the advice of men I admired and respected. Their input made all the difference.
There are many men who have grown up to be strong, successful and wise without a strong man in their lives, I write, but I think that these men are anomalies. They are the exception, not the rule.
I've heard some women say that they don't need a man. And perhaps for them, that is true.
But if they have children, I beg to differ. Children, whether boys or girls, need men in their lives. This is particularly true of boys.
And if you don't believe it as all of the men who are currently in the prison system. More than 90% of them grew up without a father or a father figure.
It's not just a male that is needed. However, it's a man one who will take time to talk with your child and has something useful to add to the equation.
I was a single mother, but not a single parent. I was fortunate that Kanye spent the summers with his dad and throughout the year he was exposed to other real men. This was key in his journey to manhood. He was able to flex his manhood in ways he would never have been able to without their input.
Sometimes I'm asked what lessons I've imparted to Kanye. It may have contributed to his being the man he is today.
The man I described in the introduction of the book as being so decidedly different, incredibly talented, bitingly frank frequently controversial and surprisingly, arguably humble all at once. And I could never answer readily because the answers are so many and varied besides, much of what we teach our children, we don't even realize. They often learn through what we do, rather than what we say.
Nonetheless, my parenting of Kanye was strategic. I had firm do's and don'ts that I did not waver from but at the same time, I was liberal in my mind.
Both qualities would be critical to the outcome, the list of don'ts, do's and don'ts, the no's in the book, though, not meant necessarily as a roadmap, is very clear.
No riding the L train in Chicago, to me, it simply was not safe. And safety came first. With kids being beaten up and sometimes killed for their jackets or gym shoes, riding the L was just not an option, no matter how uncool not riding the L might be, especially for a preppy kid trying to break into the rap game.
No hanging out on corners with nothing constructive to do. I felt that that could lead the nicest kid to trouble.
No leaving the house without my knowing where you were going and without my telling you what time you needed to be back. It just was not acceptable for me, not to know, or believe I knew anyway, where my child was at all times.
No watching too much network television, only 10 hours a week were allowed. I felt that watching too much television, especially certain shows was dangerous, debilitating even.
No raising your voice or talking disrespectfully, to me or any other a**** at any time for any reason. That was simply not allowed.
On the other hand, there were lots of do's.
To speak your mind freely, raise questions and respectfully disagree was encouraged. To talk about any subject, including sex or drugs, or rap music was welcomed as well. To make good grades in school, was not only a do, but a requirement. And to set the highest of standards and pursue excellence was also imperative.
Most parents have their do's and don'ts and likewise I had mine.
And when the rules were broken the consequences had to be severe enough to be effective. In a word, these are the behaviors I insisted on and others to.
I'm sure I wanted to cultivate in Kanye the ability to think critically and the habits of mind he would need in the continued struggle for decent and fair treatment in this country and in the world. Integrity, respect, self-discipline, commitment and responsibility were key.
And it would be a good idea I thought to start mentally imparting these values while my baby was yet in my womb.
When Kanye was very young, I write in Chapter 5, I began teaching him to love himself by putting images that looked like him around him. It's something I felt I must consciously do.
The low self-esteem he was bound to take on if he looked to the media for validation would only serve to cripple him and make him question himself into oblivion as a Black man, and as a man period, he would need to be strong.
This would not happen if he learned to hate himself. And in a society where our legacy is, surely the love of our forefathers, but also the hate of our slave masters, it is imperative that parents consciously teach the love of self.
Encourage. Teach the courage of Malcolm. The wisdom of of Martin and the tenacity of Marcus.
I believe that unless combated, self-hate is easy to develop and nearly impossible to shed.
Criticize, if you will, those young people who espouse hip-hop and dare to speak the truth to the people as Marie Evans long since called for. But a better approach may be to love and understand them.
Love is fundamental, but it's not enough. It's not enough to make civil rights from civil wrongs and bring this old world to a fair and just conclusion as I say, Davis puts it.
So what is enough?
To my way of thinking, it's only enough for each one of us to become champions in our own right. To question, as the Commons, Tupacs, Talibs, the Ice Cubes, Mos Defs, and Kanyes question, the social injustices that continue to persist in the world.
To question and then act responsibly you're going to have to take my life before you take my drive, because when I was barely living, that's what kept me alive. Kanye says, in his song with Brandy, "Bring Me Down".
And he's equally as forceful in get up, I get down, get up. I get down, get up, I get down. Get up, I get down. Get up. I get get - uh, I get down from my grandfather who took my mother made us sit in that seat. While white people didn't want us to eat. At the tender age of six, she was arrested for the sit-ins And with that, in my blood
I was born to be different. *****s can't make it to the ballots to choose leadership, but they can make it to valleys and to the dealership and on and on and on. He said, racism is still alive, but they just be concealing it
Racism is still alive. But they just be concealing it.
They be putting it in our music They even be taking our music. Like Langston Hughes said, 'They'd taken our blues and gone.'
As I near the end of my remarks here today, I'm mindful of one who Kanye had the awesome privilege of rapping for when he was just 10 years old. And on hearing him, Miss Brooks shared her experience that almost all kids who want to rap but quickly added, he was special.
It is she however, who was the real rapper. Before the term hip-hop was ever codified as a genre or culture, embodying, the real essence of hip-hop.
She wrote about what she saw and heard and the street. It was she who taught us through her words and by example, what it takes to be a champion. And, and the long list of littles that she was so fond of calling them.
The littles who are in fact, very big.
That she wrote speech to the young speech, to the progress toward, say to them.
Say to the down keepers
The sun-slappers
The self-soilers
The harmony hushers
Even if you are not ready for the day
It cannot always be night
You will be right
For that is the heart homerun
Live not for the battles won
Live not for the end of the song
Live in the along
In raising Kanye, I wanted to live in the along. I wanted to cultivate a champion. For I knew the champions are not only necessary, but essential in the world.
Thank you.
Thank you.
