Big Sant (MFxOG)

bigsant2

Big Sant. Smithe's Old Bar. Atlanta, Georgia. 2014.

Name: Big SantHometown: Meridian, MississippiAge: 31Age You First Fell in Love: 15Love Is: Ah. Love is, (laughs), I don't know love is, I don't know. Love is putting whatever you got- love is putting whatever it is above you. Above your own. . . you know, putting you next instead of first. No matter what it is. No matter if it's for the love of the game. You know you finna go out there and Derrick Rose yourself and your knees hurting and you need all this service; but you love the game so much you put yourself at risk. Or whether it's your woman, you know what I'm saying? Boom, boom. Like she's a little extra, so I want to do it for her and I want her to have something so I don't got to buy whatever it is for myself. Or for my kids, you know, I can shorten myself so they can have a little extra. That's love.Monique: Just listening to some of your songs, I know that you put out your freestyles and that you recently put out Strictly 4 My Sleeprz, but um, in your Throw Sum D's freestyle, you mention- you talk a lot about being country in most of your songs. So how is being from Meridian, how has being from Mississippi influenced who you are, as a man, as a black man? What kind of influence has being from Meridian, Mississippi put on you?Big Sant: Well, I think, probably just- well I guess we can break this down into tiers. Just being from Mississippi and being black is like this whole thing, you know what I'm saying? That's a level of, a certain level of understanding about who you are and your culture when you live in the places where actual events took place. As opposed to hearing about it and reading it in a text-book. -M: Right.BS: Like you know, Medgar Evars is from where I'm from.M: James Chaney.BS: James Chaney and things like this. Once upon a time these were just men in a city- that had they lived long enough, they would be old ass people I know. And the mothers at our churches and my grandparents, they've seen, they've had contact with these people. So it's more of a first hand experience. Just being from the country myself, I think my maturity level might be different, because thirty in a small town is like fifty in the big city.M: (laughs) In what way? I just moved from Atlanta to Baton Rouge and so, you know, living in Atlanta, I thought "Ok, I live in the south." But then I moved to Baton Rouge and it's a way smaller town and I'm for real in the country.BS: It's way different.M: Yeah, it's so different. So, how is thirty like being fifty where you're from?BS: I mean, when you were younger, when you were a child and like you found out your dad was thirty-five, it seemed extra old. It didn't seem like a young man. But now that we're in our late twenties to early thirties, I don't think our parents- well speaking from somebody who was raised in a small city, a small town, rather, I don't think my parents or my grandparents were as active as I was- as I am now, when they were thirty-one. Like sure, you know they was probably still like drinking and partying, but you know, these were people with nine to fives, it was settle down time. You know when you're younger they tell you like, thirty- it's time to settle down. Like television is different. Like how old could Vivian Banks really be at the beginning of Fresh Prince? Like your oldest kid is in high school and you've been with your husband since college, so that makes you forty at the max, but those were like grown ups to us. You know what I mean? I don't think we give off that same vibe, living in a big city, as opposed to me being a thirty-one year old-young man living in Meridian, Mississippi, probably with the [most full] or full-time job taking care of my family the same exact way.M: Do you feel like being from a smaller town, do you feel especially again, like you're saying, living in a place with the Medgar Evars and the James Chaneys, it's just not something you read-that's far off, there are people who are-they're like your neighbor. Do you think that puts a different perspective on blackness being from a smaller town? Do you think maybe there's a different idea, maybe from a person who's perhaps from an Atlanta or New York?BS: Maybe a person that was born in the late 7os early 80s in Atlanta could still appreciate the history that their city has. You know, Atlanta is a black city. But I think, for me, being in Meridian, Mississippi, I think maybe, yeah it definitely affected me because all the things that shock people, like as far as racism goes, or anything, all the things that are shocking that are still prominent and day-to-day where I live in my day-to-day life in Mississippi, more people in larger cities are more like, "Oh you know, it's old we should get over it." Where there are people in these small cities still going through that.M: Right. It's more prevalent.BS: Racism is active, it's extra active as opposed to, "Oh man, you know. It's ok for your white homeboy to say 'nigga' it's all good. That's old, I've transcended, I don't think like that.' " Whereas, I'm from the south south and that kinda don't fly.M: Now as far as that perspective goes, you talk a lot about your family and one thing that I notice that you talk about a lot, well not a lot, but you do mention-is religion, in your song Over and Over, the song produced by Slade da Monsta, you mention:

my prayers and the Lord keep me composed. you got an extra prayer, i’ma need it folk. cause being Big Sant is a heavy load

Did you grow up, being in the south, we talk a lot about religion. Religion is- we're in the Bible Belt, was that something that was prevalent growing up?

BS: Absolutely. I was raised in the church, I was one of those kids that went to church six days a week, for something. Usher meeting, youth choir, mass choir, men's choir, Boy Scouts, whatever.

M: (laughs)

BS: It's almost like my grandparents ran the church. They had a key. I used to go down there and clean up.

M: Us too.

BS: I was in there, I was present (laughs). A lot of the things I didn't appreciate when I was younger, the kind of spoon fed morals, where they're telling you that this is the way you should do stuff, but they ain't got no real reason why, a lot of that stuck with me and now that I'm older I understand it more. And like you know just living in the world we're living in, it's just hard. Rappers don't- I've been a rapper so long that I remember people that I just saw, like I just saw David Banner on Tuesday and I shook his hand at JJ's Record Mart, he remembered my name, I saw him again and then I turned my head, or I turn to the television and now he's got a ten-million dollar deal for Universal. And I'm like, "Whoa, wait a minute! What just happened?"

M: (laughs) Right, life.

BS: I was a young man, a child, a boy. I was a boy when I was rapping. And it's just that there's more stress- I don't know if there's more stress-nobody has like, seven zeroes over my head, so I don't know what that stress is like. But the stress of just trying to have something from nothing. I make words rhyme for a living, that's how I keep the lights on by making words rhyme and sometimes that rap check [lost in translation] so, yeah I definitely get down on my knees when being Big Sant becomes so stressful, like "I gotta go out because I need to be seen." Because the minute you take six months off, they'll forget about you forever and replace you with somebody else. Just because they ain't seen you. It ain't even about dropping music, if I ain't seen you, if you ain't been out, I ain't seen you in the club, I ain't seen you on no red carpet, I ain't heard hide nor hair of you, in six months, they'll forget about you, they'll wipe you off. I don't care if you had a number one hit, I don't care if you had twenty number one hits, you disappear too long in the rap game, they'll sweep your ass under the rug, real quick.

M: Exactly and they're on to the next one. I think it's interesting you say you've been rapping since you were a boy. And to me, I love rappers just because in a sense, I feel like it's kind of continuation of the African tradition of being a griot. Like you're not just a rapper, you're a story-teller, you're a poet, you know? You're kind of documenting all of these things that are happening to you. Your history is someone else's history, like someone from the south and they don't even have to be from Meridian, someone who  from the south can relate to what you're saying because they're living that same experience.

Now as far as writing goes, because I think talking about religion, it's a very personal thing, and you're kind of putting all those personal things in your music, do you feel like as a black man and as a writer and not just a rapper, because I feel like sometimes people just use that title 'rapper' it's a very blanketed, almost very superficial title, "Oh well, he's just a rapper." You know, like you're a historian.-

BS: Right and it cheapens it.

M: Right! Exactly and it lessens the thing that you're doing. You're writing poetry. You know, like all these bards. If this were [historical] European times, you all would be considered bards. Do you feel like for your music, is that the place where you're able to get out your emotions and your feelings. I feel like a lot of times, especially in this country, black men don't really have an outlet to express their feelings. Do you feel like that's where you get it out, in your music?

BS: Definitely. When I get frustrated, I really let it have it on the microphone and you can hear it in my aggression. Like I'm really intense. And it's not that I can't rap calmer and I do.  I've had outstanding rap performances where I wasn't so aggressive and it all still made sense. But even on songs like Over and Over Again you can hear it build as I wrote. The more I wrote, you can hear it in my tone just having to say all these things over and over in my head, that - [he begins to rap]:

if the wood wheel could feel it would feel the pain of me sitting in the car trying to snatch it off

You know when you can't scream or you can't get loud so you just go sit in your car and let out all your frustrations. You know what I mean? I definitely vent and let out a lot of hot steam on wax because anything else is next to criminal. Even if I get too loud in my own home, you know, the authorities could be summoned and then it's a misunderstanding and now I'm on the news for the wrong reason.

M: Mmm hmmm. When all it was is maybe you had a bad day. And it's kind of like black people in general aren't allowed to have bad days and so we definitely have to find other ways to, I guess, to channel that. Your channel happens to be music. Now being from the south, how do you think that has influenced you musically? Because just listening to your latest project, it's super smooth first of all, so congratulations on it.

BS: Thank you.

M: I think you can hear how, to me it sounds very southern. I think the different sounds that you are attracted to and the beats that you choose for yourself, it's all very reflective of different elements of the south. You have your heavy bass lines, you've got like heavy bass, funk, it's just all very, very southern. You move - [lost in translation] and all of those things, when you look into it, cohesively, it's a very southern thing. So just musically, what has influenced you in your movement as an artist?

BS: Well, I think, I want to say I'm influenced by all music because now that I'm, you know like I said I'm thirty-one, I don't listen to rap music all day long anymore. I'll give whatever the new release is two, three spins and if I like it- I listen to the songs that I really like a lot. But I'm not twenty-five anymore where like, "I don't want to hear no other music, I listen to rap music, I'm a rapper, this what I do, boom, boom, boom." I'm a lot more calmer than I used to be, I used to be hell. So, I think that transition right there helps a lot. The fact that when I see other boys get on t.v. and they be from somewhere else, but they rapping like [they are] from the south, that kind of annoys me.

M: I bet.

BS: That really bothers me. Paying homage and biting is two different things. A lot of these guys don't care, they don't care about the craft anymore. They just trying to get hot, so they can fuck bitches or whatever the fuck. You know, I'm an MC, I care about this shit. My aim is to rhyme words better than the next rapper. Like I don't ever want to- ever since they came up with this ole, "you got kilt on this song shit" I do not let that happen to me. Because even the best rappers have been kilt on their own records, they've been outperformed. I don't want to be outperformed. I take my craft very serious, even if it doesn't seem like I'm putting a lot into it, but it shouldn't look like I'm putting a lot into it, I've been doing this for twenty years, so it should appear easy. It should be like I picked up my sword and I slayed fifty-two dragons and didn't even break a sweat. That's the kind of shit I want to hear about myself when I look for reviews. I want to know what they thought about the Big Sant verse, even if it was just a verse. I want to know what you thought about it because most of the time I'm rapping with people I really look up to or people that I consider my legit peers, or like K.R.I.T my brother, or like with Slim Thug that's a legend, Bun B that's a legend. I got rap songs with all these people and like, I don't want to- I just want to carry my weight. And sometimes I might run too fast with the weight on my back, it becomes a competition in that sense, it's just that I don't want to look like, "Yo man, they could have left him off." I can't afford none of that.

M: Exactly, I know as a listener, for me, you can hear, or I think sometimes you decide and say, "Ok, well he had the better verse or he has the better delivery. Sometimes it's not even about the verse that was delivered, it's the energy behind it. Or you know, how much they feel that. Now you say that you've been rapping for twenty years, so you started when you were eleven-

BS:  It's really nineteen years, I started when I was twelve.

M: Twelve? Ok, so what was that first song, or what moved you at twelve years old to be like, "I want to do that. I want to create something."

BS: Man,  I think it was around the time my grandma decided she was gone pay for some cable and then I really started seeing videos. And I was like, "Fuck!" Kris Kross, them some little kids, they do it, I want to do it."  "Anybody can do it, if they can do it, I can do it." Especially if it ain't limited to just men, or grown ups, let's do it. Around that time I started stealing tapes and shit from my cousin, that was before the three strike law so he was going to jail every weekend for the DUI, so like I'd just go over there and take his tapes and dub them or just steal them period. Because when he comes back, he's going to work extra all week, buy him some more tapes whatever's getting ready to come out and then boom, boom.

All the men I looked up to were working hard, like my grandaddy worked at a roofing company, my father's a barber. All the men in my life were working extra hard and telling me that, "If you work hard you can have what you want." But ya'll don't got what ya'll want. So I'm going to keep doing this other shit that I want to do and [lost in translation] and I'm like cool, let's do that. I can still work hard at something else.

M: Right. It doesn't necessarily have to be- and that's one thing that I love is that, you know, you've taken the chance on not kind of doing that conventional route of either white-collar/blue-collar work and just kind of dying on your dreams.  I feel like there are so many black people taking one step towards their dreams and never really doing what they're meant to do. You've moved along in your career, what would you at thirty-one now say to twelve year old you? As far as where you are, what you've done.

BS: I don't know,  it'd be something along the lines of not losing yourself. Because, I think I'd be further along but I lost my way. I lost my work ethic, I let things in my life get in the way and dictate my emotions to the point where I couldn't work, I didn't have the energy. So I guess I'd tell myself, it'd be more of a- like, "Aye man, you can do this, you gone get this, just don't lose focus for nothing." I definitely would sacrifice more than I have. A lot of people are like, "Yo man, you ain't gone need this person. Don't even go over there. This person ain't gone bring you no good in the future, you ain't even gone need this person, so don't worry about that. You ain't gone hang out with him, I'll get you some other shit started early." I would have met K.R.I.T when he was eight instead of when he was twelve. "Yo, hang out with him."

M: Now you're fairly open with your lyrics. You talk about your children, raising your kids and your fears and just the things that you want for yourself; one thing that I noticed that isn't really a prevalent topic in your music is relationships, you might touch on it but you don't speak too deeply on love. Is there a specific reason about that, when you talk about your emotions and such?

BS: Um, I don't know. It's almost like that Mary J. Blige Syndrome, it's easier to talk about all the bad-, the fucked up interactions because it makes the music better. Letting the pain seep through as opposed to "I'm chilling. She cooked today, I'm happy. I might rub on her a little bit later." I haven't made those kinds of songs yet and I don't know why. But, when it's time for me to do songs like Live and I'm grown enough to call a girl that I didn't have the best relationship with and like, "Yo, I fucked up, I'm sorry. I think about that shit. I ain't trying to get back with you, but I want you to know I was a real asshole, boom, boom, boom."

Those conversations. Dudes can do all this whoopin' and hollerin' they want, but when a girl gets mad at you and it becomes a hate situation. If you lose a woman to the point that she hates you and she's going to let you know that she hates you, then you start hearing the list of things you did that you didn't realize you did, she's tired of fixing everything, you know that shit will eat at you. It's not a game. I'm on to bigger and better things, I'm a grown man. I'm more grown than I was last year. Or the year before. Whether I'm taking big leaps or small steps, I'm definitely growing every day. That's as a man, that's as a father, that's as a human, regardless. So it helps me interact with people better.

M: Right. And just as far as the things you've learned along your way. You said you have three children, right?

BS: Yeah. Two boys and a girl.

M: What are the things you hope for your children? To teach them about love? Your experiences about love, about being black in this country, what are the things you want or hope to teach your children about those experiences?

BS: Man, I try to lead by example. I talk to my kids a lot about patience. Because, they're still small children. They're six, seven and eight so everything's kind of new, you know? Fast, fast, quick, quick. Sometimes the long way is the best way. Sometimes everything ain't always going to work out. Losing doesn't mean you're a failure. Things like that. I try to give them more real world conversations early. So that when they become-when they get into their teenage years and it's time for them to start making those real decisions on their own; sex, drugs or things like that, they'll have a different perspective on it.

As opposed to, "I wonder." or "No one ever said anything to me about it." Yeah, shit can be fun, shit can be fucked up, I want to let you know. (laughs).

M: (laughs) This is true. Now are these things that you felt you've learned on your own?

BS: I definitely learned all of that on my own. I learned all of that on my own and probably too early. Because my grandparents raised me, you know they was old. Not that they were old in the sense of old, but they'd already raised a set of children and now I'm one of their children's children. And it's all good to feed them and make sure you don't die, but they old, they tired.The twenty year olds that raised my mama are now the fifty year olds that are raising me.

M: It's a whole different generation now.

BS: Right. So they don't understand me, all they see is what they see on the news. They probably think I'm smoking crack and gang banging. (laughs).

M: (laughs)

BS: (laughs) And they did, that's what they thought I was doing.

M: Well just looking back and to round it all up, because I think, generationally, I think it's beautiful that you kind of had that though. Because that's kind of  a part of history that they've imparted on you. And to wrap all of this up, what would be the one thing that your grandparents taught you that you feel is maybe a large part of the foundation of who you are as a man today?

BS: Man. From my grandfather: It would be more of a-recognizing what's important. My grandfather did a lot of stupid shit. Once he realized what was really important, everything in his life smoothed out. He used to gamble real bad,  he got all this shit smoothed out before I got here. He used to gamble, he used to be extra lusty for other women, all kinds of shit like that. But if you realize what's important, everything else will smooth out.

And from my grandmother: Anything you got to say, make sure that it's so potent that you can say it twice if you've got to. Ain't no need in a person saying what you said, when you can say it again. Don't write nothing down. My grandma said, "Don't leave no evidence.  Say it, don't write no letters."

M: And I feel like you know what, then that makes sense in how you deliver your music because I feel like with your delivery-how you talk about the energy and the emotion that you put into, it's warranted for you to be able say it twice because you put so much thought into. It's almost now- when I listen to your music, it'll be like hearing the wisdom of your grandparents and that's something- I think it's Emerson who said, "Every man is a [living] quotation of his ancestors." So it's like those things that you now carry with you and that carry on with your music and will carry on with your children as well.

BS: Sho nuff.

Amaris Diaz

 amaris I was lucky to catch poet Amaris Diaz, as she was in Baton Rouge for a reading. Of course I had to speak with her about love! Read our conversation below and check out some of her work here. Name: Amaris DiazHometown: San Antonio, TexasAge: 20Age You First Fell in Love: 19Love Is: Love is love (laughs). Um, I would say in a sentence love is- let me not overthink this. Love is two people or more people accepting each other and offering affirmation for whatever someone wants to be.Amaris: The first time I fell in love, it was a complete melting down of every bad thing I'd ever made my self to feel. An allowance to let myself feel worthy of love and light. It was a complete rebuilding of just myself.Monique: Is that lover your lover now?A: Yes.M: And how did you know that was a different kind of love than anything you'd experienced before?A: To me, he never makes me question myself or never makes me feel silly for anything. Everything with him has always been validated and welcomed; anger, sadness, sorrow, pure joy, all of it. It's never an inconvenience. A lot of the times our feelings resonate because we're so similar in personality, so it's awesome because everything I feel I know is shared by this one person.M: So then what is love to you?A: Love is love (laughs). Um, I would say in a sentence love is- let me not overthink this. Love is two people or more people accepting each other and offering affirmation of whatever someone wants to be.M: As far as your cultural background, who you are, who you identify with do you feel that has affected negatively or positively how you express love, how you love yourself, how you give love?A: I would say as someone who grew up poor in a low income town, Spanish speaking side of town I witnessed a lot of domestic abuse a lot of verbal abuse, a lot of stuff like that, and so as a brown woman it's imperative to break out of that and to say, "I am worthy of being loved completely, I am worthy of whatever relationship I choose to have with whomever I choose to have it with." And then I think as a queer person, as a queer person in a heterosexual relationship it's completely imperative to allow myself to not feel like a bad queer. For falling in love with someone who happens to be male bodied. I think that that also ties into our relationship because we are both completely open to how one another chooses to express their sexuality and gender presentation and everything that goes into those aspects of the person. SO to me my relationship is still very queer, it's genderless and it's gender role-less, there's none of that enforced. And I would say it's also completely equal and completely accepting of each other, which is something that I've never experienced before.

Kennedy

kennedyName: KennedyAge: 5Hometown: Atlanta, GeorgiaLove Is: I don't know!I recently visited Houston, Texas and was able to spend time with my good friends Lauren and Josh. This was my first time seeing them in almost three years. Ours is a friendship that, no matter how much time has passed, is always pleasant and we pick up right where we last left off. Aside from the excitement of seeing them, I was most excited to finally see Kennedy. Kennedy is the first child of Josh and Lauren and I have known her since before she had fingerprints. She played her keyboard and read to me one of her favorite books. It was surreal to see Kennedy, now five, with her own personality and opinions. She is sweet, intelligent, funny and thoughtful. Seeing Josh and Lauren with their family was moving and surreal.  Seeing my friends, who I've known in younger and less responsible times,  as great parents, reminded me of how fast time moves and how precious life and love is. Kennedy and their six month old son, Brooks, are living testimonies to Josh and Lauren's love.The next day I came again and Kennedy and I forged ahead in our new friendship. We were standing in the kitchen together staring at the rows of number and letter refrigerator magnets. She stares up at me to ask:Kennedy: What word should I make?Monique: Well, what's your favorite word?She thought only for a moment and replied:K: Love. Will you help me spell it?I helped with the spelling and watched as she moved the number five right above the word love.K: I put the five on top so they can know I'm five.M: Ha! Ok, so what is love?K: Love is, um. . . love is, it's when. . . (laughs), I don't know!M: It's a hard question, right? Well, what do you feel when you think about love? You love your mom and dad right?K: Yeah! You're supposed to love people.M: What else do you love?K: I love nature, people and the world. And that's it!Later on in the day, we're piling into the car to head towards dinner and Kennedy and I are having a pretty serious conversation about the difference between chocolate and vanilla cake. And in one sentence, this five year old merged desserts and racial cognizance.K: I like to have the icing all around my mouth. Do you know why I like chocolate? It's because my skin is brown so it would match better. Our conversation continues and I learn that her favorite song is Thnks Fr Th Mmrs by Fallout Boy, which pleased me because I had quite the Fallout Boy stage in high school. I noticed that she kept taking a pink Barbie phone out of her purse and she explains to me that she is sending messages to her best friend, Fiona.K: She's nice. We pretend we're sisters. She pretends I'm her sister and I pretend she's my sister. We both have pretend phones. You know, sometimes I pretend that I'm calling her and then I think that maybe she's pretend calling me too.M: You mean maybe she's thinking of you when you think of her?K: Yes!The ride continues and I turn around to check on her as she's gone quiet. I catch her happily looking out a window and smiling to herself. She catches my eye, laughs and says:K: I'm thinking of talking to Fiona.Kennedy spoke a lot about her best friend. She did it with the sincerest feeling of love towards another person, for no other reason than their existence.They say wisdom will come from the mouths of babes and I learned an important lesson about love during my time with Kennedy. Love is a complete acceptance of someone with no questions. She taught me to look at love through the eyes of a child, without ego or jealousy or control. Loving like a child means to do so without any fear or obligation.

Dequi Kioni-Sadiki Odinga

diakiName: Dequi Kioni-Sadiki OdingaHometown: The People's Republic of Brooklyn, New YorkAge You First Fell in Love: I don't how old I was [when I first fell in love] because I loved my grandmother.Love Is: Love has many faces and dimensions of it.It was the last day of Atlanta's annual A3C Hip Hop Festival and I was walking around Old 4th Ward interviewing people. I was standing on a sidewalk, tall boy of Heineken in hand, when a slender, blonde girl with dreads walked up to me and said in a thick New Orleanian accent, "You look like a conscious queen." It caught me by surprise, but I went with it anyway.  She begin to explain that she was here with the wife of Sekou Odinga, a political prisoner convicted in the freeing of Assata Shakur. My eyes lit up instantly, this was history. I explained to her the premise of what I was doing there and she told me to go speak to Dequi. I turned towards the tent and Dequi looked at me, gave a huge smile and waved me over. Below is the transcript of our conversation. I am forever grateful to Dequi for sitting with me, while I sweated profusely under the Atlanta sun and learned my history.Monique: A part of my conversation is to really look at how black people love one another. To really understand how a white supremacist system has affected how we love ourselves and one another. We see all these stories from World War Two about love stories, but they never talk about the Tuskegee Airman [or other black fighters] who had wives and girlfriends back home. So I always start off by asking people to tell me how old they were the first time they fell in love and what is love to them.Dequi: I don't how old I was [when I first fell in love] because I loved my grandmother. You know love has many faces and dimensions of it. I love a man dearly today and that is my husband, who is a political prisoner of war and a former member of the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation Movement. And as a middle aged woman, I'm a grandmother, grown children, my grandson is fourteen, my granddaughter is eight, I love them. And I fell in love, I grew into love, I should say. I always say grow into love, because when we say "fall in love" it makes it seem that I'm going to get up and I'll be over it.M: And you're never over it (laughs).D:  (laughs) Right? When I think about love, as an African woman, an indigenous woman, the ability to love in this colonial state that we live in, in this nation of white supremacist ideology, where the destruction of the black family and black relationship and black love took place from the first kidnapping. The first African kidnapped and brought to the Americas to be sold and forced into labor that was an act of war on our love, on our families, on our person-hood and upon our identity. So our ability to love and grow into love and find love and a partner, to love with healing and purpose and vision is an act of resistance in a country that is not meant for that to survive. Sekou is in prison. Our love is not meant to survive. I'm out here at this beautiful hip hop festival today and he's in a prison. He's in a prison where there are more people imprisoned in that town than there are residents.M: Wow. Where is he?D: He's in Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York, which is about six hours from New York City where I live. So our love and being able to love beyond those walls is an act of resistance. And I always say to people, even with slavery, even [during] Reconstruction, we were still holding on to family, apartheid America, Jim Crow America, we were still holding on to family. In the apartheid we had to love and be with each other because the black lawyer, the black doctor, lived in the same community with the black plumber and the black sanitation worker. And their children went to the same school, so you supported each other and you supported each other's businesses because that's what you did. Historically, if we look at the destruction of the black community, the black family and black love, it started with integration, then came COINTELPRO and the FBI, all on Black Liberation and the mass imprisonment of radicals and revolutionaries of that era, followed by a so-called War on Drugs. What the fall of Black Liberation did was take the radicals away from the community. The so-called War on Drugs took black fathers, black mothers, now we got black children. So all of this historically, if you look at the history of black people's existence here in this United States, integration, COINTELPRO, the war on Black Liberation it's been a steady climb of the number of people in prison.M: When did you and Sekou meet?D: He was charged and convicted in the liberation of Assata Shakur, who is living in Cuba right now. He was captured in October of 1981, so he was charged and he went to federal prison. He maxed out of his federal sentence in 2009 and they transferred him to New York State to begin serving a twenty five year to life sentence for the crimes that they committed and they convicted him of in New York State. I've done work around U.S. held political prisoners for the past twenty years, so I knew of him, we communicated, but I did not actually meet Sekou until shortly after he came to New York. Meeting him and talking to him, we developed a comradeship because we both believe in freedom and the struggle and loving black people and fighting for our right to be. Those things drew me to him and him to me. And before I knew it, our relationship had transformed into something else. So I have not been with Sekou in that intimate, husband-wife way, throughout this whole thing. I've known him since he came to New York as I was fighting on his behalf; as I fight on behalf of all of our captured freedom fighters.We begin to talk about cultural appropriation and how black people have been left out of the equation when it comes to the culture we have created. We speak of how unimpressed we both are with the theft and corporate rape of black culture -M: I'm not sure if you're familiar with this area, but right up the street there is an area called Sweet Auburn. Martin Luther King Jr. grew up there, his family home is there and they called it "sweet" because black people were able to prosper. There were well to do black families and thriving businesses. And then the 80s came, the War on Drugs came and it ravaged the neighborhood, ravaged the people. And now gentrification is coming here. And the people who have lived here are the unwanted. The grit looks cool, the poverty looks cool to people who are not having to live it. People think this grit is cool, but not the people. You speak of integration, do you believe that the movement of Black Liberation needs outside help? Or is it something we need to do on our own?D: I believe in self-determination and I believe in nationhood. Before integration, we had thriving, self-sustaining black communities. Black Wall Street in Oklahoma, Wilmington, North Carolina, Savannah, I mean all of these places where black people thrived. Thank you for that history, that herstory, because that just shows that the appropriation of African people wherever we are is always going on. So you're right, it then becomes cool to live in the black neighborhood when you don't have the black experience. You see them walking around with shirts that say "Police murder people" but police murder brown people. And a lot of this music at this festival has been culturally appropriated or misappropriated. When hip hop music first started in the South Bronx they were talking to the people. They weren't even touching it on the radio, the radio stations wouldn't play it. People were pushing it in the parks and selling their own tapes, eight-tracks at the time. Until they saw how popular it was, that "We can make money off this." Now the people who are doing it, I don't even call them artists, they are high priced slaves; they are working for the white supremacist ideology, to imprison and enslave our people. Instead of culture being used as a weapon for our liberation, it is used as a weapon against us for our further enslavement, the enslavement of our minds. And that's the first enslavement, like Bob Marley said, "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery." So that's what we have, our children think that that's who we are, instead of being African, instead of recognizing community, instead of supporting black artists and businesses. Yeah, I think we need to be separate and why? Because the history that we've created here is that we thrive. Right now a black person gets a dollar, as soon as they get that dollar, it goes outside of their community. Jewish people, it turns over eighteen times before it leaves their community. That's why Jewish people have community, that's why they have institutions, it's because they keep their money in that institution. That doesn't make me a racist, it makes me a realist.M: And you know that's so true. When we talk about spending in black businesses it turns into "Well, you're a racist.", but no one says that to the Jews. No one tells the Jewish people to love Hitler, no one tells them to get over the Holocaust. And I think until we have a dialog, where as black people, we are able to say, "This is the system that has created my people's condition." and for the system to say , "Yes, we acknowledge that.", we can't get past that wound, because it's a psychological wound. To teach your children; you were born a slave. . .because how they teach it in our school system, and I don't know how it was when you were in school, but it was: slavery, Emancipation Proclamation, Martin Luther King Jr., now I don't know what you're complaining about, you know? The ramification of Jim Crow, the ramification of these things, you have to acknowledge that. How was the educational system when you were a kid, what did they teach you about black people?D: Stereotypes. There is no black history as far as they're concerned. I really believe that if they taught history, we wouldn't need Black History Month, we wouldn't need Women's Herstory Month, we wouldn't need so-called Latino History Month, Asian History Month. We wouldn't need any of that  because you would talk about the Chinese who built the railroads, you would talk about the African labor that built this country, you would talk about everything. But you don't, so the people have to set aside [their designated months].  As a result, our children don't know, unless they have parents who know, unless there's a community and because there's been a war on black people since 1619, black children don't learn. Most times we don't because those issues that I just raised, have been totally destroyed and crushed. I could never be racist, because racism is about institutions and power. I can say I don't like a certain group, but does that make them unsafe on the street?M: I had to tell someone that, a privileged white person who was complaining about a black person being racist towards them, that me not liking you will never stop you from getting a job, from climbing up the corporate ladder. . .D: From getting a bank loan.M: Property value will never go down when you move in. It never will.D:  And as you said, as white folks move into these areas, the Sweet Auburns, all it does is push us out. Because I live in an area in Brooklyn and I've lived there for more than twenty years and nobody wanted to live there, now they all want to live there. So even that is not integrated. Malcolm said, "The neighborhood's are only integrated long enough until they move your black butt out." So that's what's happening wherever we go. Wherever we go- and that's not even me just talking, that's history. People have a problem with what I say and I say, "Check the history books." Where has a European gone in the world and not stolen, killed, raped , maimed and murdered? Where have they gone and not done this?M: (laughs) Nowhere.D: We buy bottled water today, why? We have record levels of asthma, why is that? So no, people have to study. We have to turn off the t.v., we have to turn off the radio. It's so good that you're doing this because that's what we need. We are the experts of our lives, the only ones who can tell our story.M: My whole aim is to get the black story from the black storyteller, because in my book, everything else is null and void. I've been looking at going back to school and there are some programs I don't want to apply to because the teaching staff is all white. I don't want to learn about people of color from an all white staff.D: And that goes back to the misappropriation. It kills me when people say there's no more racism, how would you know?M: How would you know? You don't live it. I made up a term, it's called racieism, something like atheism, where because you have not seen or experienced it you do not believe it exists. But how would you know if it's not affecting you? Even the idea of a post-racial society. I want you to see my color, I want you to know that I'm African, I want you to see these kinks in my hair. And if that offends you, then that's more power to me. And I love it.D: That's bullcrap. You cannot say, anymore than I could say, that when I'm talking to you, I don't see a woman. You can't say I don't see gender. When I look at that sweatshirt, I see that it's orange. So you can't tell me you don't care if someone is pink, purple or green. First of all, we ain't got no pink, purple or green people, not that I've ever seen. Unless it's in some other universe, but on this one that I live in, I ain't never seen it. So you can't say that. And it's denial, but we know that denial is what this country is all about. Because if they really owned up to their history, then it wouldn't be about white supremacy.M: And they're embarrassed. It's funny, my mom and I were just talking about how there seems to be an innate fear or fascination of black people.D: It's both.M: It's almost like watching King Kong in his cage and you're nervous about when he's finally going to break out after you've been prodding at him. And I think that's what the tension is in this country, I feel like a lot more black people are becoming self-aware; especially with all of these issues going on. Like the boy who was just lynched in North Carolina, our brothers are still being lynched, our men are still being lynched.D: Every twenty six hours, The Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, did a study about two years ago, every twenty six hours, someplace on the streets of this America, a black man, woman or child is killed by a racist, a white person in or out of uniform. With impunity; they don't go to prison, they don't lose their job, they don't lose their pension, there's no conviction, there's no anything. And that sends a message. So the lynchings have been replaced by police bullets. In this case it's gone back to lynchings, Jasper, Texas a few years ago and in Jena, Louisiana.M: And we have your husband who is in prison for freeing someone who just wanted to free her people.D: Exactly. And that's what he wanted. People don't know about Sekou but they eat breakfast in school, they can go to a food pantry, they can go to a free health clinic. If you're black in this country, you can be tested for sickle cell anemia. Those are things that the Black Panther Party did, because this country was not addressing hunger, they were not addressing any of those issues that had a disparate impact on the lives of poor and working class black people.M: Right, only in the Appalachian Mountains, where there were poor whites.D: That's right. People don't understand that Sekou, Abdullah Majid, Mutulu Shakur, Sundiata Acoli, and Robert Seth Hayes, Kemau Sadiki, there are so many. There are seventeen members of the Black Panther Party who are in prison and between the 1960s to today have done collectively eight hundred years in prison. We have Jalil Muntaqim who was captured when he was nineteen years old and he is now in his sixties. Because they criminalize black resistance. Harriet Tubman had a reward on her head in the 1840s for $40,00, so today in 2014, there's a $2,000,000 reward on Assata Shakur's head and they call her a terrorist. Harriet was a criminal and a thief, Assata is a terrorist. So do we have to wait another hundred and fifty years before people say, "Oh Assata Shakur was a freedom fighter."?M: That's so true.D: Because she's a hero. That's what they did to Harriet, she's a hero now.M: Because she's dead.D: Only because she's dead. No, let's do what you say, let's tell our stories now. Let's counter the narrative about violence. You cannot say the Black Panther Party was violent, when violence is as American as apple pie.M: It's self defense.D: That's right, it's self defense. Violence is the bombing of churches, violence is the fact that black people can't walk the street. Violence is poverty. Violence is homelessness. Violence is going to school and not being educated so by the time you graduate, if you graduate, you can't write a college thesis.M: You know, I'm twenty six years old, I'm college educated and I get that college isn't for everyone, I understand that. Outside of that education, I've found it very hard to date in this city, to find a man who knows his sense of worth as a black man.D: It is hard. I forget if it's Marcus Garvey or W.E.B. DuBois, one of them said knowledge of self is so important. If you don't know who you are, they can tell you who you are. So most of us see ourselves through the lens of white supremacy. So that's why that kind of music is playing, because we think that that's the black experience, because that's what they tell us. You're an actor, or if you're an entertainer they say, "Can you make it sound more black, can you make it sound more ghetto?" So we believe we are who they say we are.M: Niggas and bitches.D: I saw somebody walking around here, there was like five of them, with a t-shirt that said "My favorite word is bitch."M: Your mother's a bitch then. Your sister is a bitch.D: Right, that's what I'm saying. So when you said knowledge of self- when you don't know who you are you are defeated. Because as Steven Biko said, one of our most potent, "The greatest weapon in the hand of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed." If I tell you you're a nigger and you believe it, cause you don't know anything else. If I tell you you're a bitch, if I tell you you're stupid, if I tell you that you have created nothing and you are what I say you are; if I tell you that black is not beautiful and the only thing that's beautiful is blue eyes, so when we see a black person with blue eyes we think they're gorgeous. You mean my black eyes or brown eyes aren't beautiful? My hair isn't beautiful because it's not straight and long? That's misappropriation. Who is defining these standards of beauty? We have to tell our stories.M: And that's why I'm collecting them. I appreciate you so much, thank you very much.D: I appreciate you. 

Jayell

jayellName: JayellHometown: Atlanta, GeorgiaAge: 25Age You First Fell in Love: 16Love Is: That infatuation, you can't do without it. You know what I mean? You can't do life without it.Jayell: The first time I like, fell in love, like love-love love? I would say 16 or maybe 23.Monique: What was the difference between those two times?Jayell: It was just a period of infatuation I had and I just fell in love, I couldn't go without it. I feel like twenty-three was stronger that sixteen but that's not to say sixteen wasn't love.Monique: What made you love hip hop?Jayell: The people that I loved, loved hip hop. There was something about the sound and the feeling of things, the whole aura of a song. Even this song playing (Mos Def/Yasiin Bey's Ms. Fat Booty is playing in the background), there's something about all the different components of it that come together, it complements each other and that's love.

Astro

astroName: Yung AstroHometown: San Diego, CaliforniaAge: 24Age You First Fell in Love: 12Love Is: Um, love is. . . That's a hard question (laughs). It's deep. I feel like love is something you have to feel. First of all, everyone has a connection in the world that we go by and love is probably the strongest. So it's something that you have to feel very deeply and be sure that you're in.Astro: So when I met hip hop, I was already in to other music, but hip hop always grabbed me.Monique: Was there a particular song?Astro: DMX type stuff, no one specific song. DMX, Nas, Lupe Fiasco, there were a lot of influences that caused me to love hip hop and have this passion for it.