Representing Islam

Hip-Hop of the September 11 Generation

Kamaludeen Mohamed Nasir

• Publisher: Indiana University Press
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9780253053077
• Topic: Scienze sociali
• Subtopic: Studi sull'Islam

How do Muslims who grew up after September 11 balance their love for hip-hop with their devotion to Islam? How do they live the piety and modesty called for by their faith while celebrating an art form defined, in part, by overt sexuality, violence, and profanity?

In Representing Islam, Kamaludeen Mohamed Nasir explores the tension between Islam and the global popularity of hip-hop, including attempts by the hip-hop ummah, or community, to draw from the struggles of African Americans in order to articulate the human rights abuses Muslims face. Nasir explores state management of hip-hop culture and how Muslim hip-hoppers are attempting to "Islamize" the genre's performance and jargon to bring the music more in line with religious requirements, which are perhaps even more fraught for female artists who struggle with who has the right to speak for Muslim women. Nasir also investigates the vibrant underground hip-hop culture that exists online. For fans living in conservative countries, social media offers an opportunity to explore and discuss hip-hop when more traditional avenues have been closed.

Representing Islam considers the complex and multifaceted rise of hip-hop on a global stage and, in doing so, asks broader questions about how Islam is represented in this global community.

ONE

SONGS RATHER THAN SCREAMS

SURROUNDED BY THE WEALTH OF one of the most expensive cities in the world, hip-hop thrives in Singapore’s economically depressed Muslim communities. Once a rite of passage for young working-class Muslims, over the past two decades, hip-hop has acquired a much wider fan base. According to Triple Noize, a popular hip-hop group in the early 2000s, 80 percent of their supporters are from the Malay Muslim community, and a significant number are middle-aged. While Triple Noize anticipated youth support, enthusiasm from middle-aged fans surprised the group: “Also, got one time kiter ader [when we] perform kat [at] somewhere in Geylang then most of the makcik2 [middle-aged Malay women] there got excited lah! They are soo supporting & that minute we know that they are acherly [sic] genuine supporter” (Triple Noize interview in anakmelayu.com, quoted in Kamaludeen 2016b).

Triple Noize’s rise in widespread popularity coincided with that of Singapore Idol, a youth singing competition for ages sixteen to twenty-eight. A spin-off from its British counterpart, Pop Idol, the competition resulted in a few surprises. Although Malay Muslims represent only 15 percent of the Singaporean population (slightly more than half a million people), all three Singapore Idol winners hailed from the minority Muslim community—Taufik Batisah (2004 winner, with 62 percent of the votes), Hady Mirza (2006 winner, with 70 percent of the votes), and Sezairi Sezali (2009 winner, percent win withheld). The show was canceled after these three consecutive wins by local Malay Muslim males. In 2007, a similar singing competition called Live the Dream was held in Singapore for competitors aged twenty-five to sixty-five. As in Singapore Idol, the outcome of the show was also entirely dependent on viewer voting through SMS (Short Message Service). Affendi and By Definition, the winners of the solo and group categories respectively, were, once again, Malay Muslim males.

Despite their musical achievements, Malays are the most financially challenged community among the official ethnic groups in Singapore. The income per capita of Malay families lags far behind those of the majority Chinese and minority Indian and Eurasian communities. Malays also experience disproportionately higher rates of incarceration, substance abuse, gang-related crimes, divorce, and poor health compared to other ethnic groups. The discourse of the “Malay Problem” has been a prominent mainstay of Singapore politics since the country’s independence in 1965 and has been dominated and sustained by scholars and the power elite (Kamaludeen 2007; Rahim 1998) and internalized by the target population. This has manifested in self-loathing and the development of a siege mentality among many in the community. In a similar vein to what is occurring in the United States among the African American populace, the sporting and entertainment industries—particularly the music scene—have presented fertile and dynamic arenas for young Malays to explore their identities and creativity. Singing and talent competitions have offered sanitized, populist platforms for the minority Muslim community to proclaim viable national ambassadors from within its own community.

This success of Muslim youth has not gone unnoticed by the state, which often exploits them to showcase the success of meritocracy and multiracialism in Singapore. As Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong stated on December 5, 2004, “Taufik and Sylvester—a year ago no one knew them but they had talent and grit. They won Singaporeans’ hearts and won contest, they were finalists. Taufik’s mother is a cleaner and was not able to attend many performances as she worked long hours, but from that background and his ability and talent, Singaporeans recognised it and you can organise your friends to vote for your favourites. But in the end, the right man won … so Singapore must be a land of opportunity for all of us.”¹

Almost all spheres of social life in Singapore are governed by the state’s policy of multiracialism. For example, public housing, in which most Singaporeans find themselves living, is apportioned according to a racial quota. Political representation, at least at the grassroots level, also incorporates racial quotas with each sizable constituency having to field at least a member of a racial minority. There are, of course, still major inequalities. Since independence in 1965, all three prime ministers, the country’s most powerful political office, have been Chinese men, two of whom are from the same family. The state’s preoccupation with race and the CMIO (Chinese, Malay, Indian, Others) model explicitly affects migration patterns in Singapore to the detriment of minority groups because of the government’s insistence on maintaining a quota of each racial group (Kamaludeen and Turner 2014). The effect of this model is to preserve racial dominance by the Chinese majority, which constitute about 75 percent of the population of the city-state. Ultra-low birth rates among Singaporean Chinese have resulted in liberal migration policies to attract the Chinese diaspora from Malaysia, China, Indonesia, and the greater region. Conscription, more specifically the requirement that all able-bodied males serve in the defense forces over the course of their adult life, is also heavily influenced by race. Malay Muslims, find themselves disproportionately assigned to domestic vocations such as policing and firefighting as opposed to more prestigious positions in the navy, air force, commandos, and heavy artillery where Malay Muslims are substantially underrepresented. It is important to the state, however, that the appearance of multiracialism is upheld. Hence, the Singapore Idol competition provides a valuable platform to portray the success of multiracialism as an official state ideology.

The first Singapore Idol headed a local hip-hop group of his own called Bonafide. Despite impediments in the local music industry that curtail the reproduction of these hip-hop talents, such as strong censorship laws and the lack of a viable market to ensure the survivability of indigenous artists, various initiatives have emerged within the community itself. The love affair between Singaporean Muslims and hip-hop predates the Idol competitions, and the affiliation can be traced back as far as the Malay Muslim rap duo Construction Sight, who emerged triumphant in the Asian singing competition Asia Bagus in 1991. Notwithstanding, it is undeniable that this affinity has increased exponentially since the turn of the new millennium.

By virtue of the Internet, global networks have formed within the Muslim hip-hop community. Reputed for its vibrant hip-hop culture (Maxwell 2003; Fernandes 2011), Western Sydney’s diverse Muslim population offers insight into the depth of challenges young Muslims face, as well as how they manifest in popular culture. Fernandes’s book Close to the Edge traces the hip-hop movement in the streets of Chicago, Havana, and Western Sydney. She charted her journeys throughout the diverse hip-hop scene of suburban Sydney with her sidekick, Waiata, a young woman of Aboriginal descent, discovering a plethora of ways that hip-hop has been consumed and appropriated by Sydney residents. She documents her frustration with how a section of the youth are “consuming and imitating unrealistic images of African Americans,” emphasizing misogynistic, hypersexualized bravado that is coupled with gratuitous violence. She recalls how hip-hop artist Mohammed performed in a Sydney event wearing “a chain with a cross studded with fake diamonds,” rhyming to shooting and stabbing with belly dancers “grinding their hips together with his” (Fernandes 2011, 126–27). The glorification of misplaced “black attributes,” such as the objectification of women, for example, has led, paradoxically, to the dissociation and divergence from both the black other and the Arab self—the very gap that hip-hop practitioners want to close.

“BLACK ISLAM” AND HIP-HOP

Hip-hop was born in an age of segregation and institutionalized racism and served as a social critique against police violence and the inequality experienced by African Americans in every aspect of their lives, from employment and education to public accommodations and mass incarceration. It is essential that this book trace the nascence and evolution of Muslim hip-hop in light of the influential civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s. Although most of the earliest hip-hop artists like DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash were not Muslims, the presence of Islam and longtime leader of the Nation of Islam Elijah Muhammad were palpable at that time. Afrika Bambaataa, one of the founding fathers of hip-hop, acknowledges that he was “heavily influenced by the beliefs of Elijah Muhammad and the teachings he gave Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali and others.” Afrika Bambaataa remarks that “everything [Elijah Muhammad] said about dealing with life, nationalities, religion and self” resonated with him.²

Shortly after its inception, hip-hop was publicly adopted by the NOI and the Five Percenters movements. The NOI, started in the 1930s, and its splinter group, the Five Percenters, which was conceived in 1964, emerged out of the struggle for civil rights, a movement that sought to address African Americans’ “innermost concerns” and to provide “a survival kit” against economic marginality and political discrimination. These groups were instrumental in organizing protest movements in the country.

In the case of black culture, protest [is] inspir[ed by] the people’s innermost concerns. Needless to say a protest culture such as we have in the major urban black centres is also in important psychological respects a survival kit. It also suffers from too shamelessly [sic] a preoccupation with certainty and the need for the elimination of ambiguity. It would be a serious cultural tragedy if this protest culture should lose touch with traditional African cultural forms. It should continue to enrich itself from this source in its specific idiom. On the other hand, some strands of the current urban black culture are absorbed from the black experience, notably in the United States and post-colonial Africa. (Manganyi 1982)

As Cornell West (2001, 142) evinces in his book Race Matters, “The basic aim of black Muslim theology—with its distinct black supremacist account of the origins of white people—was to counter white supremacy.” Although black Muslims can be Sunni, Shiite, and Ahmadi, here West alludes to the NOI and Five Percenter strains when he writes about black Muslim theology. Hip-hop became a deliberate strategy, especially among these groups, to disseminate messages of black empowerment amid the racist attitudes of the time. Louis Farrakhan, long-term member and leader of the NOI, recognized the influence of hip-hop early on and to this day has sought to harness its power on a global magnitude: “You don’t wanna come here sit ’n’ listen to Farrakhan for two hours, that’s a little bit too much. But turn on the box and the [Public Enemy] are getting to you with the Word, and whities sayin’ ‘Oh, my God, we gotta stop this!’ But it’s too late now, baby! When you got it—it’s over, when the youth got it—it’s over … the white world is coming to an end.”³

Farrakhan, a professional musician in his own right, rose to fame in the 1950s as a vocalist, calypso singer, dancer, and violinist. Although he was asked to give up music in order to commit himself fully to Islam, in the last few decades, Farrakhan has become a father figure in the hip-hop community by defending artists who have come under fire for their lyrical content. This development seemed unlikely in the beginning given NOI’s position on popular music, which was initially ambivalent at best. Edward Curtis IV argues in his book Black Muslim Religion in the Nation of Islam, 1960–1975 that Elijah Muhammad never had total jurisdiction on the subject given the tremendous influence of music in the everyday lives of African Americans. This resulted in disagreement among the group’s leadership over the “the appropriate role of music in community entertainment” (2006, 173). What is clear is that music did not have much of a place in the movement’s infancy.

In the late 1960s, for example, Elijah Muhammad was harshly critical of jazz and its musicians. A 1969 issue of the NOI’s publication, Muhammad Speaks, came with the pronouncement that “the Honorable Elijah Muhammad teaches us not to listen to Jazz music.” Those who invite dancers and musicians are deemed “indeed very weak believers in Islam. … The idea that people who call themselves Muslims would present such an affair to invite others to hear disgraceful music is a discredit to their belief” and “such a weak follower is trying to hold on to the ways of this filthy American society.” Although music still played in the bazaar and at the mosque, up to the early 1970s, there was an official NOI media blackout on Muslim artists and their music (Curtis 2006, 172–73).

The change in NOI’s attitude toward popular music did not begin with Farrakhan’s support of hip-hop artists but earlier, with Wallace Warith Deen Muhammad’s ascension as leader of the NOI after the demise of his father, Elijah Muhammad. Farrakhan’s influence on the music world was only made possible by the monumental shift of the NOI’s stance toward popular music in the mid-1970s during Warith’s reign. Martha Frances Lee, author of The Nation of Islam: An American Millenarian Movement, notes that Warith instituted a number of doctrinal reforms to prevent the group from becoming too insular and to encourage its growth and engagement with society at large. In the mid-1970s, Muhammad Speaks also reoriented itself toward this new disposition and began viewing the popular music industry more favorably. In June 1975, Stevie Wonder, who had previously dedicated his seven Grammy Awards in honor of Elijah Muhammad, was featured in the paper. Later that year, in an unprecedented event, Kool and the Gang performed at the Muhammad family residence in Chicago (Lee 1996, 65).

It is undeniable, however, that as a seasoned musician, Farrakhan has naturally brought NOI’s patronage of hip-hop music to the next level. He has provided support and individual counsel to numerous rappers and has arbitrated some of the most high-profile disputes in the industry. In 2009, hip-hop superstar Calvin Broadus, a.k.a. Snoop Dogg, gave a stirring speech at the annual NOI’s Saviours’ Day Convention. Calling himself the leader of the hip-hop community, Snoop Dogg highlighted Farrakhan’s contributions both as a mentor and a peacemaker in the industry and maintained that he will always look to the minister for guidance. Also participating in the event were big-name rappers such as T.I. and Doug E. Fresh.

As Farrakhan had envisioned, the Muslim hip-hop ummah (Islamic community) from across the continents has taken to rap groups such as Public Enemy like a fish to water. Public Enemy, perhaps the most influential hip-hop group of all time, is a New York–based act founded in 1986 and renowned for their sharp social commentaries on the realities facing the black community. They were one of the earliest hip-hop groups to attain international fame, and their iconic track “Fight the Power,” which is still quoted and played in many contemporary films and dramas, is generally regarded as one of the most powerful songs of its genre. The group’s lyrics repeatedly pay tribute to the NOI. William Eric Perkins (1992, 41–42), author of Droppin’ Science: Critical Essays on Rap Music and Hip Hop Culture, is of the view that just a year after the group’s formation, Public Enemy became the spokesperson for black consciousness in the mold of Malcolm X, Elijah Muhammad, and Louis Farrakhan. In fact, Perkins argues that the group is not merely influenced by the NOI but is its biggest champion by a considerable degree.

By using their rhymes to criticize political elites in the United States, Public Enemy inspired Youssef and his comrades to do the same in Algeria. Youssef and other teenage members of the Algerian rap outfit Intik, who sought asylum in France during the military repression in the late 1980s, credited the American hip-hop group with bringing out the rage in them. As Youssef eloquently expressed, “Some people took the route of resisting by fighting with weapons, but us, we’re against violence, so our resistance was using our song, our lyrics; the language of words, not of weapons” (Drissel 2009, 132). A global icon in Islamic music, Maher Zain, puts it another way: “I beli...