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Raising the Social, Political, and Spiritual Consciousness of Hip Hop*

By Dilshad D. Ali

April 19, 2005

Title: Lyrical Swords: Hip Hop and Politics in the Mix

Author: Adisa Banjoko

YinSumi Press, 115 pages

You bring up the subject of Hip Hop to the Muslim community at large, and most will probably scratch their heads trying to figure out what the popular North American music culture has in common with the world’s fastest-growing religion.

But now popular Hip Hop journalist Adisa Banjoko offers a strong, and often surprising case for how the spiritual aspects of Islam are becoming a potent part of Hip Hop in his new book Lyrical Swords: Hip Hop and Politics in the Mix.

At its crux is a head-scratching, “can it be?” kind of concept: That a presently crime- and thug-laced Hip Hop music culture, predominantly promoting a lifestyle of black-on-black crime, degradation of women, “bling-bling,” and “gangsta” ideals is reaching towards Islamic (and other forms of) spirituality to reinvent itself.

It’s a rather unbelievable idea. But Banjoko, a Muslim convert of eight years and a renowned West Coast Hip Hop journalist (and former B-Boy, or break dancer, as he says), argues that the teachings of Islam have a lot to offer to Hip Hop. And he attests to it in a number of provocative essays comparing various aspects of the religion to a growing positiveness and humbleness in Hip Hop—or rather the need for it.

Moreover, Banjoko also provides many interesting interviews with musicians from such well-known Hip Hop groups like A Tribe Called Quest and Everlast that investigate why these artists have embraced Islam (though I wish I could’ve read a lot more on this particular subject).

Hip Hop is a vital part of Black, and American society at large, Banjoko says. “What was written off as not even music is now a billion dollar industry that has changed the way people talk, shop, think, dance, and advertise.” He compares it to the rise of different religions by writing, “Many religious ideas that were once attacked and written off as cult teachings are now sweeping the nation across boundaries of race, age, and gender.”

The legendary Muslim MCs of A Tribe Called Quest

Yet Banjoko writes that the Hip Hop culture is losing itself to a dangerous emphasis on “keeping it real,” meaning a focus on artists at war with each other, raps filled with explicative and degrading lyrics, and a media hype on who’s got the most “bling” and power.

His socially and politically minded essays decry this descent of the music culture and call for artists to take back Hip Hop and use it as a means for positive change. It’s not an easy task, and Hip Hop media is largely to blame, but it has to be done, he writes. “I know Hip Hop comes from the street, and that everything about every MC and DJ can’t be squeaky clean, but we’ve gotta have a standard at some point.”

This standard can start with lyrics that mean something, that cry for a moral change, that demand a political upheaval, that recall the words of revolutionaries like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Banjoko writes. Many of his essays take Hip Hop to task for its self-exploitation and admirably offer useful suggestions for a change.

But more appealing to Muslim readers are his essays and interviews that explore the connection between Hip Hop and Islamic spirituality.

One such essay, “Hip Hop and the New Age of Innocence,” strikingly compares the current ignorant behavior of Hip Hop to the culture of the Jahiliyya (period of pre-Islamic ignorance). The Arabs of this era, Banjoko writes, were a courageous and trustworthy group whose oaths were always kept. The same can be said for Hip Hop artists, in which “the power of one’s word … is unmatched.”

But other aspects of the culture of the Jahiliyya, like the disrespect towards women and an emphasis on materialism are also large parts of today’s Hip Hop, he argues. “Unless we rid Hip Hop of all its Jahiliyya elements, we can only expect more sharp minded but misguided youth to perish over territorialism, materialism, and the pursuit of the sensual path.”

Another stimulating essay, “The Burden of the Beast,” cleverly explores how Black men struggle with a “beast” label that is often supported by their style of dress. Once Banjoko wore an Arabic thobe to an art exhibition, and received a lot of respect from everyone. He felt his Islamic attire was his “beast-free” attire. The point? That “You are not a beast. Never let others define you. Never allow yourself to portray the myth.”

Apart from his essays, Banjoko offers a rich collection of short interviews with prominent Hip Hop artists who converted to Islam. One of the best from this bunch is with Encore, a San Francisco Bay-area MC.

Banjoko asks him how his conversion has influenced his music. Encore answers that he now feels all his writings should be within Allah’s guidelines. Later, Banjoko asks the most provocative question of Encore: Should Islam dictate all of Hip Hop?

Encore replies that “Islam can dictate everything without it having to be out there in your face.” This line of thinking is one I wish was further investigated by Banjoko in other essays or interviews.

Malcolm X has been an important inspiration for many hip hop artists.

Unfortunately, Banjoko doesn’t foray into the divisive topic of what basic Islamic principals say about indulging in any type of musical habit. Though he undoubtedly proves how many Hip Hop artists have embraced “real” Islam (as opposed to the 5% nation or Nation of Islam), the larger subject of how these artists balance their Islamic and Hip Hop lifestyles is largely unexplored.

Still, Lyrical Swords is an undiscovered gem for those Muslims (and I’m sure there are many) who have a negative view of Hip Hop. There’s much more to it I discovered. “Hip Hop should not be feared,” Banjoko concludes. “It needs to be authentically researched, understood, appreciated, and discussed.”

And why not? If you want to reach out to the millions of Blacks (and Whites, Asians, and Hispanics) immersed in Hip Hop and bring them around to Islamic principals, why not manipulate their music culture for good to do so?


*Lyrical Swords is available on amazon.com and in San Francisco, California-area local book stores. Adisa Banjoko has been featured on a number of radio and television shows (including National Public Radio) and newspapers across the U.S. For more information, visit his Web site at www.lyricalswords.com.

Dilshad D. Ali’s writing reaches across the United States to address lifestyle topics pertinent to Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Ali has covered movie premieres, film festivals, art exhibitions, concerts, and numerous other cultural stories, including the effect of September 11 on New York’s cultural landscape for IslamOnline. Ali, a 1997 University of Maryland journalism graduate, resides in New York with her husband and two children. You can reach her at bridge@islamonline.net.



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