Get Out
IMDb/Universal Pictures/Justin Lubin

Being Black For 103 Minutes: 'Get Out' From A White Millennial's Perspective

"If a powerful motion picture could ruffle the feathers of just a portion of white America, it has done its job."

On February 24, a 24-year-old kid from the suburbs ended his decade long horror movie drought (Texas Chainsaw Massacre did me dirty) by going to see Get Out, and without the push from three friends of my closest friends growing up, I don’t think I would have gone. My friends, all the same age as me, had a history of good taste in cinema, so I figured to trust their instincts. All four of us have lived in the mostly white suburban bubble of Westchester County, NY our entire lives, and they did not inform me of the racial aspect of the film going in. The trailer piqued my interest, but I really had no clue what I was getting myself into and just didn’t want to leave with a week’s worth of nightmares. I guess you could say I was numb to how poignantly the film would prey on racism within genious but subtle language, imagery and symbolism. What really put me all in was the Jordan Peele effect, the promise of comedic relief to be intertwined throughout the 103-minute social thriller.

My friends and I rolled up to the AMC Loews theater in Portchester, NY on a very cold Friday night for a prime time 8 p.m. showing. The crowd was diverse in age and ethnicity. I remember scoping out the scene, seeing black couples, white people and Latinos varied throughout, co-mingling in the spacious theater. Viewers looked to range from their early twenties to 50-plus, echoing the mixed-bag demographic of the town. More than anything, I was curious about the clientele because I had never been to the theater, and it wasn’t until after the film that I surveyed the crowd from our overhanging corner balcony seats more closely with race in mind.

I’ve never been in a theater where its viewers were so collectively engaged in the film. I remember hearing one black guy sitting behind me utter under his breathe, “this f**king b***h,” as Rose Armitage continued to bamboozle Chris Washington, her unsuspecting black boyfriend. The atmosphere almost felt as if we were right there with Chris sinking into his own nightmare, trying to help him will his way out of the Armitage insane asylum. The “social horror” kept my stomach churning and my brain knotted in anxiety as I awaited the film’s next on-the-edge-of-your-seat moment, eyes wide open just like Chris’ much-memed expression. Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams star as an interracial couple who visit her parents in the suburbs for the weekend, and any and everyone can identify with this kind of potential disaster of a situation. However, while wrapped up in the couple’s obviously complicated scenario, there are some key things that I walked away from the theater with.

The Jordan Peele Effect: Comedic Relief Keeps Us Sane

The funny moments in Get Out take you out of the thriller mentality at various points throughout its gasp-worthy turns. I think that’s what made me appreciate the film even more. Just when you’re ready to let your guard down, the thrilling factor comes back into play. Whether it was the awkward punchlines featuring racial undertones from Dean, Rose’s father (“If Obama could've run for a third term I would've voted for him”) or hilarious, borderline inappropriate friend advice from Rod, who began joking with Chris about how they would turn him into a sex slave, Peele’s genius shined through as someone who perfected the satire comedy lane.

“It's horrifying watching poor Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya) paralyzed in that chair while his will and body are being stolen, because growing up, I felt as paralyzed as him,” Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wrote for The Hollywood Reporter.

Peele is of a bi-racial background, raised by his white mother, and channelled racist experiences with the older white generation growing up through painfully oblivious jokes and stereotypes of how the younger generation perceives our white elders within Get Out. Take, for example, when one of the party guests Gordon tells Chris, “I do know Tiger [Woods].” He believes that since Chris is black, that’s the only thing he would know about golf, which is a scary reality that some have that slightly condescending mentality. All I could do was laugh it off along with a few others in the theater.

Separate But Equal: Hidden Imagery & Subtle Foreshadowing

Peele’s clever use of imagery and foreshadowing could not go unnoticed and is layered to the point that you’ll need a second watch to figure out the parts that went over your head. The deer Rose hit dead at the start of the film went on to be symbolic of future parts of the film’s complex plot, and way more important than just a ploy to make you pop out of your seat. Notice how Chris was way more empathetic to the dead animal than Rose was. When Chris walks into the bushes to assess the damage, she stays planted by the car, incurious. The couple then arrives at the Armitage house, where Dean ashes the deer’s very existence. “One down, a couple hundred thousand to go,” he says dismissively. “They’re like rats. I see a dead deer on the side of the road, I say that’s a start.” It seemed rude but harmless at the time, but we later see that his true feelings about the deer reflect how he feels about black people.

While Mr. Armitage is giving Chris a tour of the house, he foreshadows many future integral parts of the plot, but his statements flowed within the conversation and didn’t make you question his words. “It’s a privilege to experience another person’s culture,” Dean says while showing off his collection of travel trinkets to Chris, another harmless statement until you realize his envy for black traits. It took me two viewings to catch the meaning behind what Dean told Chris when giving a tour of the house: “That’s the basement. We had to seal it up, got some black mold down there.” Pure genius screenwriting by Peele once again. There are multiple layers contained within the script that keep you focused throughout.

The last half hour of the film, in which Chris looks to make his escape out of the Armitage lockdown, felt like an eternity. After he discovers the photos of Rose and prior black suitors, including Walter the groundskeeper and even Georgina the maid, my heart immediately began beating abnormally as I tried to figure out his next move, praying for a positive outcome. As everyone in the theater knew by this time, Rose is in on the psychotic plan and won’t give Chris the car keys, while her brother Jeremy guards the front door with a lacrosse stick, a symbolism of a predominantly white sport. Peele later revealed he went with lacrosse over a golf club since that was already done before in a previous film.

Sparking An Uncomfortable Conversation From “The Sunken Place”

Many scenes throughout the film did make me feel uncomfortable, though, almost to the point where I had to get up and leave for a 30 second timeout. A prime example is when Chris is subjected to many awkward encounters and subtle racist comments at the family “party,” beginning with everyone’s black car arrival up to the painful conversations with the white guests where Chris is looked at as a puppet there for entertainment. I cringed when guests said things to Chris like, “black is in fashion,” or ask “how has the African-American experience been” for him. That was only the start. His interactions with Georgina and Logan, both robotic, were mind-boggling. The most unsettling of all was the bingo scene. I was in disgust of what was going on, as it drew eerily similar comparisons to the slave trade from America’s past.

When Chris is shackled down to an armchair in the “mold infested” basement awaiting the coagula procedure, it’s after he’s disappeared into the ground to The Sunken Place as Rose says, “You were one of my favorites.” The Sunken Place symbolizes the marginalization of black America, no matter the injustice, the systems in place whether the prison or education system to name a couple, are tactically designed to silence the people. Phase one of the procedure is the hypnotism where Chris is being broken down mentally, phase two follows with prepping his “new” psyche and finally the transmutation is performed. The scene invoked uneasy feelings reminiscent of slavery, as he’s chained against his will, freedom stripped. It wasn’t until after the film, strolling through the theater’s parking lot, that one of my childhood friends I saw the film with intelligently drew the comparison of Chris picking the cotton out of the chair to use as ear plugs to deny the hypnosis, another subdued use of symbolism.

When Chris ended up clubbing Jeremy in the head with a bloodied yellow bocce ball, another typically white sport instrument, the crowd let out a collective cheer and fist pumped, as I gasped the words, “Let’s go!” Chris ironically driving the deer head antlers through Mr. Armitage as he was prepping for the lobotomy is poetic justice at its finest. Meanwhile, Rose is upstairs minding her own business like nothing happened, too busy Googling her next victim (preferably a “Top NCAA prospect”) with framed photos of her previous boos—all of whom are now in the sunken place—hanging above her bed. Notice the snack choice: colorful Fruit Loops in one cup, with a white glass of milk kept separately, symbolizing the severed racial relations in society today and in their family.

As Chris successfully made his escape from the Armitage experiment, Rod, who had been trying to call attention to his missing friend the whole time, pulled up to save the day, a symbolism of loyalty in friendship. Admittedly, my stomach sank as I pictured the sirens being a cop rolling up to the scene to arrest Chris, but once I saw that TSA car, I let out a huge sigh of relief. The thriller ended on a positive and funny note, and the theater collectively gave a standing ovation with the credits rolling. It was a sight of beauty; I’ve never been in a theater where that was the case.

Get Out has raked in over $100 million at the box office in less than three weeks, so clearly Peele and his team are onto something and striking a nerve within the American people. The cinematic experience is a must-see in the theater, definitely worth the expensive $13 admission, which is a rarity these days. A film of this magnitude will help push the conversation about systematic racial oppression forward, but ultimately the burden falls on the shoulders of the millennial generation to invoke change.

“I wanted to make something that has a perspective that you don’t often see, but I also wanted it to be an inclusive movie,” Peele told the New York Times. “That’s the power of story and genre. You can ask a white person to see the world through the eyes of a black person for an hour and a half.”

The thought-provoking film still has my mind racing back to the strong symbolism and understated messaging from Get Out, easily the best movie I’ve seen in a long time. When I left the theater, I begin to take note of the audience standing up as the lights went on, listening into the chatter and it was unanimous approval, with biracial post-movie chatter higher than usual, debates of the film ensued immediately. I felt as if I went through a traumatic outer-body experience myself, trying to get my brain acclimated to reality once again. Peele has set the standard in the horror-satire lane with an original piece that entertained, but also left an impression on its viewers from a political, as well as racial perspective in American society. The response lead me to believe that if a powerful motion picture could ruffle the feathers of just a portion of white America, it has done its job.

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NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell and Jay Z at the Roc Nation and NFL Partnership Announcement at Roc Nation on August 14, 2019 in New York City.
Kevin Mazur

‘Inspire Change?’ NFL's Super Bowl PSAs Only Inspire More Skepticism

It’s been a few months into the NFL’s controversial “Inspire Change” initiative, a promotion by the league to highlight the Player’s Coalition and its work to address social issues. “Inspire Change” officially launched last year, (to “nurture and strengthen community through football and music,” said official statements) with the league’s partnership with Roc Nation expected to guide much of the outreach and voice.

"With its global reach, the National Football League has the platform and opportunity to inspire change across the country," Jay-Z said via press release back in August. "Roc Nation has shown that entertainment and enacting change are not mutually exclusive ideas -- instead, we unify them. This partnership is an opportunity to strengthen the fabric of communities across America."

The first “Inspire Change” ad featured the Botham Jean Foundation, and focused on the Jean family and their reaction to Botham’s 2018 death at the hands of Dallas police officer Amber Guyger. Jean’s murder, in which Guyger shot the 26-year-old as he sat in his apartment after saying she’d believed it was her own, drew international attention. The subsequent trial and conviction of Guyger drew derision and criticism after the former officer was sentenced to ten years (with parole eligibility in five) amidst hugs from the prosecuting judge and official statements from the family that focused on forgiveness.

“He just loved people and he was very particular about the company he kept. So I felt he was not in harm’s way,” his mother, Allison Jean, says during the video.

The NFL debuted the Jean ad online in late January to a mixed reception, and a new ad was shown during Super Bowl LIV. In the new ad, former 49ers wide receiver Anquan Boldin is heard speaking about what happened to his cousin, Corey Jones, on the night of October 18, 2015. That night, Jones was shot and killed in Florida by a plainclothes police officer as Jones was stuck on the side of the road with car trouble.

“I was still playing with the 49ers and my wife walks up after the game and told me that my cousin Corey had been killed. Corey broke down on the side of the road and a plain clothed police officer pulled up. Then this guy starts screaming. All you hear from there is three shots.”

Both ads focus on family and loss: the first clip features footage of Botham Jean’s brother hugging his convicted murderer in court as Jean’s mother and father talk about forgiveness. In the second ad, Jones’ father tearily asks “Why? Why’s my son gone today? Why?” The human toll of these crimes is front-and-center, but as far as the institutions that have created this reality for so many non-white people in America, they’re comparatively peripheral in these clips. The word “police” is never uttered, and while the tagline is “We’re all in this together,” there is nothing on screen to suggest racism is the common enemy. It’s cozy to posit that “we” are the solution, but what’s the point if I don’t have the fortitude to declare that you are the problem?

When Jay-Z’s partnership with the NFL was announced just before the start of the 2018-2019 NFL season, many saw it was a mogul putting business before social justice. After all, the league had kept Colin Kaepernick on the sidelines for three years, and Jay supposedly supported Kaep and his protest—so why get in bed with the league that had effectively blackballed the quarterback? There didn’t seem to be any benefit in Roc Nation partnering with the NFL—outside of the NFL being able to save some face after losing some fans because of the treatment of Kaepernick. Working with a mogul who, in recent years, has become a symbol of Woke™ Celebritydom, could go a long way towards softening the league’s image as one that defers to good ol’ boyism. The most skeptical saw the initiative as a chance for the NFL to score cool points while using Jay-Z’s brand to do it. And with these new ads, those cynics have been proven right.

The hope behind these ads is that they will inspire the more ambivalent or right-leaning members of the NFL’s viewing audience to take up the cause that the league itself effectively punished Colin Kaepernick for protesting. That side of the NFL’s audience has made it clear that it does not commiserate with Kaepernick or his cause, but these ads are supposed to be what sways them. These ads are supposed to start a conversation. Roc Nation also pressed NFL commissioner Roger Goodell to commit $100 million to social justice outreach, and Jay-Z has emphasized that he did not do this deal for anything other than a chance to use the platform to raise awareness on the issues.

It’s a stance that Jay has been voicing since that first announcement in August. “As long as real people are being hurt and marginalized and losing family members, then yes, I can take a couple rounds of negative press,” Jay said this week in an interview with The New York Times. He also said that he feels for what’s happened with Kaepernick (a workout this fall turned into a debacle for all parties involved), but he feels that what Roc Nation is doing is pushing things forward.

“No one is saying he hasn’t been done wrong. He was done wrong. I would understand if it was three months ago. But it was three years ago and someone needs to say, ‘What do we do now — because people are still dying?’

“We didn’t say, ‘Let’s go make some money off the N.F.L.’”

Nonetheless, the NFL’s “Inspire Change” campaign feels more like a big-budget facelift for a league that still struggles with who it is and who it wants to sell itself to; as opposed to a lucrative corporation finding its conscience. In 2016, famed director Spike Lee was hired as a “consultant” for the NYPD when the department wanted to create initiatives to “build trust with minority communities.” Roc Nation’s cosign amidst the “Inspire Change” campaign feels like a similar maneuver from the NFL. These ads stoke emotion without indictment, evoking the murders of Botham Jean and Corey Jones at the hands of police officers, but focusing on sentimentality and not how and where reformation is needed. Jay has become someone who wears his “activist celebrity” tag on his sleeve, but how do moguls truly benefit causes? From his role in Barclays Center and the gentrification that accompanied its opening, to his deal with Barneys--can he truly occupy both worlds? Jay-Z wants Roc Nation's work with the NFL to push people to act, for everyone to see themselves in these victims. But the NFL can’t soft soap this and expect anyone to take any of this seriously. You can’t truly “inspire change” with post-woke pandering—or by helping conglomerates save face.

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Shakira performs onstage during the Pepsi Super Bowl LIV Halftime Show at Hard Rock Stadium on February 02, 2020 in Miami, Florida.
Kevin Winter/Getty Images

Shakira's Cultural Homages During The Super Bowl Halftime Show Deserve A Standing Ovation

Now that the glitter and fireworks have settled in Miami after Jennifer Lopez and Shakira's Super Bowl Halftime performances, the ladies are getting their just due props for incorporating Latinx, Arabic, and black/African culture into their sets.

Shakira's homages were the most prominent Sunday (Feb. 2) with many mocking her "tongue-wagging" which was a nod to her Lebanese roots. Known as zaghrouta, the act is one of celebration and joy often done to express gleeful emotions at weddings and graduations. The 43-year-old (Sunday was her birthday) was born and raised in Barranquilla, Colombia, by her Lebanese father and Spanish/Italian mother. The singer, whose name is Arabic for "grateful," has talked about her mixed heritage and how it played a big role in her music and performances (think her iconic Bellydancing or her punk-rock era).

“I am a fusion. That’s my persona. I'm a fusion between black and white, between pop and rock, between cultures — between my Lebanese father and my mother’s Spanish blood, the Colombian folklore and Arab dance I love and American music," she told Faze Magazine in the early aughts. "I was born and raised in Colombia, but I listened to bands like Led Zeppelin, the Cure, the Police, The Beatles, and Nirvana. I was so in love with that rock sound but at the same time because my father is of 100 percent Lebanese descent, I am devoted to Arabic tastes and sounds."

 Zaghrouta was heard loud and clear during her performance of the 1998 classic “Ojos Así," which is also one of the few songs in her catalog to feature Arabic on it. She also tapped Afro-Colombian dancer Liz Dany Campo Diaz to help incorporate champeta into her performance. A dance from her hometown, the moves are traced back to African ancestors. It also has a similar groove to South African pantsula dance routines which some may remember from Beyonce's "Run the World (Girls)" music video.

Btw this dance is called Champeta and it is originated in Shakira’s hometown of Branquilla Colombia! It’s respected for its footwork and it’s an important part of Colombian culture 💃🏼 pic.twitter.com/JtcLsl9sm9

— SHAKIRABOWL2020 (@Exmotions) February 3, 2020

The singer also danced to another Afro-Colombian routine called mapalé, importantly at the start of her performance. The moves (including the beautiful sea of Afro-Latinx dancers) was a sight to see at one of the most-watched shows all over the world.

The initial eyebrow raises of a Colombian pop singer at the Super Bowl Halftime Show made sense but the singer was thoughtful in the songs she picked (her 2008 World Cup hit "Waka Waka" (This Time For Africa)" is a remake of the 1986 song "Zamina Mina" by Cameroonian makossa group Zangaléwa) and even more mindful in her riffs (she repeated with passion the "no fighting" lyric during her performance of "Hips Don't Lie"). In all, Shakira's set will be one hell of a cultural study in years to come.

Jennifer Lopez also made subtle political statements during her performance. Her set was a pleasant blend of her Vegas and "It's My Party" tour sprinkled with some of her newfound pole skills from her performance in Hustlers. Swing Latino, a competitive world-champion salsa group from Colombia returned to the stage with the singer as they previously were special guests during her "Party" tour dates. It took her On The 6 single "Let's Get Loud" to new heights as the group brought together swing dancing, a very Americana dance, and salsa on the stage.

 

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A post shared by SwingLatino | official account (@swinglatino_cali) on Feb 2, 2020 at 7:56pm PST

A treat for pop culture fanatics, J. Lo's five outfits were customed made by Versace which we can give a smirk to. There's also the undeniable presence of Parris Goebel, who choreographed Lopez's entire Super Bowl performance. The two met back in 2012 when Goebel worked on her world tour and the American Idol season 11 finale where Lopez sang her 2012 hit, "Dance Again."

But it was the presence of her daughter Emme Maribel Muñoz singing with her that captured the audience. What many did miss was how the 11-year-old along with other children, appeared in silver cages, pointing towards the immigration and family separation policies the country has enforced at the southern border. "Let's Get Loud" then collided with a cover of "Born In The USA" with Lopez touting a feathered American flag with the Puerto Rican flag on the other side.

 

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Emme Daddy is so proud of you. You are my ❤ and I am forever yours.

A post shared by Marc Anthony (@marcanthony) on Feb 2, 2020 at 6:19pm PST

You can't please everyone, but their performances were one of precision. The two living legends who don't need validation from anyone were in control and commanded the attention of everyone, including those who make it difficult for Latinx families to live their version of the American dream. We like to imagine that the two singers also learned from each other, especially J. Lo since some cultural stances go over her head. "Let’s show the world what two little Latin girls can do," Lopez said on Instagram before their takeover. And that's exactly what they did.

Rewatch their performances below.

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Terry Crews speaks onstage during Steven Tyler's Third Annual GRAMMY Awards Viewing Party to benefit Janie’s Fund presented by Live Nation at Raleigh Studios on January 26, 2020 in Los Angeles, California.
Anna Webber/Getty Images for Janie's Fund

Terry Crews, 'America's Got Talent' And The Conditional Solidarity Of Celebrity

Terry Crews is doing quite a spectacular job of torching any goodwill the public had toward him. The actor moved from tertiary to central figure in the ongoing controversy surrounding NBC’s popular talent show America’s Got Talent and its November firing of former co-host Gabrielle Union.

Union has stated that there was a toxic environment on set, citing the behavior of producer Simon Cowell, and an incident involving a racist joke she says was made by guest host Jay Leno and other instances where she felt AGT and NBC had not addressed racist or sexist behavior and policies on the show.

Terry Crews offered mild support for Union upon her initial firing but has drawn the ire of fans this week after he offered a less empathetic take about the situation during an interview with the Today show.

“First of all, I can’t speak for sexism because I’m not a woman, but I can speak on behalf of any racism comments. That was never my experience on America’s Got Talent,” the AGT host said. “In fact, it was the most diverse place I have ever been in my 20 years of entertainment.”

When asked if he’d spoken to Union, Crews offered, “I have reached out, but I have not heard anything.”

The online reaction was critical, with fans and pundits pointing out that Union had been one of Crews’ most vocal supporters in 2017 when the actor revealed and then testified that he’d been a victim of sexual assault by a Hollywood studio executive. With the flurry of criticism, Crews scoffed at his detractors, tweeting that there’s only one woman in his life who he works to please—his wife.

“There is only one woman on earth I have to please. Her name is Rebecca,” the 52-year-old tweeted. “Not my mother, my sister, my daughters or co-workers. I will let their husbands/ boyfriends/ partners take care of them. Rebecca gives me WINGS.”

Crews’ statements—and his nonsensical Twitter reaction to his critics—were disappointing for anyone who’d hoped Union wouldn’t be left out to dry in her fight against a very powerful corporate entity. When there was an opportunity to support a person who’d been vocal in her support of him, Crews chose to lean on his own experiences in a way that would obviously pave the way for America’s Got Talent to cast hers into dispersion. This entire debacle has been reminiscent of other high-profile instances where Black celebs offered criticism in the wake of solidarity—either focused on the comforts of celebrity or preoccupied with the trajectory of their careers.

Mo’Nique famously engaged in a feud with streaming service Netflix, after she felt the giant lowballed her in regards to a proposed stand-up special. The star had been branded “difficult” for years and she’d felt blackballed by Hollywood notables like Oprah Winfrey and Lee Daniels, whom she worked with in 2009's Precious. It was her performance in that film that landed her an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress in 2010.

When Mo’Nique appeared on Steve to discuss her proposed boycott of Netflix and the blackballing, her longtime friend Harvey chastised the Oscar-winner. “We’re fighting two wars here,” Harvey said. “There’s two wars, it’s what your issue is and is what the perception of the issue is.”

Mo’Nique’s stance was that she was fighting for equality—for women and for Black comics—in her battle with Netflix. In regards to her stance on Winfrey and Daniels, she was fighting to be paid for extensive travel and promotion. To her, this was a fight for the right to say “no” in Hollywood.

“Now, I said ‘no’ to some very powerful people...the difficulty came in when people that looked like me, like Oprah, Tyler [Perry], Lee Daniels—and I got to put my brother Steve on the list. Y’all knew that I was not wrong. Each one of you said to me, ‘Mo’Nique, you’re not wrong.’ And when I heard you go on the air and say, ‘My sister burned too many bridges, and it’s nothing I can do for her now,’ Steve, do you know how hurt I was?”

“I would have appreciated it, had my brother called me up and said, ‘let’s talk,’” she also said.

But Harvey was adamant that Mo’Nique’s wounds were self-inflicted, dismissing any notion of solidarity for what she was fighting for. Instead, he scolded her.

“This problem that you had at Netflix are rich people problems,” Harvey told her. “Because they’re looking at us saying, ‘you’re talking about millions, well, you got this, so you oughta be cool.'”

“I felt you had done yourself a disservice by the way you chose to go about it. When you tell the truth, you have to deal with the repercussions of the truth. We black out here. We can’t come out here and do it any kind of way we want to.”

“Black people can’t do that” was always poor logic for not standing up for oneself, and Harvey’s take on Mo’Nique may have been more egregiously condescending than Crews and Union but it also reveals how “my career” can trump “you were right” when it’s time to show solidarity. It’s also important to understand that you can’t only see “the problem” via your own “experiences”—what you’ve experienced isn’t the sum total of what goes on. And waiting until the wackness affects you will have you dismissing the oppression of those who may not be in your position.

Five years ago, rapper A$AP Rocky was at the center of a firestorm after he dismissed the idea of rapping about the 2014 killing of 17-year-old Mike Brown in Ferguson, Md., at the hands of police officer Darren Wilson. The incident sparked weeks of unrest, as citizens gathered to protest police violence against Black communities, with artists like J. Cole and Talib Kweli offering support.

“Why would I feel compelled to rap about Ferguson?” Rocky said at the time during an interview with TimeOut New York. “I’m not about to say that I was down there throwing rocks at motherfuckers, getting pepper-sprayed. I’d be lying…I live in fucking Soho and Beverly Hills. I can’t relate.”

When Rocky found himself imprisoned in Sweden in 2019 for assault, the rapper’s old interview came back to haunt him. Many of his peers called for his release and railed against what they felt was a racist overreaction as Rocky faced up to six years in prison for what was essentially a fight. As his supporters pleaded his case, many online called back to Rocky’s dismissiveness when he was asked to offer support for the protests in Ferguson.

In an early January sitdown with Kerwin Frost, Rocky offered an explanation for his words in 2015. “In those old interviews, I used to say ‘I think it’s inappropriate for me to rap about things I didn’t help with… I felt like when it came to Ferguson, J. Cole went down there and he actually was on the news and he helped. I felt like he deserved to rap about it. So when someone [asked] me that in 2015 I’m like: ‘I just feel, personally, if I’m in SoHo or I’m here I can’t even talk on that’… That’s appropriating.

“It’s not sincere. It’s pretentious.”

Black voices can often be scorned when they’re facing off against powerful gatekeepers; that those in positions to amplify those voices can so often decide to take the more “practical” route of undermining or outright dismissing those voices in the most public forums is just evidence of how much the upward mobility of the individual can blind them to the bigger picture. When Rocky had to deal with what it meant to face law enforcement while young and Black, when Terry Crews had to stare down a powerful Hollywood entity who’d wronged him—they fully understood what oppression can feel like. When Steve Harvey finger-wagged Mo’Nique on a high-profile platform, he did so acknowledging the sliding scale that Black people face. Supporting each other when “that’s not my experience” means not undermining the fight against powers-that-be. Because being able to retreat “my experiences” is the greatest privilege. Hopefully, someone will remind Terry Crews.

Editor's Note: Terry Crews has tweeted an apology to Gabrielle Union saying, "I want you to know it was never my intention to invalidate your experience— but that is what I did. I apologize."

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