Hutchins Center for African and African American Research at Harvard University
Nappy Happy Author(s): Ice Cube and Angela Y. Davis Source: Transition, No. 58 (1992), pp. 174-192 Published by: Indiana University Press on behalf of the Hutchins Center for African and African American Research at Harvard University Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2934976 Accessed: 04-05-2017 18:36 UTC
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T R A N S I T I ON Conversation
NAPPY HAPPY
A Conversation with Ice Cube and Angela Y. Davis.
You may love him or loathe him, but you have to take him seriously. O’Shea
Jackson-better known by his nom de mi-
crophone, Ice Cube-may be the most successful “hardcore” rap artist in the re-
cording industry. And his influence as a
trendsetter in black youth culture is un-
rivaled. According to some academic analysts, Ice Cube qualifies as an “or- ganic intellectual” (in Antonio Gramsci’s
famous phrase): someone organically connected to the community he would
uplift.
He is, at the same time, an American
success story. It was as a member of the
Compton-based rap group NWA that he
first came to prominence in 1988 at the
age of 18. Less than two years later, he
left the group over a dispute about money, and went solo. Amerikkka’s Most
Wanted, his gritty debut album, went
platinum-and the rest is recording his-
tory.
Ice Cube is also a multimedia phe- nomenon. Artless, powerful perfor- mances in films by John Singleton and Walter Hill have established him as a
commanding screen presence. That, combined with his streetwise credibility,
has been a boon for St. Ides malt liquor,
which has paid generously for his ongo-
ing “celebrity endorsement.” Naturally,
it’s a relationship that has aroused some
skepticism. While Public Enemy’s Chuck D, for example, has inveighed against an industry that exacts a tragic
toll in America’s inner cities, even suing
a malt liquor company that used one of
his cuts to promote its product, Ice Cube
defends his role in touting booze in the
‘hood-even though, having joined the Nation of Islam, he says he’s now a tee-
totaller. “I do what I want to do,” he says
of his malt liquor ads.
Some of his other celebrity endorse-
ments have raised eyebrows as well. For
example, at the end of a press conference
last year, Ice Cube held up a copy of a book entitled The Secret Relationship Be-
tween Blacks and Jews, which purports to reveal the “massive” and “inordinate”
role of the Jews in a genocidal campaign
against blacks. “Try to find this book,”
he exhorted, “everybody.”
But then Ice Cube is no stranger to
controversy, and his second album Death
Certificate has certainly not been without
its critics. The album, which has sold
174 TRANSITION ISSUE 58
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over a million copies, delivers a strong
message of uplift and affirmation . . .
unless you happen to be female, Asian,
Jewish, gay, white, black, whatever.
So, for instance, in the song “No Va- seline,” Ice Cube calls for the death of
Jerry Heller, his former manager, and
imagines torching NWA rapper Eazy-E
for having “let a Jew break up your crew.” In “Horny Lil’ Devil,” Cube speaks of castrating white men who go out with black women. (“True Niggers
ain’t gay,” he advises in the course of this
cut.) In “Black Korea,” he warns Korean
grocers to “pay respect to the black fist,
or we’ll burn your store down to a crisp.” You get the picture. Not exactly “It’s a Small World After All.”
Still, Ice Cube’s champions-and stalwart defenders-are legion. “I have
seen the future of American culture and
he’s wearing a Raiders hat,” proclaimed the music criticJames Bernard. “Cube’s
album isn’t about racial hatred,” opined Dane L. Webb, then executive editor of
Larry Flynt’s Rappages. “It’s about have-
nots pointing fingers at those who have.
And the reality for most Black people is that the few that have in our communities
are mostly Asian or Jewish. And when a Black man tells the truth about their
oppressive brand of democracy in our community, they ‘Shut ‘Em Down.'” “When Ice Cube says that NWA is con-
trolled by a Jew,” Chuck D protested, “how is that anti-Semitism, when Heller
is a Jew?” The journalist Scott Poulson-
Bryant pointedly observed that most of Cube’s critics are unconcerned when he
advocates hatred and violence toward
NAPPY HAPPY 175
Angela Y. Davis
and Ice Cube
(O’Shea Jackson)
Courtesy Set To Run
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other blacks. “All the cries of Ice Cube’s
racism, then, seem dreadfully racist themselves,” he argued. “Dismissing the
context of Death Certificate’s name- calling and venom, critics assume a police-like stance and fire away from be- hind the smoke screen.”
Not all black intellectuals have been as
charitable. Thus Manning Marable, the
radical scholar and commentator, ques-
tions the rap artist’s “political maturity
and insight” and insists that “people of color must transcend the terrible ten-
dency to blame each other, to empha- size their differences, to trash one
another. … A truly multicultural de-
mocracy which empowers people of color will never be won if we tolerate
bigotry with our own ranks, and turn
our energies to undermine each other.”
And what of the legendary Angela Y.
Davis? In some ways, hers, too, was an
American success story, but with a twist.
Raised in Birmingham, Alabama, Davis
went on to graduate magna cum laude from Brandeis University and work on her doctorate under Herbert Marcuse at
the University of California, San Diego,
and teach philosophy at the University of
California, Los Angeles. In a few short
years, however, her political commit- ments made her a casualty of the gov-
ernment’s war against black radicalism:
the philosopher was turned into a fugi-
tive from justice. In 1970, by the age of
twenty-six, she had made the FBI’s Ten
Most Wanted List (which described her
as “armed and dangerous”) and appeared on the cover of Newsweek-in chains.
Now a professor in the History of Consciousness program at the Univer- sity of California, Santa Cruz, Davis has made her mark as a social theorist, elab-
orating her views on the need for a trans-
racial politics of alliance and transfor-
mation in two widely cited collections of essays, Women, Race, & Class and Women, Culture, & Politics. Cautioning
against the narrow-gauged black nation-
alism of the street, Davis is wont to decry
anti-Semitism and homophobia in the same breath as racism. “We do not draw
the color line,” she writes in her latest
book. “The only line we draw is one based on our political principles.”
So the encounter between them-a
two hour conversation held at Street
Knowledge, Cube’s company offices- was an encounter between two different
perspectives, two different activist tradi-
tions, and, of course, two different gen-
erations. While Davis’s background has
disposed her to seek common ground with others, these differences may have
been both constraining and productive.
Davis notes with misgivings that Death Certificate was not released until after the
conversation was recorded, so that she
did not have the opportunity to listen to
more than a few songs. She writes: “Considering the extremely problematic
content of ‘Black Korea,’ I regret that I was then unaware of its inclusion on the
album. My current political work in- volves the negotiation of cross-cultural
alliances-especially among people of color-in developing opposition to hate violence. Had I been aware of this song,
it would have certainly provided a the-
matic focus for a number of questions
that unfortunately remain unexplored in this conversation.”
Angela Y. Davis: I want to begin by acknowledging our very different posi-
tions. We represent different generations
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and genders: you are a young man and I am a mature woman. But I also want to
acknowledge our affinities. We are both African Americans, who share a cultural
tradition as well as a passionate concern
for our people. So, in exploring our dif- ferences in the course of this conversa-
tion, I hope we will discover common ground. Now, I am of the same gener-
ation as your mother. Hip-hop culture is
a product of the younger generation of
sisters and brothers in our community. I
am curious about your attitude toward
the older generation. How do you and your peers see us?
Ice Cube: When I look at older people, I don’t think they feel that they can learn
from the younger generation. I try and
tell my mother things that she just doesn’t want to hear sometimes. She is so
used to being a certain way: she’s from
the South and grew up at a time when the
South was a very dangerous place. I was
born in Los Angeles in 1969. When I started school, it was totally different from when she went to school. What she