In recent years, references to Creflo Dollar, arguably the most popular black prosperity preacher of the day, have become a visual and verbal fixture in Hip Hop music. Such instances include a cameo appearance in Ludacris and Jermaine Dupri’s “Welcome to Atlanta” video, an invocation in a song by Fifty Cent, a professed pastoral affiliation by Mase, and a shout-out from Lupe Fiasco in his underground re-mix of Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks.” This would seem to suggest, at least within the culture of the bling, that Christianity has become as much a signifier of wealth and power as it is evidence of any specific type of theological vision. Evidently Dollar – for whom wealth is a core spiritual value – seems to embody, for many Hip Hop artists, the essence of Hip Hop’s hustle doused in holy water. Interestingly, Pastor Dollar also has a rap video in the works, performed a by a group of rappers, the Ziklag Boyz, who belong to his church and record on his Arrow Records label. A surprise to no one, the song’s refrain is simply, “Money, money, coming down!” (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFyMEnXDG4g ). While the video draws much resemblance to Lil’ Wayne and Fat Joe’s tale of the strip club, “Make It Rain,” – with dollar bills floating across the screen – noticeably absent from the Ziklag Boyz’ video are the bodies of scantily clad black and brown women. For male rappers, it is the bodies of black females that often make their rap videos so profitably seductive, but Dollar insists that the power to get “bling” can just as easily be achieved dropping bible verses like they’re hot. The mutual resonance between much of rap music and Dollar’s prosperity ministry is but one instance where Christianity seems to function as an explicit form of social capital in popular culture . . .

For the entire article go to: http://faithinmotion.net/

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In case you happened to miss the news, let me be the one to inform you of a tragic death; actually, two deaths to be exact. It appears that the “N-word” was buried at least twice during the last seven days. First on July 7 in small-town Texas, and then again on July 9, in the motor city metropolis of Detroit, the N-word was laid to rest. The first funeral – with a real coffin, cemetery plot and burial – took place with little fanfare in Pearland, TX. However, the second – dare I call it a home-going celebration – took place as the culmination of a march through the city of Detroit, with all the pomp and circumstance typical of the NAACP’s annual convention. Amidst the stories documenting the ceremonies, I have yet to find out whether the word buried within the coffin was “Nigger” or “Nigga.” I guess the NAACP, and the folks in Pearland has decided for us all once that there is no difference between the two.

Call me a hater – an accusation typically assigned to individuals who make their mark finding fault with and critiquing any kind of efforts to engage in constructive cultural work – but these symbolic ceremonies certainly deserves to be deconstructed. Simply put, this can’t be the most promising or productive project to place our energies. Years ago, in 1944, a similar service was held in Detroit for Jim Crow, symbolic of the organization’s commitment to killing the system of separate and unequal, as it was beginning to wage legal battles that led to the success of Brown vs. Board and the Civil Rights laws passed in the 1960s. But it must be asked, where will we go now – just days after the Supreme Court more or less repealed Brown – that the N-word has officially been buried?

Perhaps it is this kind of observance that led the NAACP Legal Defense Fund (LDF) to split from the NAACP (the civic agency) during the 1950s, so that the former could focus more on the business of addressing the needs of the vast majority of colored people, rather than cleaning up the image of black culture to make it more palatable for the white mainstream. While the NAACP and onlookers mourned, as “Die N-word, and we don’t want to see you ’round here no more” was the shouted from the podium, the LDF was most likely busy in legal efforts to rebuild New Orleans or eliminate predatory lending practices that have devastated so many of Detroit’s foreclosed upon former home owners.

My sense is that such an act is little more than a continuation of black folks provoked by the aftermath of the Imus debacle to police problems of the underside of our own public discourses. Y’all know the refrain, “Since you people refer to each other “_______” (fill in the blank with your favorite word: nigga, hoe, etc), it should be okay for us to do the same…” By this standard, I guess I should stop referring to my close male friends as “my boys,” because slavery and Jim Crow refused to acknowledge black manhood. I know that the American public could stand to possess a little more cultural literacy – we’ll call it diversity training – and that their are certain black cultural practices that need not be celebrated; but I don’t believe that anyone is any more fooled by the different meanings of such troubling terms in black and white, than we are by the obvious implications of the Supreme Court’s ruling on racial criteria in educational placements,

Even more ironic is that the NAACP’s N-word funeral was presided over by Detroit’s Hip Hop Mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, and eulogized by one the most prominent Hip Hop preachers, Rev. Otis Moss, III who is in the process of inheriting the prestigious pulpit at Chicago’s Trinity United Church of Christ, of recent Obama controversies. As much as I respect both of these men, both of my generation and trailblazers in their own right, that Kilpatrick and Moss are both members of a cohort of rising hip hop elites (is that the right word?), and have billed themselves as such, adds to my growing skepticism with the things that “Hip Hop” seems to signify. While Hip Hop’s ability to sample from any number of sources – be it jazz, disco, R&B, Metal or a Moslem prayer – is a decided strength, I’m no longer sure I even know what we’re referring to if KRS ONE and Keisha Cole, Rich Boy and Remy Ma, Scott Storch and Saul Williams can all equally lay claim to the adage “I am Hip Hop.” But who’s to say they can’t? Is Hip Hop a mood, musical form, message or formula for increasing profit margins, a claim essentially made a last month by T.I. in the June issue Essence magazine? This ambiguity tends to also define the thinking of many of the artists and intelligentsia that identify with Hip Hop, myself included.

While I don’t buy the argument that Hip Hop was once purely a voice of protest against a white supremacist capitalist system, I do have trouble understanding how the music and cultural form once hailed as the voice of black youth vented freely with no regard for what white folks, or anyone else for that matter, think has signed on to public censorship. Somebody please explain to me who the NAACP’s dramatic display was intended to reach. And while the distinction is never this clean, for the sake of my sanity, let me know if the word “nigger” can at least be used when teaching its historical and symbolic significance in American history; and if “nigga” can be framed within black cultural traditions of playing with and re-inventing the scraps of a society shot through with racism.

For more on each of the N-word deaths, check out either of the following links:

The N-Word Transitions in Texas
The N-Word Dies in Detroit

PS – Evidently the N-word’s burial didn’t reach the boardroom of HBO executives who endorsed its usage three times, in its original historical form, on the show I highlighted last week. In the most recent episode of John from Cincinnati, the racial politics of Imperial Beach are made plain, beyond the vague references to immigration policy, as Butchie Yost participates in two of the United States favorite fantasies – black masculinity and sexuality – in his enraged reference to interracial pornography scenes. Yes, I’ve cleaned this up major-ly! But no need to worry, Ramon the motel manager continues to clean up and cook for his white folks and the now-resident drug dealer helps everyone relax as he plays “My Favorite Things,” a la John Coltrane, on his saxophone amidst divine revelations.

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Hello Everyone!

Thanks once again for the generosity of feedback in the week leading up to the launch - the love is much appreciated.

By now perhaps you a have a theory; if not, hopefully you’ve at least asked yourself: “Why did this brother choose to launch his site on 07.07.07?” Well, since you ask, indulge me for a moment…

Whether it’s the poetic appeal – never mind if you’re a biblical literalist or Darwinian by design – of the earth being spoken into existence in six days followed by one of divine rest…

Or you’ve been out on those corners praying for that lucky roll of the die,

Whether you were listening to Minister Farrakhan move the crowd at the Mall in 1995 when he started laying down those numbers…

Or you’re a gospel music loyalist waxing nostalgic of Fred Hammond - before he
signaled the move of black churches to praise and worship music - on his second to last
album with Commissioned (circa 1991),

Whether you witnessed pre-break up Erykah Badu and Andre 3000 name their first born…

Or you’ve had to fight the itch of that long seventh inning stretch in your marriage,

There’s just something about that Number – a near universal appeal that appears to be attributed to the number seven.

Now, I’m no numerologist, but it was still all too difficult for me resist the resounding resonance with which the number seven seems to be celebrated. And just in case none of the examples in my above litany sold you, let me share, more personally, just a few reasons why I chose to launch my site on this the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of the new millennium.

First of all, I am nearing the start of my seventh and hopefully final year (pray with me!) of what has been an extremely rewarding time of doctoral studies at Harvard University. They say seven years is average at Harvard… so call me average!

Second, seven is a number that many religious traditions treat as significant – just check out wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/7_(number) – so this choice also reflects the fact that religion and spirituality, in all their diverse manifestations, take a primary place in both my personal biography and intellectual journey.

And third, it has also been seven months since the passing of my mother, Patricia Ann Wallace, and amongst other things this site has afforded me the opportunity to memorialize her life on the web and to acknowledge the tremendous wealth of her spirit, to which I am an heir. Check out the page dedicated to her (www.josefsorett.com/patricia-ann-wallace-tribute/) on this site to learn more about this remarkable woman. We miss her dearly!

At the church I grew up attending, seven was believed to be the number of completion – and thus of new beginnings as well. In a year that promises us all a host of new beginnings – as well as important endings – I am excited to start this on-line dialogue.

Staying steady with the number seven, I’ve decided to define my launch into the blogosphere by an initial series of seven blog entries. Don’t worry, not all at once.

Here’s a glimpse of what you can expect from posts in the days and weeks to come:

Today: Reflections on Human Frailty: Life, Death and My HBO Addiction

Coming Soon:
Towards the (Post) Hip Hop Intellectual
Race, Religion and Politics in the City University of New York
“I Ain’t Here to Argue About His Facial Features…”
Left, Left, Left, Right, Left: Culture Politics, Policy and the Poles of Public Morality
The Art of My Eclectic (Personal) Fashion Sensibility
Muhammad Walks an Underground Freeway to the Club

Before I get to the first post, I want to quickly acknowledge one of my closest friends, who also happens to be my personal technology consultant: Joselin Mane. If you like what you see on this site, check out www.litbel.com for the best techie I know (website design, hosting services, etc.). While academic trends of late have highlighted the history of intersecting afro-latina/o diasporas (See: Future of Black Studies), this site has been an exercise in building black & Latina/o partnerships. In the process of learning to work this website, Joselin claims that he has been teaching me to fish… bacalao, I guess? If you can’t swing the cod fish, then try some Platanos and Collard Greens.   Either way, Mucho Amor a mi hermano dominicano de otra madre!

Okay, enough with the self-less plug. It’s now official, www.josefsorett.com has been launched. And while it’s surely anti-climactic at this point, check out my first blog entry, Reflections on Human Frailty: Life, Death and My HBO Addiction, which will post at 7am.

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