Feature
URB
April 2008
Link
If music trends in Morocco came up in conversation, many Americans might sheepishly inquire if things are still kicking at Rick’s Café. Outside of select examples like Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir,” popular culture in the States tunes out this North African nation’s music.
But the cultural exchange rate looks different when viewed from overseas. Hip-hop has taken root in a country of crowded souks and chanting imams. In 2005, a three-city festival in Meknes, Marrakesh and Casablanca called I Love Hip Hop in Morocco attracted more than 30,000 fans eager to see homegrown talent. Artists such as DJ Key, H-Kayne, Fnaire and MC Bigg showcased their personal spins on the genre.
“It was the first event that got us all together performing on one stage, where only hip-hop was representing,” says Ouassim Addoula, a festival performer who raps under the name Brownfingaz.
In-between bouts of raucous applause, many rappers politely thanked the U.S. Embassy. The gratuity was an acknowledgement of support, since the Embassy pitched in roughly $15,000 of discretionary funding for the event (co-sponsor Coca-Cola provided the rest).
“Everything was positive and we got no negative feedback,” says Terry White, a career U.S. diplomat and, at the time, the Cultural Affairs Officer at the Embassy in Morocco, who funded the festival. “There were American flags at all three concerts that spontaneously appeared, were right side up and not on fire.”
Organized by American and local Embassy staff, Moroccan artists and American Joshua Asen—a former Roc-A-Fella records employee and Fulbright Scholar—the festival was a small investment in goodwill. Asen dubbed it “hip-hop diplomacy.”
“One of the main reasons we wanted this shit to happen is you all blind,” says Addoula. “Why aren’t Americans down to do something positive, something that would help change the image people have of America? There may be fucked up people in the American government, but you have to show the people what the real America is, its culture. The only way it’s going to happen is cultural exchange.”
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Addoula, a 26-year-old student studying for a master’s degree in international studies and diplomacy, makes a solid argument. Hip-hop is a worldwide phenomenon, a fact as undeniable as American’s image problem overseas. An American art form that reinforces free speech, self-determination and speaking truth to power —yet is malleable enough to be redefined and owned by people around the world—hip-hop is an ideal vehicle to engage some of our harshest critics. As far as recent American adventures in the Middle East go, I Love Hip Hop in Morocco was a diplomatic bargain. At a time when the war costs billions a month, three hip-hop concerts helped crowds of Muslim youth see the States in a positive light, all for the cost of a mid-priced sedan. Why isn’t the government using hip-hop to its advantage?
Unbeknownst to many, the State Department has enlisted hip-hop artists as cultural diplomats since 1999. But budget realities and bureaucracy’s lumbering pace have curtailed its effectiveness, according to some involved.
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When people think of American cultural diplomacy, Louis Armstrong comes to mind. The jazz legend performed on behalf of the State Department in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Jazz is still a focus of musical cultural diplomacy, but that’s changing. The State Department’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs (ECA) runs a variety of programs that enlist artists as cultural diplomats, under the Cultural Envoy programs. The main musical program is The Rhythm Road: American Music Abroad, a combination performance and workshop project launched with Jazz at Lincoln Center in 2005. ECA coordinates with embassies overseas and provides funding (including travel expenses and an honorarium for artists), and collaborates with Lincoln Center in choosing performers. The program was recently expanded to include an urban music category incorporating hip-hop, fusion and slam poetry.
“We looked at how we could expand our dialogue with the world on a host of issues, and culture is obviously a way to do that,” says Alina Romanowski, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Professional and Cultural Exchanges. “Music is a way to engage with people without the need of interpreters.”
The 2007-2008 Rhythm Road tour sent 10 bands—six jazz and four urban arts ensembles—to perform and run workshops in 56 countries. It’s partly financed by a one million dollar grant from ECA. It may seem like a paltry sum of money, but consider this: The entire cultural diplomacy budget of the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs for 2008 is roughly $10 million, itself a massive increase from 1999, when it was about $900,000. After the Cold War, cultural diplomacy was widely viewed as an unnecessary expense. It took 9/11 and the Iraq War to revive interest.
“The idea was that we lived in a global age and maybe we didn’t have to focus as much on the music,” says Romanowski. “I think what we recognized by the early years of 2000, and certainly after 2001, is that to communicate with young people and get them involved in the dialogue—music is a great way to connect. We needed to get these cultural tools back in the tool kit to engage the younger generation.”
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But is all this just some watered-down hip-hop used as propaganda? Considering the government programs’ educational and diplomatic mission—artists hold workshops with local performers and often speak at press conferences—it’s tricky to argue that “more real” hardcore gangsta MCs should be sent overseas, uncensored, on behalf of the country. But according to one performer, hip-hop lyricist Toni Blackman, participation in the program hasn’t stopped her from getting her message across.
“I’m an artist, a message artist, and believe in using art to make a change,” she says. “Each trip is an affirmation and proves my theory.”
A longtime hip-hop educator and activist who founded the Freestyle Union in Washington, D.C., Blackman was the first hip-hop artist to represent for the State Department. Since traveling to Senegal as a cultural envoy in 1999, she’s seen many facets of diplomacy—ranging from making music videos in the Congo with local female artists to literally being chased off the stage by anti-American protestors on motorcycles during a 2006 show in Medan, Indonesia. Blackman has stopped worrying about the inevtiable criticism that she’s shilling for the Bush administration. Her resumé, which boasts years of hip-hop activism in the Beltway and beyond, speaks for itself. Her focus seems to be squarely on the end results or her actions.
“I’m not for the war, but I think I represent a lot of people in America and being here isn’t being a sell-out,” she says. “I’m doing what I love. I used to be real anti-institution. But we can’t talk about the government like it’s a big monster in the sky. People run the government, and there are good people in the government and there are bad people in the government, and there are people dedicated to counteracting the image of the current administration.”
She does believe these good people need better organization. Things move slowly in government and opportunities are missed, according to Blackman. The government could focus on better planning and promotion for concerts and talent recruitment. Sometimes the embassy staff assigned to coordinate shows isn’t experienced with that type of event planning, not to mention that shows are part of their much larger diplomatic workload. Some are die-hard music fans, and some aren’t.
“One guy I worked with in Ghana had previously worked with Liberace and he took care of me,” she says, laughing. “Made me feel like Diana Ross. But sometimes the government officials try not to be showbusiness-y and don’t promote shows enough. They say, ‘This is service work, we’re not in the business of music.’ But by throwing a concert, you want to be in it. They have trouble balancing.”
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The government, of course, isn’t alone in utilizing hip-hop to foster relationship and social change. Numerous artists and non-profit groups do similar tours, like American Voices, founded in 1993 by Executive Director and classical pianist John Ferguson. Originally focused on bringing American music culture to the former communist countries of Eastern Europe, the organization has expanded its reach to Central and Southeast Asia and started booking hip-hop shows and workshops in 2004. The organization relies on foundations and corporate dollars for funding, but is supported (and booked) by American Embassies and Consulates worldwide. Calling it missionary might be a stretch, until you talk to Chris Gamez, the leader of Havikoro, a Houston breakdance troupe and American Voices’ sole hip-hop group.
“Mom had a vision I would be a preacher and pastor someday,” he says. “I really believe God calls us for a purpose. The Bible said your talent would make a way for you. It’s taken me to 38 countries.”
From Kazakhstan to Latin America, Gamez and Havikoro have run workshops for local dancers and performed for crowds of thousands. MTV Asia covered their show in Vietnam. It helps that the 30-year-old Texan—a youth pastor, educator, cultural diplomat, breakdancer and Christian rapper—is about as family-friendly as hip-hop gets. Gamez and some of his friends even run hip-hop themed educational and after-school programs. Their Mathematics of Hip-Hop presentation uses the pitch shifter to teach positive and negative numbers.
“Using a curse word or degrading somebody, that’s lack of knowledge of another word to use,” Gamez says. “You’re also cutting yourself out of places you can go and perform. That’s one of the purposes of my life, to show the positive side of the culture.”
While he may not personify everyone’s idea of hip-hop, it’s hard to argue Gamez isn’t a representative of hip-hop diplomacy’s effectiveness. Hip-hop’s cultural currency creates an opportunity for communication beyond the normal diplomatic channels, which often focus on the elite or well educated. Expand the cipher worldwide, and you might see tangible results. Many, like Terry White and Toni Blackman, have suggested a better way to fund similar programs might be private or private-public collaborations. But it’s clear more support is needed.
There hasn’t been a follow-up to the first I Love Hip Hop in Morocco festival, or a similar event since, making the event a symbol of what could be possible. Joshua Asen, who filmed the festival for a documentary, is trying to keep the idea alive. He’s taken the movie on the festival circuit and struggled to get similar events featuring local hip-hop artists off the ground with government support. He said he went as far as contacting Karen Hughes, the former Undersecretary of State for Public Diplomacy, but didn’t get a response.
“I’m saying flip it, sponsor American art as it’s being reinterpreted by locals,” says Asen. “You get infinitely more mileage out of that. Having an American artist come over and saying, ‘Hey, you can see him live.’ That’s a slap in the face that doesn’t support indigenous art. But if America supports a local artist, that’s something infinitely more powerful, meaningful and diplomatic. Critics have said you can look at it as propaganda. But these kids have chosen hip-hop for themselves. It’s a democratic message, all about free speech and self-expression, and directly in line with U.S. policy.”