(Link to full essay: avicenna-stanford-journal-winter-2017).
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YG’s “FDT” Got Me Through 2016, And For That He Deserved A Grammy
I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who naturally fell into disciplined routines. My twin brother is that person. Every night, I watch him prep his lunch (turkey wrap), iron his shirt and pants (“it’s a vibe”), and get his gym bag together. He’s mastered the art of routine. I, on the other hand, seem strangely incapable of “getting it together,” so to speak. I’d much rather scroll through Twitter and Facebook one more time. Nevertheless, on January 19th, 2017, I became that person - the disciplined kind - for one glorious night…sans packed lunch (perfection doesn’t happen overnight). At 7:10pm, I half-jokingly tweeted:
“Obv wearing all black tomorrow in mourning. Minus my red nails and hijab, representing the blood of my fascist enemies. #Inauguration”.
Given that Donald Trump would become President of the Republic the following day, I needed a uniform to reflect my feelings.
The next morning, I got up earlier than usual and got dressed for work. Corny though it may be, I felt emboldened. Upon getting into the car, I quickly did my makeup in the car and decided to go heavy on the dark lip color. Once my winged liquid liner came to a perfect point, and my mascara was applied, I proceeded to open up Spotify and pulled up FDT [F*ck Donald Trump] by YG. YG is an American rapper from Compton, California, and an outspoken opponent of Donald Trump. By the time I pulled up to the Starbucks drive-thru, I was on my second replay of the song and could barely hear myself order. I pulled up to the window to retrieve my order with the volume nearly at max because I wanted everyone to know where I stood that day – the baristas, the patrons, everyone.
I had rearranged my schedule so that I could leave early on Friday, because I had made the decision to attend the women’s march, in spite of its controversy. In preparation for the march, I decided that I would carry a sign. I initially had planned on carrying a sign that read “FYI: I voted for Jill Not Hill” because I didn’t want to be lumped in with the masses of leftist politicians whose positions are in no way representative of me or my view of social justice. Despite the way it rolled off the tongue so easily, I knew it wasn’t the sign. So, I spent a few more days thinking about it. On my commute to and from work, and before going to sleep at night, I racked my brain to think of something clever, subversive, and not mainstream. Finally, two days before the inauguration, it came to me. My sign was going to read: “YG Got Robbed of a Grammy #FuckDonaldTrump”. An obvious reference to the name of the song, but also, a reflection of my innermost feelings towards the 45th President.
Here’s the thing: I’m not joking when I say FDT should’ve won a Grammy. That song was a saving grace for me in 2016 (and now 2017). For a year and a half, I had to endure not only 45’s racist vitriol, but I also had to cope with liberal politics which failed to create an inclusive or relevant campaign. It was astounding to me that he wasn’t shut out like the petulant child he behaved like, but rather, he was given a platform to keep at it. Meanwhile, seemingly to protect themselves from legal ramifications, the media refused to call him out for what he was, a racist white-supremacist. One of the great failures of this country, is the failure to teach people how to identify (and subsequently reject) racism and racist behavior. We remain so firmly rooted in white supremacy, and thus, fail generation after generation because we don’t teach people how to identify racist behavior. Are we too consumed with pretending it doesn’t exist? I think so. It was devastating to be in a position where I had to fight for my humanity every day against the gas-lighting efforts of those around me from both sides.
[On the other hand] I found myself engaging in tireless conversations with people on the Left who seemed prepared to accept Hillary without an critical engagement with her or her platform. Every time I posted about my frustration with Clinton or with the DNC on Facebook, swarms of well-meaning white people urged me to see the good intentions. When I called out both Bill and Hillary Clinton for their dehumanization of Muslim-Americans - effectively reducing our value as citizens to our efficacy in combating terrorism (in two separate speeches, on two separate days) - I was presented with more reasons why I should still support the party, despite clear evidence that the party did not represent my personal interests.
I was never asked by those calling themselves allies how they could help. Instead, they did what they thought was best, which unsurprisingly was not in line with what I needed. They may have said they rejected 45 and his policies, but, time after time they were prepared to “give him a chance” and “hear out his voters.” Just like when they ignored my concerns over Hillary, their engagement with “The Other Side” was another reminder that violations against my humanity, my faith, and other marginalized folks was not a deal-breaker for them. No, what they preferred was that we stayed quiet and docile, so they could discuss the state of America with the other white folks across the table.
In a world where respectability politics reign, the marginalized are expected to endure oppression while staying polite about it. We can’t call out our oppressors, because they might be nice people, who don’t know better, who are “trying”. While the rest of us are expected to live up to impossible standards of enduring and resisting oppression, the people for whose humanity is fully validate by existing power structures get free passes. The power dynamics at play go completely unaddressed.
Finally, on November 9th I broke down in the bathroom alone. My grief was not going to be shared with the people who for so long had attempted to silence my voice, and who had been complicit in creating the conditions that made a Trump presidency possible. Our grief was not the same. They cried because their faith in a democratic (capitalist, white supremacist) system had been shaken. I cried because I felt truly unsafe in the spaces I call home. What I needed on November 9th, and again on January 20th was not a call for “respectful dialogue” or to “hear the other side out.” I needed an unapologetic rejection of everything 45 had come to represent. I needed to hear “F*ck Donald Trump” over and over by someone who wasn’t me.
That’s what YG did, and continues to do, for me and others. Now, it is more important than ever to have voices who do no succumb to the arbitrary rules dictated by white capitalist respectability politics at the center. YG’s song speaks to me so strongly, because it makes me feel acknowledged and loved. It makes me feel like finally, there’s something in the public consciousness that fully rejects everything Trump stands for, and really stands up for the people. That track is a reminder that my humanity is recognized and validated, and that we can, and should, reject Trump with all the anger and passion we can muster, because otherwise, the cycle will continue to repeat itself. YG’s “FDT” is going to mean something important when this period of time is read about in the history books. Maybe then he’ll get the recognition he deserves.
(A follow-up story about my sign at the Women’s March was published by COMPLEX and can be found here: http://www.complex.com/music/2017/01/yg-robbed-grammy)