Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime performance; brilliant. Alas, that is not an shared view. My response to those who emphasized this was the worst Super Bowl performance ever, and by emphasized, I mean continued denigration ? “Consider the possibility you did not understand it or the cultural significance. Maybe it’s not your taste in music. I get it, I’m not an ABBA fan, at all. I cringe. Abba is not my taste, but I would not continually disparage their performance as the worst ever. Come on, they have appeal, Mama Mia the movie, the broadway show, the second movie.” But, just as there were deeper meanings woven into the performance, the spewing of hate of the performance has a deeper meaning to me.
After my comment there would be a flash of indignation or maybe just shock. The responses were a variation of everyone I know agrees with me OR explain it to me. Out of polite exhaustion, I let the words hang in the air and remain silent. This is a break thru pain moment. My mom’s cancer treatment was a steady dose of pain killers so that when things got unbearable, she could be given enough morphine to ease the pain. The same idea is at play. To begin to understand the brilliance of Kendrick Lamar, requires familiarity with current culture – play station controllers, squid games, black history, Ferrari, industry plants, deeper meanings, hidden meanings. I can’t give enough cultural background and explanation to make it make sense. You are asking me to teach you the fundamentals of a foreign language you have no interest in learning because if you did, you’d google that sh#t. To trash the performance in my presence is a dig at me as an African American, not an invitation to discuss. I’m old enough to know the difference. Why do I have to explain our existence?
I am a generational bridge and apparently, a bridge no one wants to cross. In this black history month, I can describe a youth of both segregation and integration; a young adult as the first and only, a workforce consistently paid less for more work and a senior citizen integrating white spaces one room at a time. It’s easier to think of past injustices as history rather than a living breathing person in front of you. To talk to me would destroy any shred of it didn’t happen or I don’t know anyone it happened to, so it can’t be real. A formulaic movie such as Hidden Figures seems to suffice. It broke my heart when this little white boy who looked to be about 8 years old joyfully applauded when Kevin Costner’s character took an axe to the bathroom that said white’s only. This kid had such a good heart, a sense of right and wrong except this was Hollywood. That never happened. The triumph of black women was not enough, there had to be the white hero. Mrs. Katherine Johnson never ran around the NASA campus to use a restroom. When will we be enough?
I grew up with the tradition of the head nod. It’s a small subtle gesture that historically, black people have used to acknowledge each other. While it feels like that tradition is fading fast. I’m just getting older. Black people, for centuries in the United States of America were not allowed to look at white people. Period. We were to show deference. If a negro encountered a white person, the negro was to move or better still clear the sidewalk, look down with a bowed head or risk violence such as being spit on, beaten or lynched. To see another Negro and give a subtle nod was a way to show humanity, I see you. White people would typically be confused when walking with me. It was a combination of, you know a lot of people, was that guy flirting with you. No, we’re black. Or maybe it did in the past. Morerecently, in Oakland the Nod was cool. The Nod was alive. In Boston, not so much.
I understand why some things are lost. All day black church. Back in the days of enslavement, it was a weekly ritual where you could breathe and hold your head up proud without fear of the violence of the whip. For that sacred period, you could live out loud, sing, clap your hands and move your body. For all your hard labor, stress and fear driven week, who wouldn’t want this moment of joy. As a woman, it was a period where you did not have fear of sexual violence and rape.
You do not have to like history to acknowledge it happened. You do not have to understand something to acknowledge it is brilliant. I conclude with the realization, sometimes it’s not on me to explain, defend or do anything thing. There world is a wonderful place and there are lots of resources. My ask this week? Listen/watch this explanation of Kendrick Lamar’s Halftime Performance.
Balancing on Unstable Surfaces 
This is soooo important. Thank you!!!!
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