Black. Lives. Matter.

On May 25, 2020, Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin asphyxiated — murdered — George Floyd, a 46-year old Black man, and in doing so, set the world ablaze. While there are few words I can use to describe the anger, intensity, and despair I have witnessed around me in recent weeks, one thing is definite: the horrific incident has demanded the long-needed attention that we need to address the racism Black people face every single day — and with urgency.

Art has the ability to fuel change. A mural there, a rallying chant here — these can gather and inspire often more effectively than many other means can. A shining example of this, Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright” became the #BlackLivesMatter (BLM) anthem almost by accident. Shortly after the Tamir Rice shooting, sights of police confronting yet another young Black boy led to an impromptu protest on the streets of Cleveland. The subsequent disbanding of the police resulted in people chanting the chorus of “Alright,” and that one serendipitous moment was all it took to establish the musical identity, the voice, of the entire movement.

Let me make what I think is the most obvious statement ever: as citizens of this world, we all have a moral responsibility to speak up in the face of abuse. When you’re famous with millions of Instagram followers, contacts, words and art that reach people, you’re not just responsible, but actually obligated to do so — or so I would think. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look up social media pages of relevant artists to see what statements they’d made in response to Floyd’s death, if any. And if I noticed they hadn’t, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t change my view of them. The platform and influence artists have is a superpower, and in the current explosive climate, using it to speak out has become all the more crucial.

Some artists have stepped up. Kanye West pledged to pay college tuition for George Floyd’s daughter, and financially support the families of both Ahmaud Arbery and Breanna Taylor. Kehlani encouraged her social media following to join her in supporting organizations like the Minnesota Freedom Fund. Jay-Z bought ad pages in several newspapers across the country to raise awareness and honor Floyd. Several others, like H.E.R, Lil Baby, and Trey Songz have channeled their activism into music, releasing tracks that lament the state of our country. Lizzo announced half the proceeds from her new single would go towards BLM-related organizations.

Don’t get me wrong — the purpose of naming these artists isn’t to publicize or praise them, because they’re simply doing what they should be. Rather, their actions indicate the extent to which many members of the music industry can create an impact, financially or otherwise, but still choose not to.

Social media has played a paramount role in fueling this movement. The recent outcry has caused a rise in various types of activism, and it’s obvious which attempts to speak out are genuine and which are not. Unfortunately, the responses of many artists and celebrities, like singer/actress Lea Michele (see her tweet), have qualified as performative activism. Statements like hers seem lazy, obligatory, and honestly, trivializing. It seems typing a few words onto the Internet has been giving people the satisfaction of having accomplished something, but alas, this is false. This issue is too complex, too deeply ingrained into the history, development, and systems of our country (and world) to just be Tweeted away. Phrases like “we must do better” and “things must change” have been floating around aimlessly for too long. Unbacked by concrete actions, they mean nothing.

*******

“On an almost dystopian systemic loop, we watch the public assassination of unarmed black men and women on the world’s main stage.”

In bolded text, this statement explains the fuel behind The Show Must Be Paused, an initiative created by music executives Brianna Agyemang and Jamila Thomas. On June 2, the trending #TheShowMustBePaused hashtag signified major labels, publishing companies, and artists alike stepping back from the limelight in order to reflect, mobilize, and display solidarity with the Black community (and the annoying black squares on social media were just an unintended consequence). The idea was to publicly challenge these parties to hold themselves accountable for past and present mistreatment of Black people, and more importantly, urge them to respond. And it seems so far, it has caused at least some effect. Several major labels announced donations, set up funds, and created new task forces dedicated to inequity and diversity. Some announced employee workshops and discussions meant to spark relevant conversations. Music streaming services also participated — for example, Spotify added an 8 minute, 46 second track of silence in remembrance of the way Floyd died. While this is all well and good, it’ll be interesting to see how the effects actually trickle down to Black people.

As listeners, we can’t pretend we’re blameless either. R&B, as we know and love it today, was in fact built upon racist ideas — it was created to replace “race music:” music made for and by Black people that was segregated from white mainstream genres. Even now, the genre, along with hip-hop and rap, are predominantly Black. We’ve seen race-related controversy even as recent as Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road” in 2019. Initially discredited by Billboard for “not being country enough,” it wasn’t until he recruited white country star Billy Ray Cyrus onto the track that it was recognized by the organization. On the other hand, white artists have had the freedom to profit off of historically Black genres, like R&B and rap, with no qualms at all. This one-sided access to genres, audiences, and sound excludes Black people in a way that is all-too familiar, reminding us that while racism may seem subtler, it is still stronger than ever.

Another major disparity lays in access to executive-level positions of power. On Billboard’s 2016 Power 100 list, which ranks the industry’s most influential individuals, only 10 out of 139 executives were Black. The highest rank reached by a Black music executive was a mere #31. With this lack of racial inclusion in the boardrooms of labels, these wrinkly white men are the ones who end up consistently benefiting off of Black art, stories, and voices. In genres like rap and hip-hop especially, when neither the artists nor the audiences are mostly white, why are the decision-makers? Why are white people disproportionately profiting off of Black culture? Such genres were birthed in the struggles of oppressed Black people, so the fact that their stories must be weaved through a white framework, for white people to profit off of them, is baffling. If we claim to want equity, we must, at the very least, start by letting Black communities regain control of their own narratives. Even Black voices that we think exist, don’t necessarily. Successful Black artists still face an unequal artist-label power dynamic that allows labels to control their public reach, royalties, streaming contracts, and, therefore, the trajectory of their careers.

Personally, the more I’ve been bombarded with experiences and information about the Black experience in America, the more I’ve felt my view of so many seemingly unquestionable authorities turn sour. But – this is exactly the point! The fact that I’m so shocked at what I’ve missed all this time shows me how deep my privilege actually runs, and I hope I’m not alone in this act of self-examination. Passivity just doesn’t cut it anymore because racial politics are in everything, even neutrality. This is why as consumers it is our responsibility to be actively aware of the racially unjust practices that we may be perpetuating. If you listen to hip-hop, reggae, rap, R&B, blues, jazz, even country — you are consuming art that is highly intertwined with the establishment, development, and treatment of Black people in America. These stem everywhere from songs kidnapped African slaves used to communicate, to the rise of rap in the 70s. Whether it’s supporting independent, black-owned music labels, or pressuring major labels to enact internal change, or being conscious of the music we purchase and share, fulfilling part of the onus is on us. Despite always being central to it, Black people have always been marginalized within the music industry (much like society), and it is honestly embarrassing that the same ignorance continues to dictate their treatment over and over again. We owe the Black community, and it’s time we act like it.

A few notes:

– Floyd himself was tied to the hip-hop community, as part of the Houston rap scene and a part of DJ Screw’s rap collective Screwed Up Click! Check him out: he’s featured on this 24-minute track “So Tired of Ballin,” where he joins in around the 14-minute mark. R.I.P. Big Floyd.

– Here is a list of worthy groups that are accepting donations for not only the Black Lives Matter cause, but also several other under-resourced communities – please donate if you are able to!

– Here is a playlist featuring some powerful, meaningful music representing the voices of the Black community during this time.

Written by Sanjana Sanghani.