Dear 'Ye,


You have spent much of your career
defying naysayers and the standards
people have set for you. You refused to
be intimidated by guys on the South Side
of Chicago for your creativity. You broke
free of being only a producer when you
proved Jay Z wrong and became one of
the biggest names in rap music. When
music executives tried to control the
content of your music, you released the
now-infamous "Jesus Walks." When Nike
would not give you creative control over
Yeezys, you took a deal with Adidas
instead.
You are, by definition, defiant. And I love
that about you.


Many in our community applauded your
gall to stand on national television next
to Mike Myers and utter seven words
that shook the nation: "George Bush
doesn't care about black people." We
praised your courage in the wake of the
United States' failed response to
Hurricane Katrina that ultimately
resulted in the loss of many lives. You
articulated the pain behind the tears
many of us cried.
Despite criticism of your "Kanye rants,"
people listen when you speak.
Regardless of your delivery, many of us
find value in your statements on classism
and institutionalized racism. Your voice
elicits responses from fans and critics
alike.
Having said that, Ferguson is happening.
Where are you?


I am deeply troubled by your sudden
quietness in the midst of such powerful
youth activism against police brutality
and state violence. The killing of Mike
Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, has
awakened a movement that even
garnered responses from protesters in
Palestine and Hong Kong, protesters who
are fighting for their own just causes in
their homeland but found a connection
to the injustices that blacks face in the
United States.
Yet you are silent.
Other members of the black
entertainment industry have contributed
in various ways to support the social
movement that has erupted in Ferguson.
John Legend, Jesse Williams, David
Banner, Lupe Fiasco, Killer Mike, Outkast,


J. Cole, Pharrell, and Tef Poe, to name a
few, have voiced concerns and offered
solutions and words of encouragement,
and some have even participated in
protests. Common, during a performance
of his song "Kingdom" on the 2014 BET
Hip-Hop Awards
, was joined onstage by Mike Brown's
parents, provoking deafening silence in
the venue, and Talib Kweli protested in
the streets of Ferguson alongside other
activists.


Yet you are ghost.
Fans have waited to hear from two of
music's biggest stars, Jay Z and Beyoncé.
Unfortunately, I do not expect them to
use their success as a platform to overtly
address current prejudicial injustices in
the black community. It would be
uncharacteristic of them to suddenly
staunchly shoulder this responsibility,
given the cowardice with which they have
broached the subject in the past.


You are different. You have set a
precedent onstage and in interviews on
Jimmy Kimmel Live! and The Breakfast
Club, and let us not forget the "How
Sway" moment on Sirius XM, when you
unpacked being a black face in the white
space of the fashion industry. I commend
your work with Donda's House and the
Common Ground Foundation in
addressing the challenges and violence
that Chicago youths face, but you appear
to have lost your voice on this rather
grand social movement around Ferguson.


But this is not only about you, 'Ye, or
your absence from the discourse on
Ferguson as some of your peers rise to
the occasion. This is about the fact that
without Harry Belafonte, Nina Simone,
Sidney Portier, Ruby Dee, Muhammad
Ali, and so many other black
entertainment activists, you, Jay Z,
Beyoncé, and other black entertainers
today would have likely fallen
particularly short of your success.


Last year Harry Belafonte made this
statement about today's black
entertainers and their participation -- or
general lack thereof -- in the struggle for
justice in black communities:
I think one of the great abuses of this
modern time is that we should have
had such high-profile artists, powerful
celebrities. But they have turned
their back on social responsibility.
That goes for Jay-Z and Beyonce, for
example. Give me Bruce Springsteen,
and now you're talking. I really think
he is black.


There was a more noble time when,
among black entertainers, the label of
"activist" was not only embraced but
expected. Celebrities did not appear to
be more concerned with keeping
endorsement deals than addressing the
chokehold of white supremacy on black
lives. Black entertainers did not possess
the privilege of ignoring community
problems, because they were equally
susceptible to brutalization,
marginalization, and discrimination.


Black entertainers did not use economic
privilege to distance themselves from
plight in the black community; instead, it
was a powerful instrument in political
agenda-setting and the initiation of
change.
Action by black entertainers should in no
way be mistaken for a substitute for the
fervor needed from the masses to carry
out the arduous task of combating
institutionalized racism and
discriminatory barriers. But I challenge
black entertainers to join us in
shouldering the responsibility of
mobilization for social justice -- the way
civil-rights activists of the past feverishly
did, setting the tone for us.
You said, "No one man should have all
that power."
I believe no one man should waste all
that power.

Much Love