I got this Indian squaw the day that I met her
Asked her what tribe she with, red dot or feather?
She said: "All you need to know is I'm not a ho
And to get with me you better be Chief Lots-a-Dough."

-Jay-Z, "Girls, Girls, Girls", The Blueprint

Southside I'ma ride till the gas gone
I wish I could call Jesus up on the phone
Like "Lord, I'm still burnin' from the slave trade
Can't reproduce cuz our folks got AIDS..."
But black folks is killin' black folks, not gays!
I spray the AK and pray; why were you late?

-David Banner, "Crossroads", Certified

Peruse the sistagirl blues over at the celebrated minority feminist blog Blackademic these days and parachute into pockmarked, dystopian terrain, another acrimonious battleground cast in midnight dawn where brother clobbers sister to enforce his ideological hegemony within the darker nation and sister lacerates brother to assume her moral omnipotence over the Black body politic. Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee's honored and respected African American gender equality proves a distant detente amid the Black community's historically uncivil war of the sexes. Today, African American HIV infections spiral exponentially.

Every modern African American creative outlet betrays this divide. Faux gangster G-Unit troubadours boast Pyrrhic victories over Buffie the Body's absentee inhibitions in ghostwritten gutter anthems featured on urban airwaves to promote Black nationalist hedonism over fertile black soil, all to shock and awe Bill O'Reilly Americana, too moral and upright and Christian to welcome Mandingo masochism into the American mosaic. Hip hop instigates intra-racial sexual ownership, commodifies the conscious chattel slavery of Black women by Black men for global human consumption. The revolutionary Snoop Dogg fleshes out Stokley Carmichael sexual politics: the only position for women in hip hop is prone.

Outside of the promotion of healthy female body image to the global village (only in comparison to the Mary Kate Olsen model), hip hop exploits Black femininity for Soundscan and Rolling Stone, devolves the conscious daughters of Mary Church Terrell and Mary McCloud Bethune into broken crack addict songbirds and quasi-masculine twisted sisters. Today's around-the-way girl smiles awkwardly, bobs her head to the latest Ciara & Jazze Pha club banger. Her caramel mocha cheek's razor-thin pink scar tissue twists sympathy from practiced conservative cynicism. She's survived gang initiation and gang rape, juvenile hall and teenage pregnancy. Her once athletic, lithe, vibrant Black body now betrays post-partum stretch marks and purple-pink Kaposi's sarcoma lesions. I can't return her smile. Hip hop abandoned this poor Black child, the promiscuous anonymous sex positive feminists never consider.

Hip hop's causal listening casualties attest to its crass consumerism, apathetic amorality, and syncopated sexism. Of course hip hop hates women -- hip hop hates everything. Young Jeezy, the portly Snowman whose t-shirt memorabilia and Dr. Seuss lyricism glorifies Southern street-level cocaine transactions, interests Columbine's children in new-age Negro nihilism for Island Def Jam Music Group's benefit. Marketable immorality will not respect women, especially African American women, a demographic so patently defined by popular culture that authentic sistagirl femininity rests upon the capable shoulders of executive producer Kelsey Grammer. Girlfriends across America impose chemical warfare upon their follicles; they perm and tease and fry their kinky ethnic gifts into processed perversions of Nicole Kidman and Keira Knightley, yet any rapper who calls any sista a bitch for any reason in any song unmasks as a irredeemable misogynist, ignored by decent people everywhere.

NYOIL proved ill prepared to defend his creativity against charges of sexism and misogyny. His controversial YouTube offering, "Y'all Should All Get Lynched", delivers an audiovisual middle finger directed toward today's hood rich hip hop headliners, and critiques with blunt naivete so-called musicians who mass market elementary off-color English end-rhyme to socialize and stereotype self-defeating behaviors into youthful African Americana for global profit. NYOIL does not produce theme music for Disney. The video abounds with Dick Cheney candor; near the end I wondered if this underground offering would link Lil Kim's gaudy sexuality with mushroom clouds. But Black feminist attacks against "Y'all Should All Get Lynched" for misogyny parallel conservative Christian attacks against Fahrenheit 9/11 for unbalanced journalism. Simple shit cannot soothe one's personal agenda. This video displays an angry rant, an audiovisual op-ed, a YouTube diatribe. The new millennium Madd Rapper bellows a simple scream in solidarity with the downtrodden and the insane, the shadowy alcoholics and broken obsidian who dot the Manhattan avenue and clutter the Georgian trap. How many Blackademics would he care about?

Repress nausea; witness the rage of a worthless class. NYOIL's "Y'all Should All Get Lynched" speaks directly to the undifferentiated Black masses, to admonish rap celebrities who waste their powers of persuasion sliding credit cards between voluptuous caramel buttocks, an African American Express Kanye West never expected but probably enjoyed. In turn, online Black feminists admonished NYOIL for anti-melanin misogyny, for pseudo-conscious intra-communal division of Black people through throwaway sexism. One could make the cliche 'crabs in a barrel' reference, but what's the point? As long as various African American constituencies bludgeon each other with Louisville Slugger wedge issues worthless electoral anachronisms like 'the African American vote' or 'Black Power!' or 'We Shall Overcome!' will continue to dissolve the collective philosophical and cultural underpinnings of politicized Blackness. Your skin doesn't matter if your people don't exist.

That's the problem with wedge issues: they all matter, and should matter to all. Misogyny kills people. Sexism breeds date rape and domestic abuse, encourages unhealthy promiscuity and rising single parenthood in the Black community. Poverty persists in urban Black enclaves in part because today's sexist Black machismo disregards male responsibilities of economic production and child rearing, thereby strangling the traditional nuclear family within African Americana. Even without Senator Rick Santorum histrionics, the most radical feminists of color must admit this sad phenomenon currently aerates Black 'lifting as we climb' propaganda, not to mention African American community safety, public health, and buying power. Therefore, African Americans should never devolve misogyny to throwaway language in underground rap, especially when the obvious thesis of this example in part decries the prepackaged misogyny that's killing Black people. Deal with the real: misogyny means more than simple hatespeech.

And make no mistake, NYOIL's "Y'all Should All Get Lynched" presents simple hatespeech, in every sense. Still, his Negro proletariat solidarity bleeds through what amounts to the most frighteningly cynical anti-African American oppression tool reclamation project since Sean Combs' "Vote or Die!" white T's. To recast lynching as justifiable homicide to combat the American commercialism that consistently posits the Black man as narcissistic sociopath and the Black woman as nymphomaniac whore shatters the strongest Christopher Meloni constitution, but before radical Black feminism raises its nappy Tracy Chapman dreadlocks, one would think that lynch law's impossible misappropriation here could be addressed, at least.

You'll never find NYOIL on the cover of Essence. Still, his elementary school polemics clearly identified mainstream hip hop's racist dehumanization of Black women as an immediate developmental concern for African Americana's vulnerable young women. To overlook this fact in order to pepper NYOIL with acidic criticism disrespects only the Black feminist, and characterizes her as a self-interested rabble-rouser ignorant of all logic and reason outside her personal agenda, the uneducated African American anarchist African Americans logically ignore. (La Shawn Barber, we salute you.) Must radical Black feminists offer more fiction than fact like conservative hitwomen Michelle Malkin and Ann Coulter? Real academics raise public debate into human thought's more complex realms, and the radical Black feminist perspective must preserve this vigilance in its interactions with the diverse Black community.

Because when we desire angry Black women, the cultural signposts abound. Hit reality television often centers today around an Omarosa Manigault or a Tiffany Patterson (Flavor of Love's New York), whose obnoxious, angry, egotistical, megalomaniacal personalities forge controversy and resentment from all other people. Secretary of State Dr. Condoleezza Rice and media mogul Oprah Winfrey, arguably the two most powerful and influential African American women on planet Earth, exist more as constructed White institutions rather than flesh and blood human beings. Dr. Rice travels the world to broker toothless examples of executive American impotence while Darfur bleeds out and Iraq flatlines. Unmask our brilliant Black American Princess and reveal Sally Hemings' postmodern sophisticate redux, who patiently waits to conform to her ignoble master's latest unendurable request. Oprah's syndicated White feminism casts Ms. Winfrey as America's Mammy without pretense. Instead of passe cocaine rehab, White celebrity today buys an hour on Oprah's couch, so Tom Cruise, Jennifer Anniston, and the Dixie Chicks wax illogical about their overblown media controversies with Mammy Winfrey, everyone's favorite best friend. If Oprah couldn't buy and sell these cream cheese Caucasians, Madonna might've asked her to breastfeed her adopted Malawian baby.

We end where we begin. Hip hop, patently racist, sexist, and homophobic, appeals as rebel music to privileged Americans unwilling to grapple with the personal-as-political costs of true rebellion. However, those who challenge the new world disorder of globalized prejudice must prize substance over style, and survival over semiotics. Jay-Z's scantily-clad video vixens contribute to their own racial and sexual disrespect, but the abysmal rates of sexually transmitted disease transmission in the Black community present the more damaging Black community crisis. Hip hop will hate women tomorrow. Unless radical Black feminists prove willing to interrogate all these concerns with reason and research, they devalue themselves and their perspectives, and resemble all the other useless, shiftless coons with whom they disagree. Sistas with education must exude the rugged individualism to analyze and interpret problems without clouding their judgment with personal bias and hidden agendas; otherwise, every radical Black feminist representative resembles the overweight quadruple-bypass candidate Ms. Peaches, who fries that chicken like the Pied Piper of clogged arteries and unrepentant minstrelsy. You hear me?

This guttural, anguished scream against the obvious minstrelsy of modern rap offers few solutions and scant hope. In fall 2006 an African American advocates lynching to counteract the unceasing coonery of top selling rap artists like the Ying Yang Twins, 50 Cent, and Jim Jones -- no, I can't believe it either. Any person of color who advocates lynching in any form, for any reason, either does not understand the utter inhumanity and soulless depravity of the original American terrorism, or has already become so detached and so desensitized to his own melanin that his perspective exists outside the barest extremities of unreasonable speech. To lynch is to hate with passion, to kill without remorse, to pillage and slaughter and dismember others based on your hatred of their shared intrinsic identity, and to expect general praise and communal accolades from your fellow Americans amid the bloody greenery of your sociopathic escapades. Before online celebrity sex tapes and baseball, lynching was America's number one pastime, a favored activity John Q. Public never truly laid down. Even today, African Americans endure domestic hate crimes in larger number and proportion than any other group -- no African American should, in my opinion, willfully support lynch law, in any sense, period. NYOIL's cynical suggestion posits lynching as conscious African American uplift, and deserves unceasing scorn and consistent derision for such confused racial solidarity.

For those so battered and bruised by persistent anti-Black (yet all-American) racism that their soft ebony skins glisten purple with the agitated sweat of revenge and shake randomly with the nervous tics of vindictiveness, burning down the master's house with his own kerosene may appeal. There's something underdog, subversive, counterculture (and therefore, cool) about the double agent protagonist for the African American urbanite of my generation, bastard children of James Bond and Tony Montana. What is the ubiquitous Black phrase "from corporate to ghetto" if not an open acknowledgement of our silently disarming disingenuousness? We identify with the stealth sniper, the silent killer, because decades of post-Civil Rights Movement social programming convinces the most reasoned and reasonable among us that the sensible next step toward that bright, black utopia called "There" in the Black community involves the forced injection of our best and brightest into all institutions of education, capital, influence, and power in modern American society. Affirmative action, repugnant though it may remain for those privileged Black thinkers who can afford to wax philosophical about the indignities of matriculation and hiring decisions based on factors outside simple merit, continues to command nigh-total support in the Black community because we can never shed our plantation two-face. "We wear the mask that grins and lies," wrote Paul Laurance Dunbar in 1896, and frankly, as NYOIL's boorish consciousness points out, our mascara's running.

It's so utterly repugnant, his video's concept of lynching as community uplift, so unbelievably bad that one must assume the artist himself simply does not recognize the import of his chosen diction, does not understand the unmitigated hell of the lynching. Lynching can not be redeemed or recast to serve the interests of Black people; like the original American hatespeech -- nigger, it will always remain a tool of anti-African American antagonism, beyond misplaced reclamation and earnest colorblind casting. Real anti-racist action innovates; useful pro-Black creativity always offers something new and untried and never before seen. The sit-in, the teach-in, the boycott, the protest march, the prayer meeting, the voter registration drive, the impassioned poetry of radical ideologues and the building takeovers of student status quo antagonists -- all these African American Civil Rights Movement innovations outline the modern social movement playbook every emergent minority group currently utilizes to redefine freedom for their members and force recognition of their specific agendas into our attention deficit disordered pop up populace. Black people wrote the original identity politics playbook. African Americana exudes creative resistance without self-hate; the literary genius of James Baldwin and the moody artistry of Miles Davis, the compelling humanity of Sidney Poitier and the rhetorical supremacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. provide profiles of the exceptional, but not the exception. We are both beautiful and Black; we learned this with bitter tears and inexpressible sacrifice, hanging from the poplar trees of Billie Holiday's America.