In the back-room theater of a radical coffee shop in Washington, D.C., a group of Iraq war veterans prepare to testify against the occupation they’ve been tasked with enforcing. Much of the audience had just completed a January 2007 protest at the U.S. Capitol building.
This was to be a serious meeting consisting mainly of gruesome war stories told by veterans whose voices crack under the strain of regret. The crowd swells until onlookers can barely squeeze into the narrow theater, which is populated by the intellectual class in one of America’s liberal bastions. They’re about to learn why American convoys ran down Iraqi civilians and burned supplies in front of starving families.
But this is still a coffeehouse, and before the disaffected military members detail the criminal nature of a bungled war, a lanky local rapper will take the stage. On its surface, Son of Nun’s act didn’t fit the occasion in the slightest. Tension had long since filled the room and added a somber undertone to the casual conversation among the liberal activists.
The purest rap is indistinguishable from poetry, and Son of Nun’s effortless rhymes depicted moral decay in the industrialized world with merciless precision. His short set clearly resonated with an audience that probably doesn’t listen to much rap. By its conclusion, the crowd yelled, “Next time!” in response to Son of Nun’s prompt, “The fire.”
Political knowledge imparted past the 4/4 beat and through an irregular rhyme scheme: That’s why hip-hop started in the first place, and it’s no coincidence its most untainted form thrives in our nation’s capitol.
“My goal is to be a soundtrack for that movement,” Son of Nun said in a phone interview over one year since our first meeting. “When I got into politics, music helped to grease the tracks … and channel this anger into action.”
At the Busboys & Poets coffee shop, the impending testimony seems an indispensable civics lesson for our republic. But as I switch on my recorder, there’s no sign of any more journalists. Some of the most important and heavily attended protests since the war began to elicit a few minutes of coverage on 24-hour cable news, a few seconds on the network evening news and Associated Press articles grossly underestimating the crowd’s size.
So, who is going to carry these stories of frustration and calls for revolution to the people for whom the message is intended? That’s where Son of Nun fits in. Socially conscious rappers act as town criers, relaying truth independent of the perceptions of those in power. Revolutionary rappers don’t just appeal to the sensibilities of the ‘hood literati in hopes that a message of enlightenment trickles down to those scraping by in the inner city — they personally deliver the message. The mainstream media may neglect protest, but around these parts, the most trusted news sources aren’t on TV or in print.
From the day-long protest to this gathering at a local coffee shop, the entire day had been about voicing frustrations with government. Despite that, sitting in that room with those soldiers as a morally bankrupt war rolled on thousands of miles away made the crowd restless as they waited for the opportunity to vent.
Son of Nun responded, jumping headlong into a verse, holding white sheets of paper aloft. The first bore the scribbled message “Katrina.”
“Pass the buck when the people were suffering/ Condi bought some shoes and Bush went to Republican functions.”
Another read “Immigrant rights.”
“Your work is insignificant especially if you’re pigmented.”
Later on, it was “military recruiters.”
“Ask a veteran about his medicine and if this war was worth the Purple Heart he got for his prosthetic limb.”
He called out the audience throughout, asking, “Whatcha gonna do?”
Son of Nun said the link between hip-hop and political activism remains strong, despite the small number of political artists who have gained widespread followings compared to the 1960s and ’70s. As in that era, a constant stream of political musicians hone the craft, except now the audience has diminished.
“If the movement is strong, the music will get out there,” S.O.N. said. “But it is hard to find an audience if the movement is weak.”
After the testimony, I waited in line at the coffee shop’s bookstore to get a signed copy of his album. S.O.N’s venues range from standard clubs to full-throated political rallies, proving his versatility as a social clarion and skilled musician — a vital combination S.O.N believes many politically inclined emcees neglect.
“Spend as much time as you can in the movement and draw inspiration from it,” S.O.N. said when asked to give advice to young revolutionary rappers. “You can read a bunch of books, but when you’re actually in it … things congeal and coalesce in your brain.”
After exchanging a few words about local underground hip-hop scenes at the coffee shop, the rapper passed me his business card. It reads: S.O.N. — Revolutionary Emcee.
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Bassey Etim ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in political science and journalism. Find out more about S.O.N. and preview his music at sonofnun.net.
