They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us

Abdurraqib considers the performativity of both professional wrestling and rap. Though wrestler Ric Flair came from humble origins, the image he presented to the public was one of ostentatious wealth and glamor; by contrast, his fellow wrestler and rival Dusty Rhodes framed himself as a working-class hero. Abdurraqib considers the different variations on the American Dream these men embodied in their wrestling personas—a “living dream” versus “the possibility of dreaming larger” (125). For Abdurraqib, growing up in poverty, the former was more appealing; he recalls buying all the luxury shoes he saw famous rappers wearing as soon as he could afford them.

Abdurraqib analyzes a single moment in basketball history—Allen Iverson, then a rookie, playing Michael Jordan in 1996. Iverson had a rocky past and finished his high school career in a juvenile detention center. He was known to be passionate and to skip practice. Because of this, many people stereotyped him as “a thug.” Despite having his own vices, Jordan, in contrast, was viewed as “the kind of Black person [white] people wouldn’t mind living next to” (125). The two men represented two differing camps in the NBA—one that was loud and unapologetic in its opinions (Iverson) and one that performed Blackness as the white media desired (Jordan). In later years, the NBA even adopted a dress code in response to Iverson’s look—one inspired by hip-hop.

Iverson ultimately performed a crossover—a move that entails fooling one’s opponent—while playing Jordan. This was the first time Abdurraqib encountered a player in whom he could see himself and his own aspirations.

Abdurraqib describes a picture of Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston, focusing on the joy and innocence of the scene as compared to the long history of racist violence: “I wish for a home in that darkness a small & black eternity” (129). Referencing the lyrics of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” Abdurraqib recalls searching for connection amid the friendships and romantic flings of his younger years. After alluding to both Jackson’s and Houston’s deaths, Abdurraqib suggests that the opulence of their funerals was an act of love and appreciation for their community before concluding that he wants “all pictures of [him] loving [his] people to be in color” (131).

Abdurraqib recalls trying to watch the 1991 movie Boyz n the Hood for the first time shortly after seeing footage of the murder of Rodney King; Abdurraqib was seven at the time, and his mother turned the movie off. When he returned to the movie years later, however, what impressed him was not the violence but rather the bonds between characters and their loyalty to their community, regardless of their choices. Abdurraqib describes his lifelong affection for Ice Cube as a similarly complex person: “A person is a whole person when they are good sometimes, but not always, and loved by someone regardless” (137). As Abdurraqib reflects on the many videos of Black people murdered by police, he reiterates his gratitude for the Black men in his life and stresses the need to understand each person in their totality rather than focus on the often violent circumstances of their deaths.

Looking primarily at the music of Kendrick Lamar, Abdurraqib explores Black joy and the Black community and its resilience. He focuses on the way Black people greet each other, often responding to the question of “how you’ve been” by saying, “all right.” Abdurraqib finds this telling; in a world where Black people are constantly subject to violence and death, “all right” is a more feasible goal than “good.” However, Abdurraqib also finds a certain kind of hope in “all right”—including Lamar’s song of the same name (“Alright”), which he connects to the history of Black gospel music. Acknowledging the brokenness of society can be a way of finding joy and connection, as it testifies to the strength required simply to survive.

This essay looks at the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, which was strained nearly to a breaking point by the influx of refugees from New Orleans. Noting that Baton Rouge’s musical scene had always suffered in comparison to its famous neighbor, Abdurraqib discusses the 2007 remix “Wipe Me Down,” which featured three Baton Rouge rappers: Lil Boosie, Webbie, and Foxx. Through examining the music video for the song, Abdurraqib emphasizes the importance of self-love and confidence, especially when few expect you to have confidence: What might look like boastfulness, Abdurraqib argues, is aspiration and generosity. He links this to fashion trends he has embraced at one point or another, including oversized pants and white sneakers, arguing that the impracticality and performativity are the point. Although Lil Boosie, Webbie, and Foxx’s success was in some ways “short-lived,” Abdurraqib finds hope in the fact that Boosie recreated himself after a stint in prison, much as Baton Rouge has survived the difficulties of the post-Katrina years.

Abdurraqib recalls a friend who broke up with his girlfriend but continued to live with her for the duration of their lease. This meditation on the difficulty of cutting ties segues into a discussion of Fleetwood Mac’s breakup album, Rumours. Many of the members of the band were dating or married—to each other or to outside people—and experienced the dissolution of those relationships preceding or during the recording of the album. This album was successful, indicating that the group profited off of their very public grief. Abdurraqib argues that the album shows that some relationships—despite their messiness or pain—are essential and unavoidable.