Falling in love is as beautiful as it is terrifying.
The highs are heavenly, and the lows are nadir. In time for the 50th anniversary of hip-hop, many of us are evaluating the depths of our connection to the genre through an emotional lens because, much like a lover, it holds the dual ability of nurturing…or breaking our spirit. The latest example of this is the mixed reaction to Tory Lanez’s sentencing for his role in the shooting of superstar rap artist Megan Thee Stallion, born Megan Pete.
Lanez, whose legal name is Daystar Peterson, received a 10-year prison sentence on Tuesday, August 8, 2023 in Los Angeles County Superior Court for assaulting Pete, specifically by shooting her in both feet.
In December of last year, a jury found Lanez guilty on three felony counts for the July 2020 incident — assault with a firearm, illegal possession of a firearm and negligent discharge of a gun for shooting Megan Thee Stallion. This decision was made despite Peterson’s vicious two-year-long smear campaign in an attempt to discredit, defame and blatantly disrespect Pete.
Following the sentencing, Los Angeles District Attorney George Gascón acknowledged Megan Thee Stallion’s resilience for gracefully navigating the layers of abuse she faced—first, in the physical form from Lanez. Then, the emotional abuse from the public.
“Over the past three years, Mr. Peterson has engaged in a pattern of conduct that was intended to intimidate Ms. Pete and silence her truths from being heard,” Gascón said. “Women, especially Black women, are afraid to report crimes like assault because they are too often not believed. I commend Megan Pete for her incredible bravery and vulnerability as she underwent months of probing investigation and court appearances where she had to relive her trauma, and the public scrutiny that followed. This case highlighted the numerous ways that our society must do better for women.”
Despite being depicted on tape limping and bleeding immediately after the July 2020 shooting, social media users routinely questioned whether she was ever injured at all. Yes, when initially asked about the incident by treating physicians on the night of the incident, Megan Thee Stallion claimed she stepped on glass as opposed to being shot, but she explained shortly after that she only said that to protect everyone involved from being killed by the police—a justifiable assumption considering our country’s rampant culture of police brutality which reached a fever pitch that summer.
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A few days after the incident, she shared in a written statement that “The narrative that is being reported about Sunday’s morning events are inaccurate and I’d like to set the record straight. On Sunday morning, I suffered gunshot wounds, as a result of a crime that was committed against me and done with the intention to physically harm me.”
She then confirmed during an Instagram Live session on July 27, 2020 that she was indeed shot after a storm of people denied the incident even took place, including high profile hip-hop artists like Rick Ross and 50 Cent (who later apologized) among others.
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A few weeks later, she admitted via social media that Lanez was the one who shot her after remaining silent about naming the perpetrator to “protect another Black man from going to jail.”
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Does that sound familiar?
How often have we, as cis-het Black women, found ourselves protecting the same men we are harmed by?
According to the Institute for Women’s Policy Research, Black women in the U.S. experience higher rates of intimate partner violence, yet rarely report their cases out of fear of the legal ramifications for their abuser. This pathology extends beyond our personal relationships, as evidenced by the fervent support Lanez has received throughout the case proceedings, as well as the sympathetic responses from Black women following his sentencing.
Despite the Lanez’s incessant trolling of Megan Thee Stallion over the last three years—including him releasing a music video for a song entitled “CAP,” which depicts him cutting into a butchered horse leg while brandishing a butchering knife and wearing a bloody apron—Black women have rushed to his defense and even proclaimed they are still fans of his music.
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“The misogyny in hip-hop is damning, and you loved it…still,” explains famed journalist Kierna Mayo in the new Netflix docu-series Ladies First: A Story Of Women In Hip-Hop.
The 4-part show delves into women’s relationship with hip-hop and how, despite them being architects of the movement, they are often regarded as afterthoughts and figurative punching bags.
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dream hampton, who serves as an executive producer for the project posted on Twitter (X) on August 9, “It is not lost on me, for instance, that we’re dropping our series on women in hip hop the day after shorty was sentenced for shooting Meg, one of hip hop’s biggest stars, or that the “culture” has spent a lot of time trolling her, not the actual troll. Happened to Dee 30 yrs ago.”
She’s referring to the brutal assault hip-hop journalist Dee Barnes faced at the hands of Dr. Dre, in which she said he attempted to throw her down a flight of stairs, slammed her head against a wall, kicked her, and stomped on her fingers.
What’s most hurtful? Dre corroborated the incident, as he later told Rolling Stone, “It ain’t no big thing – I just threw her through a door.” Years later he’s heralded as one of the greatest figures in hip-hop, has amassed a billion-dollar fortune and was even invited to perform at the Super Bowl in 2022. Barnes has said her career has still never recovered and she is frozen in everyone’s minds as a victim despite being the first Black woman to host a network television show solely dedicated to hip-hop.
This patriarchy-induced cognitive dissonance we find in hip-hop is largely because we, as fans of the music, uphold its abusive leanings by way of simply singing the lyrics. Some of us have trained our minds to turn a blind eye to the deep misogynoir being peddled because it’s rapped over a decent beat.
“The things that are said in wax are the things that are said en masse, by us.” Mayo adds.
I know—I’ve been guilty of it in the past. That’s why I can comfortably admit that it’s obvious a lot of us Black women have long been victims of Stockholm syndrome and our lover, our abuser, our savior and villain has been hip-hop.
I think it’s time that we show our love for it by finally holding it accountable.