The End of Chiraq: A Literary Mixtape (Second to None: Chicago Stories) - Softcover

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0810137186 ISBN 13: 9780810137189

Verlag: NORTHWESTERN UNIV PR, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

The End of Chiraq: A Literary Mixtape is a collection of poems, rap lyrics, short stories, essays, interviews, and artwork about Chicago, the city that came to be known as "Chiraq" ("Chicago" + "Iraq"), and the people who live in its vibrant and occasionally violent neighborhoods. Tuned to the work of Chicago’s youth, especially the emerging artists and activists surrounding Young Chicago Authors, this literary mixtape unpacks the meanings of “Chiraq” as both a vexed term and a space of possibility.

"Chiraq" has come to connote the violence—interpersonal and structural—that many Chicago youth regularly experience. But the contributors to The End of Chiraq show that Chicago is much more than Chiraq. Instead, they demonstrate how young people are thinking and mobilizing, engaged in a process of creating a new and safer world for themselves, their communities, and their city.

In true mixtape fashion, the book is an exercise in "low end theory" that does not just include so-called underground and marginal voices, but foregrounds them. Edited by award-winning poets, writers, and teachers Javon Johnson and Kevin Coval, The End of Chiraq addresses head-on the troublesome relationship between Chicago and Chiraq and envisions a future in which both might be transformed.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

JAVON JOHNSON is an assistant professor of African American Studies at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and the director of African American and African diaspora studies. He is the author of Killing Poetry: Blackness and the Making of Slam and Spoken Word Communities (2017) and is an award-winning spoken word poet who has appeared on HBO, BET, and TVOne.

KEVIN COVAL is the founder of Louder Than a Bomb: The Chicago Youth Poetry Festival and artistic director of Young Chicago Authors. He is the coeditor of The BreakBeat Poets: New American Poetry in the Age of Hip-Hop (2015); author of A People’s History of Chicago, Schtick, L-vis Lives!,and Slingshots (A Hip-Hop Poetica); and author (with Idris Goodwin) of This Is Modern Art.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The End of Chiraq

A Literary Mixtape

By Javon Johnson, Kevin Coval

Northwestern University Press

Copyright © 2018 Northwestern University Press
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8101-3718-9

CHAPTER 1

on hearing King Louie

Andrew Barber

I don't remember when I first heard the term Chiraq, but I do remember what made me never forget it. April 21, 2011. King Louie, who was just starting to bubble up in the Chicago scene, dropped one of (in this writer's opinion) his best projects to date. It was titled Chiraq, Drillinois. A clever play on words, which further spiked my interest in the Chicago rapper. At the time, I wrote in my post, "Greatest. Mixtape. Title. Ever."

In 2011, Drill wasn't yet a bad word. Neither was Chiraq. The world hadn't had time to digest either of them. Drill was a verb before it became a genre of music. Did it have negative connotations? Sometimes. But it wasn't always a negative term. That is, until the press got hold of it.

The term Drill was coined by King Louie's good friend and fellow rapper Pacman, who was affiliated with the L.E.P. Bogus Boys. Sadly, Pacman never got the chance to see his term go global or turn into a genre of music, as he was tragically murdered in June of 2010 — two full years before the Drill craze swept the music business.

By 2012, Drill had taken the world by storm. Fans, press, and publications became obsessed with artists such as Chief Keef, King Louie, and Lil Durk, who would go on to define the genre. This is when the term Chiraq took off as well.

The word Chiraq became polarizing. Some used it to describe the city they called home — wearing it as a badge of honor, while others called it a disgrace to their beautiful city. Sure, Chicago had its fair share of problems, but what big city doesn't?

Pro- and anti-Chiraq campaigns both took flight, and the city became divided — much like its hip-hop scene. Chiraq quickly became a cool buzzword for out-of-towners looking to cash in on the tumultuous scene. A half-dozen documentaries were made using the title, and Spike Lee even had the balls to come here and film a motion picture under the name (I still can't believe that didn't get shut down).

In 2016, the term Chiraq lives in purgatory. Many still use it. Most still hate it. But it's never going away. It's become synonymous with Chicago — and will be forever. Other cities have even jumped on the trend of naming their city after a war-torn Middle Eastern country (see Napganistan, a.k.a. Indianapolis). So yes, Chicago continues to push trends, even if it's a trend we don't necessarily like. Word to Keith Cozart.

Chiraq is dead. Long live Chiraq.

CHAPTER 2

when King Louie first heard the word chiraq

Kevin Coval


2010

it was so hot
freezers became furnaces.
all the cheese
melted from spicy chips.
everybody's hands were red.
the air
a sleeping bag
of blood.
shoes dangled on telephone wires
like missiles
toes
tigers. pick one
block everybody
know somebody
who not
a body
anymore.
King Louie
must've been coming out the bag
of a crown royal, purple velour wrapped
round his hand, bands, knots, a split
swisher, sweet about his mane of wool.
eyes a flame, feet dipped in Bronze
nikes like the ville, the fire. this time
a kid might've said it slick.
a little cousin, cuzo
making a geo-political assessment,
a vernacular ingenuitious flip
& critical pronouncement
when addressing the amount
of violence & bodies
& occupying forces
responsible for the bodies
& violence & militarization
of the block. desert eagles
food deserts. countering
the myth of intervention:
the war on drugs, enduring
freedom, weapons of mass
desecration. some little son,
some little body dropped
this Chiraq
out the mouth
like a screwdriver,
running from forces far
greater & better
funded, more insidious
& sadistic.
& King Louie
mighta waited on the block
to clear, for the heat to dissipate
like october, the lights to chill
like dusk, as this shiny gem
layed in the street like someone
lost a dead
president but didn't know it.
he scooped it in his pocket.
touched its smooth Black earth
like obsidian, this history & death
he held close, anticipating the right
moment to share, to say it like a spell,
a whisper he plucked from air & was keeping
for the fall
to come

CHAPTER 3

To Live and Die in "Chiraq"

Mariame Kaba

"Michael's been shot," the voice on the phone says.

"He's alive. He'll recover."

I breathe ... easier;

temporarily relieved.

Michael is eighteen and on borrowed time. He reminds me regularly that he's not long for this world. I've heard the words (in some variation) so often that they now pour off me like water from a showerhead. What is the antidote to this certainty about one's impending death? I've lost my tongue. I want to break my silence to say that I love him and would be devastated if he didn't live until he is (at least) one hundred. But I don't respond. I pretend that I don't hear the words. I am numb and I can't guarantee that he will live to become an old man. He's young, black, poor, and living on the West Side of Chicago. I steel myself for bad news every morning, and this time it arrives.

Michael belongs to the tribe of the young and the unmoored. His body is passing through and he has no expectations of staying. We rode on the L together once. Michael's voice boomed throughout the trip. I asked him to lower it. He looked at me for a moment and kept loud-talking. I was embarrassed at his display and felt disrespected that he ignored my request. As soon as we got off the L, his voice returned to its normal decibel level. I asked why he spoke so loudly on the train. His response: "I want them uncomfortable and they need to know that I was here." My anger dissipated, and I've never forgotten his words. They are seared in my mind: "They need to know that I was here." We've never spoken of what it's like to feel "not here."

It's part of a now-familiar ritual for those who live or have lived in Chicago. The press reports on shootings and homicides with almost no context (historical or otherwise). Faceless and sometimes nameless numbers are tallied like baseball box scores. And this is fitting in its own way. The prurient voyeuristic sensational coverage is its own sport. Seven shots fired. The boy was hit five times. Fifteen other people riddled with bullets today. Four dead. It's not yet midnight.

After a couple of decades when overall shootings and homicides in Chicago were consistently decreasing, the last couple of years have seen a rise in shootings from a historically low base. If you ask people living in the most marginalized communities in Chicago, they will tell you that violence is at record levels and untenable. Their perceptions are (comparatively but not in the aggregate) accurate because there is a growing crime and violence (separate but overlapping issues) gap in Chicago. Researcher Daniel Hertz (2013) suggests a plausible explanation for the gap between actual numbers and perception: "Over the last twenty years, at the same time as overall crime has declined, the inequality of violence in Chicago has skyrocketed." Hertz was interviewed about the concept of inequality of violence, and he expounded on the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: NORTHWESTERN UNIV PR
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0810137186
• ISBN 13: 9780810137189
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 192
• Herausgeber: Johnson Javon
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Buchpark GmbH; gpsr@buchpark.de; ; Krügerweg 1; Trebbin; Brandenburg; 14959; Deutschland