Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.
For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.
The End of Chiraq: A Literary Mixtape
192Overview
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.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780810137189 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Northwestern University Press |
| Publication date: | 05/15/2018 |
| Series: | Second to None: Chicago Stories Series |
| Pages: | 192 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
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.
Read an Excerpt
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 2when King Louie first heard the word chiraq
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 idea:
It's always been unequal. Everybody who lives in Chicago or knows anything about Chicago knows that there's a big gap in many indicators of quality of life, broadly speaking between richer neighborhoods on the North Side and poorer neighborhoods on the South and West Side, and has been for a very long time. But that gap in terms of violent crime has gotten much, much worse. In the early '90s, the most dangerous part of the city had about six times as many homicides as the safest third of the city. Today that number is about 15 times.
Chicago is still one of the most segregated cities in the country, and patterns of violence reflect that segregation. How safe you feel in Chicago very much depends on your race and class positions. The violence experienced by young people of color in the city is multidimensional — both interpersonal and structural. So many of the young have to swallow their rage as they are surveilled in stores and on the streets, as they are targeted by cops for endless stops and frisks, as they are denied jobs, as their schools are closed, and as they are locked in cages by the thousands. For some, the violations and the deprivation turn outward. The instrumental use of violence by some young people becomes a rational adaptive strategy in response to racial and economic oppression. For some of the young people I've worked with, the specter of death is a constant companion. A young man who has been behind bars for most of his formative years has told me on more than one occasion that he was always certain his life only held two viable possibilities: "die in the streets or die in prison."
The failures of every Chicago institution (schools, government, law enforcement, and more) pile up and crush hope. The cops spin tall tales to distract and to justify more violence. New Chicago police superintendent Eddie Johnson recently told an assembled crowd: "When I started as a patrolman in 1988, the average age of our shooters [was] nineteen, twenty years old. ... Right now, the average is fifteen, sixteen years old." His words are deceptive; the average age of young people who sometimes commit violence with guns is between twenty-one and twenty-two. Eddie conjures baby "super-predators." What purpose does the lie serve? Is it to make children into enemy combatants whose deaths shouldn't be mourned? Isn't the truth dramatic enough?
In this city they've renamed "Chiraq," young black men live precariously. The act of renaming the stolen land upon which they live, considered to be agency by some, perversely seals their fate. "Chiraq" is a war zone that invites outsiders to offer their prescriptions for how to "solve" the problem of violence. In "Chiraq," community voices are drowned out. Community members become enemies or victims without agency or expertise on their own lives. "Chiraq" conditions how we think of ourselves and our neighbors. It traps us into considering solutions that are steeped in a punishment mindset. Adopting war zone metaphors puts a ceiling on our imaginations and constrains how we might address violence and harm. After all, you respond to tanks with more artillery and not with a peace circle. Restorative or transformative justice requires us to build trust and to establish relationships. This is difficult to do in "war zones," where suspicion and lack of trust are the order of the day.
"Chiraq" obliterates solidarity and invites (more) assaults. Politicians and other civic "leaders" unironically call for the National Guard to be deployed and martial law imposed to quell violence they've co-created. What the proponents of this so-called antiviolence strategy fail to appreciate is that the Chicago Police Department (CPD) is already one of the most militarized forces in the world. More police and martial law will not end violence. If anything, they exacerbate violence for far too many young people.
It's understandable why so many people rely on war metaphors. They hope that it will convey urgency and seriousness of purpose. It's an attempt to make violence against black people legible. But black people (in particular) are not seen as human — therefore the urgency sought is by definition unattainable. The government and its representatives will not be rushing any time soon to provide needed resources (living-wage jobs, good schools, free healthcare, recreational opportunities, and more). Without a mass movement, they won't implement the policies and programs that give young black people in Chicago the belief that they matter and will have a future. Black lives have been and are unfortunately seen as disposable. And by using war language, black people are further oppressed (if that's possible). They are only flesh to be acted upon, casualties of a profoundly antiblack world.
I visit Michael in the hospital. I hate hospitals. He smiles wanly. I burst into tears. The temporary relief I feel is quickly replaced by dread that can't be dislodged from the pit of my stomach. I worry about retaliation. I worry about Michael. This is a young man living in exile in his own country. His humanity is unacknowledged. He languishes in a place that Richard Wright has called "No Man's Land." He is allowed no feelings. He is just a threat: all of our fears rest on and in him. I remember our ride on the L and his words to me: "They need to know that I was here." I realize that he is demanding to be "seen" by the larger world. Maybe the gun is his way of writing himself into our national story with a pen dipped in blood: an urgent message from a metaphorical war zone called Chiraq.
CHAPTER 4Rome Wasn't Built in a Day
Memories
Aneko Jackson
Remember how Summer Time Chicago used to be?
As I walk down the street,
My childhood replays itself
In front of me.
Juke Parties.
The Bud Billiken.
And chips was fo' fo' a dolla.
Broken fire hydrants for those who didn't want to go to the pool
And courts was full of boys shootin hoops.
Parents teaching me to step at the family bbq.
And as I got older,
My childhood must have took a wrong turn at a corner
Cause it ain't like that no more
Chicago became Chiraq
And little boys be afraid to be Black.
The only gang they fear is the one who wears the badge.
Summer Time Chi ain't nothing but a distant memory of nostalgia & bliss
And things you miss.
Sometimes I want to live in my memories.
A sudden tap on my back snatches me out of my reverie
And instantly I'm back
To a War in Chiraq
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The End of Chiraq"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Northwestern University Press.
Excerpted by permission of Northwestern University Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Preface Javon Johnson xi
Intro Javon Johnson xv
Welcome to Chiraq
On hearing King Louie Andrew Barber 5
When King Louie first heard the word chiraq Kevin Coval 7
To Live and Die in "Chiraq" Mariame Kaba 9
Rome Wasn't Built in a Day Malcolm London 13
Memories Aneko Jackson 16
Windowpain: Bryce Thomas Nile Lansana 17
My grandmother tells me and my cousins why she hates the word Chiraq … Demetrius Amparan 19
Do we even need to be understood to get free? Page May 21
9 of Disks Fatimah Asghar 23
Frank Bradely
Interview Aneko Jackson 25
How America Loves Chicago's Ghosts More Than the People Still Living in the City: An Erasure Poem Jacqui Germain 27
A Tale of Two & Many Cities
I Am Windy City Patricia Frazier 31
FAKE Toaster 32
Concrete Flowers Aneko Jackson 35
Chicago is the world's Harold's chicken box Kara Jackson 36
When asked about Chicago: A confession Alfonzo Kahlil 37
History, as Written by the Victors Krista Franklin 39
Ye though I walk through Chi Naudia J. Williams 42
Ghazal for White Hen Pantry Jamila Woods 43
Holy Hermosa Sara Salgado 44
Corn man on every corner Sammy Ortega 46
Into a White Neighborhood Melinda Hernandez 48
Poem for Cal City: Confession José Olivarez 50
In the Bridgeport row house Natalie Rose Richardson 52
I'm from Chicago, but Not Really Michael Cuaresma 53
Daughter Claire DeRosa 54
Damon: Gwendolyn Brooks College Prep Louder Than a Bomb Team 56
Flatline Raymesha Henry 60
Black Boy Dreams Aneko Jackson 62
Ode to North Lawndale Anton Charles Sanders 63
Contesting the Narrative
Drill Breanna Bonslater 67
Why Is the Chicago Police Department Targeting Chief Keef? Jake "Krez" Krzeczowski 68
We real Kevin Coval 73
Why do black boys smoke so much weed? Demetrius Amparan 74
Kill the Noise(y) Tara C. Mahadevan 75
Windowpain: Raymond a.k.a. Lil' Ray Nile Lansana 78
The GO: Marwin "Stark of HUEY" Williams 80
Notes for Mars Blackmon on the making of Spike Lee's film Chi-Raq Kevin Coval 82
Why I'm bootlegging Chi-Raq: A Nate Marshall Joint 86
The Culture Is the Art
Rethinking Revolution: Creating Space for the Black Body through the Spoken Word Alfonzo Kahlil 91
Hip-Hop Poet Marvin Tate 95
Woop Wop De Bam Nate Marshall 97
Search KZ 98
The Stoop Jalen Kobayashi 100
Slay KZ 103
Speak E'mon Lauren 105
I TAG CTA Sammy Ortega 106
Flower Breaking through the Concrete: An Interview with Liz Lazdins Leah Love 107
In the business: a manifesto Kane One 111
On Afro-Futurism: A Roundtable with D. Denenge Akpem, Damon Locks, and Ytasha L. Womack Leah Love 113
Captives public showing Matthew Wilbourn 119
The Future of Chicago 123
Ghost Town Idris Goodwin 123
Mama Emily tells the story Sarah McKee 125
Out the Trap: Building with the Elephant Rebellion Grace Jones 128
Paradise on fire Jahnari Pruitt 133
How to Win Reparations: Chicago's Model Legislation Where Actitvists Have Their Sights Set Next Yana Kunichoff Sarah Macaraeg 135
BY & BY Jamila Woods 145
Somewhere, Upcoming Kara Jackson 147
Toward the Unreasonable Page May Nate Marshall 148
Water Pressure Sammy Ortega 152
#BlackLivesMatter and … the Six Unconditionals Dr. Haki Madhubuti 153
Ode to Dawn Gellila Asmamaw 158
Outro Kevin Coval 161