We often complain that the youth of today subsist on a culture of imitation, but young people in the past did the same. This happens throughout the world, and has done throughout the ages. I also imitated and I think that almost everything begins when inspired by models from outside. My generation imitated the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Elvis Presley, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin. The best way to create one’s own style is to absorb varied and diverse influences. One cannot, in the name of African purity (or any other invented purity), shut the door on other voices. Much of what we call “genuinely African” originated in the cultural exchange with other continents. Nowadays, this exchange is quicker and more effective than ever. But it has always existed: globalization began with the first man.
Through some strange inferiority complex, we are always afraid that others will come and influence us, and we never notice the reverse process. Today, the greatest writers in English are from Asia, the greatest fado singer is from Mozambique, and one of the greatest flamenco singers is a black woman from Equatorial Guinea. And even one of the most famous Portuguese bullfighters is called Ricardo Chibanga.
Certainly, rap and hip hop had their origin in Africa, and now they are returning, altered and Americanized. In the United States, rap and hip hop were born out of political and social protest. Their words constituted, at the time, a radical criticism of serious social problems. The record industry greatly altered this irreverent character of rap. It kept the music, drained the words of any meaning, dressed up the artists, and replaced their social criticism with an extravagantly superficial stereotype. The aggressive and intimidating image of the street gangs became its defining characteristic. The celebration of violence and easy money became constant themes. Women became “bitches” and “hos” and men became “niggers” and “dogs.” The poetry of the songs became degraded in their facile rhymes and in the way the genre’s objectification of women and glorification of violence enforced a distorted view of young American blacks.
What became of the original rappers? In reality, some engaged voices still survive, as is the case of Lauryn Hill who, through her lyrics, continues to fight for social causes. But these cases no longer appear on TV. The new tribal rap of the gangs has gained complete hegemony, as if it were the only music young Americans produce. I don’t watch much television, but I’ve never seen a clip showing the lives and struggles of poor Americans; I’ve never seen a clip showing the daily toil of those millions of workers who are building the American nation. Most video clips portray the easy life, with violent-looking young men at orgies surrounded by scantily clad girls, cavorting next to cars and by luxurious swimming pools, while they dance the whole time in a permanent display of hedonism.
I know that Dama do Bling has complained a lot about some of the criticisms that have been made of her. However, the authors of other types of music have extremely cogent reasons for feeling they are the victims of yet more discrimination. It’s a fact that Dama do Bling has a major stake in a current that dominates the market completely and holds a monopoly of television viewers in thrall. It’s very rare to see or hear other musical genres on television or radio. One can count on the fingers of one’s hands the number of times voices such as that of Mingas, Wazimbo, Roberto Chitsonzo and others, are given any air time.
I began this talk by speaking about how certain elites make a point of pushing traditional music as the only valid form. The same restrictive and emasculating policy against diversity occurs on MTV, which seeks to reduce black American music to rap and hip hop. The same restrictive policy occurs on African radio stations, which give priority to so-called music for dancing, the music of DJs and the dance floor, over the great talents of our continent. How often does one get to see on television singers like Salif Keita, Ismaël Lô, Lokua Kanza, or Sally Nyolo? Are we not all the poorer because of this silent censorship?
And so I’ve mentioned the word censorship, because it can encourage appetites capable of really killing culture and killing José Craveirinha. There are those who might argue whether we should accept that there is censorship in our media. Well, let me tell you this: censorship exists. It exists and is practised against people who want to make other kinds of music. Those who don’t have beautiful bodies, or aren’t willing to swivel their hips in front of the cameras, risk being overlooked. Even if a musician is talented and has extraordinary vocal ability, he will be excluded.
In the cultural supplement of yesterday’s Notícias, there was an entire article devoted to a dance spectacle, Solo para Cinco, in honour of Augusto Cuvilas. I haven’t seen it, but apparently there is too much nudity in this dance show. The newspaper quotes three witnesses. The director of a cultural association has this to say: “This spectacle puts Mozambican cultural values in jeopardy.” An artist has this to say: “I don’t want to censor anything but whoever chose this play isn’t one of ours. Mozambican culture will never veer towards nudity and people must accept our values.” The third opinion is that of a political leader, who says: “This play is an attack on our cultural integrity. . We aren’t closed to the outside world, but in matters of culture we must be immovable.”
We are faced with a sensitive issue, which we might term a prudish attitude. And in this matter, no matter which side we are on, we have to take care not to entrench positions and undermine the debate. I remember that immediately after Independence, I was arrested because I was walking along arm in arm with my wife. For the soldiers who detained me, what I was doing was immoral. Fortunately, nowadays young people can show their affection for one another without being disturbed. But in order not to be disturbed, we must be sure we aren’t disturbing others. Gratuitous provocation can help justify those who defend ideas of censorship and repression.
We need time to absorb critically that which is new. We shouldn’t be in a hurry in such matters. However, we can’t put up with a morality that relies on hypocrisy, or which hurries to denounce feminine excess, but falls shy of denouncing male violence. Or one that hesitates in denouncing the rape of young girls and women, a domestic violence that causes much more harm than erotic dances on TV. The lyrics of Maboazuda are perhaps far more offensive than all the salacious dances of all the female rappers together.
The upholders of puritanism should remember the case of Zaida Chongo and recall the extraordinary popular demonstration that this singer’s funeral became. There’s a sign here, a warning that it is very dangerous to talk in name of an idealized culture. Imagine me going to see the paintings of Naguib, or Idasse, or Malangatana armed with this stupid prejudice against nudity. How many exhibitions of their paintings would the censors have to prohibit?
The idea that globalization brings immorality is very dangerous. Immorality doesn’t come from outside. It already inhabits our society, it even inhabits that which others present as our tradition in all its purity. Globalization isn’t required in order for our children to be raped. Globalization isn’t required for domestic violence and aggression against women to occur.
In conclusion, we need to take the debate about music out of the realm of false morality, and refocus on the debate about artistic quality. What we need to know is whether Mozambican rappers are producing valid works of art, or just commercial products designed for success with audiences.
The artist, whether male or female, can dance and show off his or her body if this corresponds to some creative communication and is not a spectacle intended to show off a physique gratuitously. I would go further: a male or female artist may, in this context, turn nudity into an art form. However, the only thing expected of a singer is the baring of his or her voice.