By: Christopher Keller
Thinking about it now; it still hasn’t all completely sunk in. Disbelief – the word isn’t near good enough for the different questions and voices that arise around Afrika Bambaataa and the sexual abuse allegations that have plagued him throughout this year.
Anger wouldn’t be enough to describe what I felt when I heard that Bambaataa, the quiet man behind The Zulu Nation (the infamous organization dedicated to peace and the spreading of the Hip-Hop culture around the whole world), was quite possibly using his reputation as, ex-gang member to universal spokesman of Hip-Hop, just as a cover to jerk off minors in the bedroom of some random dusty project building? What in the fuck?!
I’ve been a lifelong Hip-Hop fan and dedicated myself to the culture since the age of thirteen – I have always gone out of my way to give my own words of respect to the man. In the Hip-Hop community; nothing is more strong and unbinding than respect or the reliability of your word.
So shocked just can’t describe the sobriety of that even your heroes are the same people who pass you down the street and give you the cold shoulder, who sit around and gossip among others in hushed tones, who shake your hand and puts on the fakest smile they can muster, who will not hesitate to lie to your face; who, after a hard day of work, comes home and goes into their makeshift rape dungeon in their basement to mercilessly torture young “Billy’s” with sexual abuses till they never want to see their own genitalia ever again.
I sat down and listened to the interviews with accusers and their stories. Stories of a much different man than the one mentioned in classic songs and by artists such as A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul.
These are weird stories of penis biting, group masturbation, and nonchalant exposure that always leads to the same unholy trinity of acceptance, intimidation, and, finally, denial.
They always start off with meeting him, then following him and his ‘’inner circle’’ of original Zulu Nation members around everywhere till it ends up with them, the accusers, going to Bambaataa’s place to hang out…apparently, Bambaataa shared an apartment in The Bronx River Houses with his cousin around the time of these stories which take place all throughout the 1980’s. All the cousin had to say was that he had ‘’suspicions’’ of Bambaataa to be homosexual and heard rumors of the abuse going on in his own home.
Anyways, it’s the stereotypical scene here, complete with unbuckled pants and painful memories; just with the exception of the atmosphere of complete nonchalance. It just happens…this was just a part of being around him like having a beer with your friend or watching your friend roll around in a tub of Vaseline.
These and many other people looked up to him and followed him religiously. His own reputation gave off power and they respected him for that and after this; feared him.
He was their hero; the man who, single-handedly, put an end to the youth gangs of the late 60’s and early 70’s that terrorized the streets of New York City by uniting them with the love of music.
Some fans discover that their hero is just another snob or actually down to earth…they discovered that their hero just wants down their pants. They thought that this was just the price to pay for his respect and they ‘’wanted to be down’’; the ultimate example of peer pressure.
Talking was only an impossibility when they examined their options; risk their own reputation against one of the most legendary men (with heading an equally legendary organization) in the Hip-Hop culture or close their eyes and hope that it ends as fast as it started.
Bambaataa’s organization, The Zulu Nation, only made things worse they stood by and watched with disgust and consumed many drinks on the following night to block out the realization that their leader (and close friend) is an active pedophile but stood silent; why bite the hand that feeds?
To add frosting on the cake that is destined to be thrown away; the organization was rumored to have offered the first victim, Ronald Savage, a sum of around $5,000 to shut him up. When he, and others, did come out with their stories; The Zulu Nation put out a public letter calling to ‘’stop the assaults of Bambaataa’s character and legacy’’. Recently, they put out another letter retracting from their earlier statements, announced a change in leadership, and attempted to stand with the victims while the shadow of Afrika Bambaataa hung low over every word.
As the stories of victims stacked, more and more of the inner circle voiced their own stories of what they’ve seen and one even claimed that Bambaataa hasn’t been a member or has had a position of power in The Zulu Nation as early as 1994. It seemed that they’ve known all along but must have eaten enough off of Bambaataa’s plate to belch and look around to realize that their food was tainted so now it’s the time to call in the health inspectors.
Even now, when I go over the stories again, I can’t escape the constant feeling that I have walked in on something of the lines of seeing your favorite uncle sticking his hand up your little sister’s dress like a puppet but you know that you’re not at the set of ‘’The Muppets”.
There’s just too many similarly detailed stories to deny and now with the nation finally turning it’s back on Bambaataa; it’s just too obvious.
Although his accomplishments should always be remembered and respected, if all is true, he and the nation has lied, to the Hip-Hop community and the victims, with no more thought than he gave when deciding to tug at the belts of minors and is an scar on the face of the Hip-Hop culture so horrific that the best plastic surgeon would take one look than retire the next morning.
THIS is the information age; where even the Internet can show what tabloid magazine editors wished for in their best wet dreams.
It’s time to hang up the capes of our heroes and/or leaders because, yes, we are all human but that is no excuse for sexual abuse or anything that hurts, in any way, the exact people that they are supposed to be helping; not taking them back to their place to watch porn and an afternoon of traumatic memories.
Idolization is not, or ever was, for the information age because the moment when one is put upon a pedestal that surpasses morals and common sense is the same exact one when your hero is taking off your pants to perform fellatio nevertheless if you want it or not.