Post by Admin on Aug 22, 2020 4:53:20 GMT
There’s an even stronger rationale to approach Kanye West’s political aspirations with staunch cynicism, given recent incoherent comments diminishing Harriet Tubman’s contributions to abolitionism and alleged fraudulent signatures appearing on his presidential petitions that have since disqualified him from appearing on the ballot in multiple states.
But both Taylor Swift and Kanye West are shining examples of self-serving political advocacy. Their contributions may occasionally highlight worthwhile causes like Kanye’s $2 million USD charitable donation and offering to pay for George Floyd’s daughter’s college tuition, but they often outshine less prominent public figures doing more authentic work.
While Taylor and Kanye operate on extreme ends of the political spectrum given the size of their followings, they are also responding to a climate where popular culture and politics are undeniably intertwined. Celebrity political endorsements are an often-maligned yet inevitable part of the campaign road. Whether it’s by moving the goal-posts on how public figures should protest, or criticizing celebrities’ privilege for not being a part of this mythic “Real America,” conservatives in particular have been quick to spurn prominent voices in the creative industries when they use their platform to speak out. Even performers have been critical of their peers for delving into politics, going back to Dave Chappelle’s “Where’s Ja?” bit.
Yet politicians continue to turn to celebrities and popular culture to bolster their campaigns. Just as public figures can align themselves with a political movement for their own personal branding benefits, politicians who criticize them for doing so are just as quick to exploit those same figures if they are backing the “right” cause.
Given just how publicly toxic American politics have become, using celebrity faces to push a message across the finish line is an expected, if not essential, tactic for campaigns as the election draws near. Just last week Joe Biden’s campaign enlisted Cardi B, fresh off her chart-topping “WAP” single, to interview the Democratic presidential candidate on the mismanagement of the coronavirus, police brutality and education. It was no coincidence. The move trolled the Republican outrage over the explicit nature of the video and allowed Biden, at 77 years old, to openly co-sign a woman of color after her controversial song earned a record-breaking No. 1 Billboard spot and was the subject of countless think-pieces on female empowerment.
Most importantly, it showcased that politicians, at least on the left, are increasingly taking musicians and their political engagement seriously. The Democratic National Convention’s musical lineup is as star-studded as years past, too. Over half of the performers are people of color with Common (don’t tell Bill O’Reilly), John Legend and Jennifer Hudson all lending their voices to the cause.
Now Taylor has been greeted with a warm reception for her political maturation. Recent headlines laud her Twitter activism. CNN gave her two thumbs up: “Taylor Swift is 100% Right About Donald Trump.” Billboard declared “Taylor Swift’s Donald Trump Post Becomes Her Most Liked Tweet Ever.” But for much of her career, Taylor Swift actively avoided political conversations; that silence came from a place of privilege only given to white pop-centric artists. Compare that to critiques of Beyoncé for first being apolitical and then for being too outspoken, or with the condemnation of J. Cole’s similar silence on social justice issues despite his discography examining his pensive “wokeness.” Black artists are expected to show solidarity to political movements from the start, but white celebrities can chime in whenever they’re ready to.
Taylor was rarely pressed despite years of speculation about her political beliefs. Years later she was criticized as calculated at best, as closeted conservative at worst. In 2012, she told TIME that she tried to keep “as educated and informed as possible” but didn’t discuss politics “because it might influence other people,” adding, “I don’t think that I know enough yet in life to be telling people who to vote for.” In 2016, Taylor told Vogue that she didn’t openly endorse Hillary Clinton because Trump had “[weaponized] the idea of the celebrity endorsement.” All she could spare was a lone Instagram post reminding her followers to vote. While hundreds of thousands participated in the 2018 Women’s March on Washington, including fellow celebrities like Rihanna, Zoë Kravitz, HAIM and Lena Waithe, Taylor lended her support from afar. “So much love, pride, and respect for those who marched,” she wrote. “I’m proud to be a woman today, and every day.” It was a positive gesture, but to many of her followers it was seen as too little, too late.
It wasn’t until the 2018 U.S. midterm elections that Taylor broke her political silence to call out Marsha Blackburn, a woman running for Senate in the popstar’s home state of Tennessee for having a voting record that “appalls and terrifies [her].” Despite Taylor’s about-face, Blackburn ended up overcoming a significant polling disadvantage, winning the close election.
Kanye didn’t have the privilege of avoidance. He operated in a genre that demanded he be outspoken politically — and he met that call with open arms. His rise to prominence from JAY-Z’s go-to producer to Grammy Award-winning rapper during the Bush administration coincided with the consciousness promoted by the backpack rap movement of the early aughts. He challenged listeners with early offerings like “We Don’t Care” and “Crack Music” rooted in America’s income inequality and systemic racism, though he has since evolved from proclaiming “George Bush doesn’t care about Black people” to being one of Donald Trump’s biggest public advocates. The driving force behind Kanye’s current presidential run hinges on being contrarian. He often takes it upon himself to speak his version of the truth dripped in bombast and emotion. It isn’t hard to see the similarities between his Hurricane Katrina improvisation to his 2018 White House visit and recent South Carolina campaign rally — even if his stances are contradictory.
But both Taylor Swift and Kanye West are shining examples of self-serving political advocacy. Their contributions may occasionally highlight worthwhile causes like Kanye’s $2 million USD charitable donation and offering to pay for George Floyd’s daughter’s college tuition, but they often outshine less prominent public figures doing more authentic work.
While Taylor and Kanye operate on extreme ends of the political spectrum given the size of their followings, they are also responding to a climate where popular culture and politics are undeniably intertwined. Celebrity political endorsements are an often-maligned yet inevitable part of the campaign road. Whether it’s by moving the goal-posts on how public figures should protest, or criticizing celebrities’ privilege for not being a part of this mythic “Real America,” conservatives in particular have been quick to spurn prominent voices in the creative industries when they use their platform to speak out. Even performers have been critical of their peers for delving into politics, going back to Dave Chappelle’s “Where’s Ja?” bit.
Yet politicians continue to turn to celebrities and popular culture to bolster their campaigns. Just as public figures can align themselves with a political movement for their own personal branding benefits, politicians who criticize them for doing so are just as quick to exploit those same figures if they are backing the “right” cause.
Given just how publicly toxic American politics have become, using celebrity faces to push a message across the finish line is an expected, if not essential, tactic for campaigns as the election draws near. Just last week Joe Biden’s campaign enlisted Cardi B, fresh off her chart-topping “WAP” single, to interview the Democratic presidential candidate on the mismanagement of the coronavirus, police brutality and education. It was no coincidence. The move trolled the Republican outrage over the explicit nature of the video and allowed Biden, at 77 years old, to openly co-sign a woman of color after her controversial song earned a record-breaking No. 1 Billboard spot and was the subject of countless think-pieces on female empowerment.
Most importantly, it showcased that politicians, at least on the left, are increasingly taking musicians and their political engagement seriously. The Democratic National Convention’s musical lineup is as star-studded as years past, too. Over half of the performers are people of color with Common (don’t tell Bill O’Reilly), John Legend and Jennifer Hudson all lending their voices to the cause.
Now Taylor has been greeted with a warm reception for her political maturation. Recent headlines laud her Twitter activism. CNN gave her two thumbs up: “Taylor Swift is 100% Right About Donald Trump.” Billboard declared “Taylor Swift’s Donald Trump Post Becomes Her Most Liked Tweet Ever.” But for much of her career, Taylor Swift actively avoided political conversations; that silence came from a place of privilege only given to white pop-centric artists. Compare that to critiques of Beyoncé for first being apolitical and then for being too outspoken, or with the condemnation of J. Cole’s similar silence on social justice issues despite his discography examining his pensive “wokeness.” Black artists are expected to show solidarity to political movements from the start, but white celebrities can chime in whenever they’re ready to.
Taylor was rarely pressed despite years of speculation about her political beliefs. Years later she was criticized as calculated at best, as closeted conservative at worst. In 2012, she told TIME that she tried to keep “as educated and informed as possible” but didn’t discuss politics “because it might influence other people,” adding, “I don’t think that I know enough yet in life to be telling people who to vote for.” In 2016, Taylor told Vogue that she didn’t openly endorse Hillary Clinton because Trump had “[weaponized] the idea of the celebrity endorsement.” All she could spare was a lone Instagram post reminding her followers to vote. While hundreds of thousands participated in the 2018 Women’s March on Washington, including fellow celebrities like Rihanna, Zoë Kravitz, HAIM and Lena Waithe, Taylor lended her support from afar. “So much love, pride, and respect for those who marched,” she wrote. “I’m proud to be a woman today, and every day.” It was a positive gesture, but to many of her followers it was seen as too little, too late.
It wasn’t until the 2018 U.S. midterm elections that Taylor broke her political silence to call out Marsha Blackburn, a woman running for Senate in the popstar’s home state of Tennessee for having a voting record that “appalls and terrifies [her].” Despite Taylor’s about-face, Blackburn ended up overcoming a significant polling disadvantage, winning the close election.
Kanye didn’t have the privilege of avoidance. He operated in a genre that demanded he be outspoken politically — and he met that call with open arms. His rise to prominence from JAY-Z’s go-to producer to Grammy Award-winning rapper during the Bush administration coincided with the consciousness promoted by the backpack rap movement of the early aughts. He challenged listeners with early offerings like “We Don’t Care” and “Crack Music” rooted in America’s income inequality and systemic racism, though he has since evolved from proclaiming “George Bush doesn’t care about Black people” to being one of Donald Trump’s biggest public advocates. The driving force behind Kanye’s current presidential run hinges on being contrarian. He often takes it upon himself to speak his version of the truth dripped in bombast and emotion. It isn’t hard to see the similarities between his Hurricane Katrina improvisation to his 2018 White House visit and recent South Carolina campaign rally — even if his stances are contradictory.