HOLD A SEAT WHILE WE TAKE YOU DOWN MEMORY LANE

Music Industry Exec Says Gangsta Rap is Designed to Send Black People to Prison

Hello,

After more than 20 years, I’ve finally decided to tell the world what I witnessed in 1991, which I believe was one of the biggest turning point in popular music, and ultimately American society. I have struggled for a long time weighing the pros and cons of making this story public as I was reluctant to implicate the individuals who were present that day. So I’ve simply decided to leave out names and all the details that may risk my personal well being and that of those who were, like me, dragged into something they weren’t ready for.

Between the late 80′s and early 90’s, I was what you may call a “decision maker” with one of the more established company in the music industry. I came from Europe in the early 80’s and quickly established myself in the business. The industry was different back then. Since technology and media weren’t accessible to people like they are today, the industry had more control over the public and had the means to influence them anyway it wanted.

This may explain why in early 1991, I was invited to attend a closed door meeting with a small group of music business insiders to discuss rap music’s new direction. Little did I know that we would be asked to participate in one of the most unethical and destructive business practice I’ve ever seen.

The meeting was held at a private residence on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I remember about 25 to 30 people being there, most of them familiar faces. Speaking to those I knew, we joked about the theme of the meeting as many of us did not care for rap music and failed to see the purpose of being invited to a private gathering to discuss its future.

Among the attendees was a small group of unfamiliar faces who stayed to themselves and made no attempt to socialize beyond their circle. Based on their behavior and formal appearances, they didn’t seem to be in our industry. Our casual chatter was interrupted when we were asked to sign a confidentiality agreement preventing us from publicly discussing the information presented during the meeting. Needless to say, this intrigued and in some cases disturbed many of us.

The agreement was only a page long but very clear on the matter and consequences which stated that violating the terms would result in job termination. We asked several people what this meeting was about and the reason for such secrecy but couldn’t find anyone who had answers for us. A few people refused to sign and walked out. No one stopped them. I was tempted to follow but curiosity got the best of me. A man who was part of the “unfamiliar” group collected the agreements from us.

Quickly after the meeting began, one of my industry colleagues (who shall remain nameless like everyone else) thanked us for attending. He then gave the floor to a man who only introduced himself by first name and gave no further details about his personal background. I think he was the owner of the residence but it was never confirmed. He briefly praised all of us for the success we had achieved in our industry and congratulated us for being selected as part of this small group of “decision makers”. At this point I begin to feel slightly uncomfortable at the strangeness of this gathering.

The subject quickly changed as the speaker went on to tell us that the respective companies we represented had invested in a very profitable industry which could become even more rewarding with our active involvement. He explained that the companies we work for had invested millions into the building of privately owned prisons and that our positions of influence in the music industry would actually impact the profitability of these investments. I remember many of us in the group immediately looking at each other in confusion. At the time, I didn’t know what a private prison was but I wasn’t the only one.

Sure enough, someone asked what these prisons were and what any of this had to do with us. We were told that these prisons were built by privately owned companies who received funding from the government based on the number of inmates. The more inmates, the more money the government would pay these prisons. It was also made clear to us that since these prisons are privately owned, as they become publicly traded, we’d be able to buy shares. Most of us were taken back by this.

Again, a couple of people asked what this had to do with us. At this point, my industry colleague who had first opened the meeting took the floor again and answered our questions. He told us that since our employers had become silent investors in this prison business, it was now in their interest to make sure that these prisons remained filled. Our job would be to help make this happen by marketing music which promotes criminal behavior, rap being the music of choice. He assured us that this would be a great situation for us because rap music was becoming an increasingly profitable market for our companies, and as employee, we’d also be able to buy personal stocks in these prisons. Immediately, silence came over the room. You could have heard a pin drop. I remember looking around to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and saw half of the people with dropped jaws.

My daze was interrupted when someone shouted, “Is this a f****** joke?” At this point things became chaotic. Two of the men who were part of the “unfamiliar” group grabbed the man who shouted out and attempted to remove him from the house. A few of us, myself included, tried to intervene. One of them pulled out a gun and we all backed off. They separated us from the crowd and all four of us were escorted outside. My industry colleague who had opened the meeting earlier hurried out to meet us and reminded us that we had signed agreement and would suffer the consequences of speaking about this publicly or even with those who attended the meeting.

I asked him why he was involved with something this corrupt and he replied that it was bigger than the music business and nothing we’d want to challenge without risking consequences. We all protested and as he walked back into the house I remember word for word the last thing he said, “It’s out of my hands now. Remember you signed an agreement.” He then closed the door behind him. The men rushed us to our cars and actually watched until we drove off.

A million things were going through my mind as I drove away and I eventually decided to pull over and park on a side street in order to collect my thoughts. I replayed everything in my mind repeatedly and it all seemed very surreal to me. I was angry with myself for not having taken a more active role in questioning what had been presented to us. I’d like to believe the shock of it all is what suspended my better nature.

After what seemed like an eternity, I was able to calm myself enough to make it home. I didn’t talk or call anyone that night. The next day back at the office, I was visibly out of it but blamed it on being under the weather. No one else in my department had been invited to the meeting and I felt a sense of guilt for not being able to share what I had witnessed. I thought about contacting the 3 others who wear kicked out of the house but I didn’t remember their names and thought that tracking them down would probably bring unwanted attention.

I considered speaking out publicly at the risk of losing my job but I realized I’d probably be jeopardizing more than my job and I wasn’t willing to risk anything happening to my family. I thought about those men with guns and wondered who they were? I had been told that this was bigger than the music business and all I could do was let my imagination run free. There were no answers and no one to talk to. I tried to do a little bit of research on private prisons but didn’t uncover anything about the music business’ involvement. However, the information I did find confirmed how dangerous this prison business really was.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Eventually, it was as if the meeting had never taken place. It all seemed surreal. I became more reclusive and stopped going to any industry events unless professionally obligated to do so. On two occasions, I found myself attending the same function as my former colleague. Both times, our eyes met but nothing more was exchanged.

As the months passed, rap music had definitely changed direction. I was never a fan of it but even I could tell the difference. Rap acts that talked about politics or harmless fun were quickly fading away as gangster rap started dominating the airwaves. Only a few months had passed since the meeting but I suspect that the ideas presented that day had been successfully implemented. It was as if the order has been given to all major label executives.

The music was climbing the charts and most companies when more than happy to capitalize on it. Each one was churning out their very own gangster rap acts on an assembly line. Everyone bought into it, consumers included. Violence and drug use became a central theme in most rap music. I spoke to a few of my peers in the industry to get their opinions on the new trend but was told repeatedly that it was all about supply and demand. Sadly many of them even expressed that the music reinforced their prejudice of minorities.

I officially quit the music business in 1993 but my heart had already left months before. I broke ties with the majority of my peers and removed myself from this thing I had once loved. I took some time off, returned to Europe for a few years, settled out of state, and lived a “quiet” life away from the world of entertainment.

As the years passed, I managed to keep my secret, fearful of sharing it with the wrong person but also a little ashamed of not having had the balls to blow the whistle. But as rap got worse, my guilt grew. Fortunately, in the late 90’s, having the internet as a resource which wasn’t at my disposal in the early days made it easier for me to investigate what is now labeled the prison industrial complex. Now that I have a greater understanding of how private prisons operate, things make much more sense than they ever have.

I see how the criminalization of rap music played a big part in promoting racial stereotypes and misguided so many impressionable young minds into adopting these glorified criminal behaviors which often lead to incarceration. Twenty years of guilt is a heavy load to carry but the least I can do now is to share my story, hoping that fans of rap music realize how they’ve been used for the past 2 decades. Although I plan on remaining anonymous for obvious reasons, my goal now is to get this information out to as many people as possible. Please help me spread the word. Hopefully, others who attended the meeting back in 1991 will be inspired by this and tell their own stories. Most importantly, if only one life has been touched by my story, I pray it makes the weight of my guilt a little more tolerable.

Thank you.

Unforgettable Day

I had lived in Lagos where I had all my kids. But later, I lost my husband. Some time ago, I went back to Lagos to find what to do to take care of my two sets of twins. I was a full-time housewife when I had my children. I intended going back to school to further my education but my husband, an Ogoni, from Rivers State, stopped me because I was too young, and we agreed that I could go back to school when I finished having my babies. But later, things became tough because my husband was a businessman.

When he died, I had to return to Benue State because I was the firstborn of my parents and I didn’t want to take my children to Rivers State because Benue has more food. So, I returned to Lagos, and that was when I met a man. He owns an oil and gas company (name withheld) and he employed me personally as a marketer, canvassing for people who would buy oil, diesel, fuel and all that.

On this fateful day, I went to see my father who was ill and on admission at the University College Hospital (UCH), Ibadan. There was something they needed for my father’s treatment and they didn’t have it in Ibadan. So, they wrote it down for me to buy and I went to Boluke Pharmacy on Awolowo Way in Ikeja. As soon as I walked out from the pharmacy because I lived at Ojodu Berger, I saw Aisha, a lady I had met long ago at the office of my cousin who was a stylist and we became friends.

The lady is from Igbira in Kogi State. She wanted us to talk about a supply contract she had. I suggested that we sat in an eatery on Allen Avenue, but she said there was a new eatery on Toyin Street where we could talk. There was a young man by her side that she introduced to me as her fiancé, adding that they were going to wed in two months’. We jumped into the young man’s car and they assured me that from the eatery, they would take the expressway, drop me and then go back to Ogba. When we got to that place, the man horned and the gate was opened. We saw a lot of cars outside because it was an estate. Inside the house, people sat with their girlfriends, drinking and eating. I didn’t know that they were members of a satanic group. My friend drank beer and after apologizing that she had no money to buy me wine, she gave me water.

Evil chief

At a stage, a man gorgeously dressed in native attire (names withheld), came in and walked to our table. A lot of them got up and greeted him. I also got up and greeted him. After a glance at me, he asked why I was not drinking and he bought Campari for me. He opened the bottle and I took a glass and because nobody was interested, I dropped the bottle in my bag.

After my discussion with the lady, I waited for them to drop me off as earlier agreed but the young man said he wanted to ease himself but never came back. After about 10 minutes, the lady, left in search of her fiancé, leaving her bag behind. After a long wait, I became worried and told the barman that I was leaving. As I walked towards the gate, the gateman shut it.

The chief shows up

When I turned, I saw the gorgeously dressed man walking towards the gate. I thanked him for the entertainment and told I was leaving. The man said: “Do you know who you are talking to? You are an idiot! Common, shut up! Don’t you know I am a chief?” Later, he said in Yoruba: “Omo Oba”, and some young men including two that looked like bouncers came. On his orders, they collected my handset and handbag, and took me upstairs.

So, they took me upstairs and flung me into one room and shut the door. Inside the room, I saw many clothes, bags and more than 1000 SIM cards. About 15 minutes later, the man appeared and ordered me to, “pull off everything and drop it there”, and I obeyed.

Unconscious

By then, I was no longer in full control of my senses. Before he came up, I prayed that if the man had been killing people, I should not be his victim. As a Christian, I understand that there is power in the tongue and I declared, “Right now as I sit here, let the blood of Jesus take over before they think about anything. I worship with Living Faith.

They removed my earrings

About seven boys were at the man’s beck and call. He didn’t touch you; all he did was give orders. He came back as I was still putting on my pants and brassiere and said: “Are you stupid? I said anything that represents a material on your body should be taken away. Why are you still with all these?” So, I removed everything and they took me to the next room and locked me up. Throughout that night, they jubilated and drank. Apparently, due to the glass of Campari that I took, I was very tired and having cried and prayed for long, I became weak, and slept off.

Angels to the rescue

I slept until 3am and that was when I regained consciousness and realized I was in a strange place. I prayed till after 4am and at about 5 am, the man came into the room and asked me, “Are you a witch?” and I said, “No sir.” Then, he said: “What have I done to you that you beat me all night long, and didn’t allow me to sleep?” It was a strange question for me to answer. I begged and told him that I had no strength to fight. He said, “shut up”, and slapped me.

You see, I strongly believe that this incident happened in order for me to believe in the power of God because I didn’t believe in miracles. When people said they received miracles, I just looked at them with disdain. But this time, I became a personal testimony. I begged the man and he started beating me. The way he punched me, if God was not by my side, even if I escaped, I would have died or needed a lot of money to fix my bones. But for each blow he hit me, I felt nothing. Each time he hit, and I shouted, “Jesus”, I felt as if someone had touched an empty carton. Then, he said if I had any prayer, I should pray because he was seriously going to work on me. He said he had worked on so many people by removing their private parts, eyes, tongues and other vital organs.

House of death

He told me that no one came to the house and escaped. Honestly, that house was designed for killing people. If God was not by your side, you can never escape from that house. Most times, the boys were downstairs drinking and smoking.

I socialized with them by asking for cigarette hoping that if I did what they were doing, they would set me free. If I requested for cigarette they would quickly bring cigarette for me. One day, I requested for food and they said in Yoruba that after all, it was my last food. It was rice and meat but I couldn’t eat it.

Day Two

On the second day, the boys argued among themselves in Yoruba and I could pick some meaning. They said: “Ah, kilode? Se this thing wey oga bring no be wahala o. We don tell oga make e leave her, make i go because oga no dey waste time. Anybody wey dem bring come na one day. One day don pass, two days don pass and still we don’t even know what the shrine is saying.” They consult a shrine to know a victim’s worth.

Day Three

On the third day, the man came to me and said: “What kind of hairstyle is this (I had a hairstyle called fishtail)? This hair is the one tormenting you. You are a very nice person. This hair is what is tormenting you. Don’t panic, they will remove this hair style, so that you can be free.”

They called me Samson

I heard them say in Yoruba, “Samson ni o”, that may be, I am Samson in the Bible. They suspected that they couldn’t kill me because I have the same powers as the biblical Samson. They threw a bedcover to me and told me to tie it so that they could take me downstairs.

The house was very large and people lived in the boys’ quarters with their families apparently, without knowing what the man did. Or maybe they knew but were scared? So, they took me downstairs to cut my hairs and as I stepped down, I saw that the gate was opened and then a Mallam pushed in a wheelbarrow with kegs of water. He was their barber but he came with water so that people would think he hawked water. As soon as they came in, some people started emptying the water inside the gutter and thereafter, they returned the gallons to the wheelbarrow and took me near the swimming pool, and I kept praying.

One good thing was that at that point, my faith had risen by 100 per cent and I knew for sure that I was not going to die because the Lord was with me. They made me sit on a chair by the swimming pool and the Mallam cut all my hair and dropped them on the ground. As he dropped the hair, I found out that in the past, some hairs were burnt on that spot. After cutting my hair, he shaved my head with a razor blade.

I don’t understand Hausa but on that day, this Spirit came upon me and I spoke Hausa to the Mallam. I asked him whether that was what the man does to people and he said I should not worry, that the man was a nice man, that he would give me money to go when I am ready to go. I asked why the haircut but before I could get an answer, the evil chief came out of the house and the Mallam quickly shut me up. By this time, more than 12 of the boys had surrounded me, watching as my hair was being cut. Later, they brought a small bowl containing some concoction.

I think they chanted some incantations inside it before the man said: “See, they have cut your hair; you can imagine how beautiful you look. Drink a little of this water, use the remaining to wash your head and go upstairs. I will give you your clothes to wear and then you will go home.” I dipped my hands inside that water and said, “God, because the blood of Jesus Christ supercedes every other blood and that is the only currency that binds everywhere in the world, let this currency in the blood of Jesus Christ buy my life now.” I prayed within my heart.

They ordered me to hurry up and do what they asked me to do. So, I drank a little of the liquid and washed my hair. They brought something like a detergent and said: “Wash your head very well. That is what is tormenting you.” After washing my hair, I sensed that I was about going mad, and they freed me. Maybe they wanted to make me mad. They told me to go upstairs, may be, to know if I could know the way out. I almost missed the way to the staircase because it was as if someone’s fingers were inside my brain.

By this time, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I shouted: “Jesus! I rebuke this madness in your name because you were never mad, so, I cannot be mad.” I said it loudly and they gave me a slap on my back calling me an idiot and warned me not to mention that name there. Upstairs, they kept another water in the bathroom of the room that I stayed before they moved me to the one was that looked like the master room.

There was a large cupboard where he kept his tools for operating on people. They then asked me to bathe with the water that also had some concoction. As soon as I got into that bathroom praying, the Holy Spirit ministered to me that I should throw away that water. I did so and prayed that the water should flow fast before they come.

This was about 6pm, I thought of what else I could do to convince them that I had had my bath. Then, another voice told me: “Ease yourself inside this container and use your urine to rob your body. In fact, bless that urine to be the blood of Jesus Christ and use it to rub your body and don’t dry up so that it will look as if you took your bath (there was a towel in that bathroom). When they come, they will think you have had your bath.” And because I had not eaten and drank, my urine was very little. But God gave me the grace.

Then I prayed into it and quickly rubbed it on my body and the remaining one, I sprinkled on his picture and everywhere. This time, I prayed and cried. So, before they came I had returned the bowl. The man looked at me, shook his head and left. After about an hour, he came back and said: “Who are you? Are you a witch? Why are you so difficult? And then he made a call. They have doctors. They had everybody.

By this hour, he told me bluntly that he had not killed me through poison because he was going to use my kidney to make more money. He would send my kidney for transplant while my body would be sold. He got angry and immediately called his doctor on the phone. He called one doctor James who now answered and he asked when he was going to come around because it appeared he was not on duty. Then, they fixed an appointment.

Miracle on Day four

On the fourth day, I didn’t know what their shrine said because my prayer was that when they go to that shrine, they should see the blood of Jesus Christ. I was sure they couldn’t consult because on this day, the man stormed that place in anger. He just opened the drawer and removed a shiny knife, showed it to me and said that anywhere the knife touched me, I would not live till the next day.

He was still talking when something strange happened. Suddenly, I saw the man fling off the knife, rolled on the ground, hit his head and ran out of the room. I wondered what must have happened to him. He came back later shouting, “Fire, fire”, increased the air conditioner and jumped into the bathroom, and started bathing. After bathing, he came, stood under the air conditioner, calling those boys but they were scared to come.

He would call, “Omo Oba” and they would answer and he would say, “Where are you? You are just saying sir, sir, without coming.” When they came, he told them to hold me but none of them came closer to me because at that stage, there was tension and they had not seen such a scenario before.

The man screamed and at a point, he held me by the neck demanding that I must quench the fire that was burning him. Then I told him: “Well, the only way that fire must be quenched is to allow me go. If you don’t allow me go, the fire has not yet started.” He said he would not give up, adding that he had never been defeated in his life. He mentioned his names (withheld) and titles to me and told me he would not allow me go because he would die if he did.

By this time, I began to praise God for visiting me and each time I shut my eyes, I saw angels surrounding me. At a point, the man knelt before me and asked: “Which God do you worship?” I told him that, “I worship Jehovah Almighty God, through His only begotten son that He gave for my sake, Jesus.” After this man had confessed, he and his boys ran away.

But I could not leave because the room they kept me had a burglary proof designed in such a way that if it is hooked outside, you can’t open it from within. I prayed, “God, I know that you have given me victory. But you need to do more. Someone needs to open this door for me to go out.” At about 10pm, the young man whom Aisha claimed was her fiancé appeared and opened the door for me. I gathered later that when the man found out that everybody had run out with him, he contacted him because he brought me and Aisha. In deed, the man threatened to kill him if he failed to take me away. So, the young man had no choice but to come and open the door for me.”

Surprisingly, he asked: “What did chief say you have done to him to deserve all these?” He threw his pyjamas to me and said: ‘Wear it; let me take you to the balcony. When people are asleep, I will open the gate for you to go.” At about 10pm, he left and never came back. At about 4am, as I was asleep, I heard a voice say, “Wake up. It is time”, and I jumped up.

I thought of using the pyjamas as a rope to climb down but as I pulled my clothes, I turned to my left and saw a strong pipe. Then I crossed my leg to the wall and holding the pipe, I climbed down the building. The maiguard was still there. Sensing that the maiguard was asleep, I climbed a nearby tree and crossed the fence to the other side, even though the security iron cut me on my stomach. At about 5 am, the gates were opened and I saw cars passing.

I walked to the expressway and stopped a motorcycle but the man looked at me as if I was mad and didn’t stop. I stopped three others but it was the fourth one that pitied me after hearing how I escaped death. He dropped me somewhere and gave me N50 with which I boarded a vehicle to Ojodu Berger. The conductor tried to stop me from boarding the bus, seeing the way I was, but I shoved him aside and with the backing of other passengers, I entered. When I eventually got home, my girlfriend rushed me to St Timothy’s Hospital at Ojodu where I was treated. Even at that, I was ill for months.

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