It may have been too rash and/or simplistic a comparison to make, but there are some similarities, I think.
For example, here is Bill Cosby talking to a men only black audience:
Instead of waiting for handouts or outside help, Cosby argues, disadvantaged blacks should start by purging their own culture of noxious elements like gangsta rap, a favorite target. "What do record producers think when they churn out that gangsta rap with antisocial, women-hating messages?," Cosby and Poussaint ask in their book. "Do they think that black male youth won't act out what they have repeated since they were old enough to listen?" Cosby's rhetoric on culture echoes--and amplifies--a swelling strain of black opinion: last November's Pew study reported that 71 percent of blacks feel that rap is a bad influence. This Is How We Lost to the White Man
This Is How We Lost to the White Man
Despite the title of that article, though, it is not just black American boys, but American boys of all races. Although -- and this is purely speculation -- middle-class white kids are probably far more likely to grow out of it [Eminem notwithstanding], disadvantaged kids with fewer social and economic options are more likely emulate the images and words in gangsta rap culture in their own lives.
But again, that is purely my personal impression and it may be way off. A language is a dialect with an army and navy.
Yup. Should have read that article more carefully. Aside from the fact that the excerpt above was not from one of Cosby's talks but rather from his book, there is also this:
At times, Cosby seems willfully blind to the parallels between his arguments and those made in the presumably glorious past. Consider his problems with rap. How could an avowed jazz fanatic be oblivious to the similar plaints once sparked by the music of his youth? "The tired longshoreman, the porter, the housemaid and the poor elevator boy in search of recreation, seeking in jazz the tonic for weary nerves and muscles," wrote the lay historian J. A. Rogers, "are only too apt to find the bootlegger, the gambler and the demi-monde who have come there for victims and to escape the eyes of the police." Beyond the apocryphal notion that black culture was once a fount of virtue, there's still the charge that culture is indeed the problem. But to reach that conclusion, you'd have to stand on some rickety legs. The hip-hop argument, again, is particularly creaky. Ronald Ferguson, a Harvard social scientist, has highlighted that an increase in hip-hop's popularity during the early 1990s corresponded with a declining amount of time spent reading among black kids. But gangsta rap can be correlated with other phenomena, too--many of them positive. During the 1990s, as gangsta rap exploded, teen pregnancy and the murder rate among black men declined. Should we give the blue ribbon in citizenship to Dr. Dre?
Beyond the apocryphal notion that black culture was once a fount of virtue, there's still the charge that culture is indeed the problem. But to reach that conclusion, you'd have to stand on some rickety legs. The hip-hop argument, again, is particularly creaky. Ronald Ferguson, a Harvard social scientist, has highlighted that an increase in hip-hop's popularity during the early 1990s corresponded with a declining amount of time spent reading among black kids. But gangsta rap can be correlated with other phenomena, too--many of them positive. During the 1990s, as gangsta rap exploded, teen pregnancy and the murder rate among black men declined. Should we give the blue ribbon in citizenship to Dr. Dre?
(I wonder if Sudhir Venkatesh's Gang Leader for a Day may shed some light on this subject.)
But one senses a deep and sincere ambivalence in the author, who himself is black, as he alternates between praising Cosby and then critiquing (respectfully) what he says:
I wished, then, that my 7-year-old son could have seen Cosby there, to take in the same basic message that I endeavor to serve him every day--that manhood means more than virility and strut, that it calls for discipline and dutiful stewardship. <...> I'd take my son to see Bill Cosby, to hear his message, to revel in its promise and optimism. But afterward, he and I would have a very long talk.
I'd take my son to see Bill Cosby, to hear his message, to revel in its promise and optimism. But afterward, he and I would have a very long talk.
