Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes to A Tribe Called Quest

by Hanif Abdurraqib

The police showed us what the body of Rodney King could take, didn’t they? On the concrete of Los Angeles, the batons cut through the air and then fell again on King’s writhing body. It is hard to tell what could bring this specific type of ferocity out of anyone—particularly those who insist on serving and protecting. Yes, Rodney King was drunk, and had led police on a high-speed chase through the L.A. streets while behind the wheel of a Hyundai. I don’t know what measure of recklessness warrants a type of anger that results in what Rodney King got, but the American public got Rodney King. It must be an odd life, to be introduced to the world first through your flaws and then through your blood on the ground, or your swollen face in a mug shot, or your bent body in a wheelchair. It is said that King patted the back of his pants when exiting the vehicle, which made police believe he had a weapon. I’ve been thinking a lot about invisible weapons and how they relate to the body itself. I have nothing on me, but in the wrong neighborhood, I have everything on me. And it’s as simple as a move for a pocket, or a low whistle in the wrong direction, or the song spilling out of my rolled-down car windows.