I was watching Maury the other day, that talk show in which Maury Povich invites onto his stage a slew of freaks and lowlifes, hoping to help their personal lives in some way.
The topic at the bottom of the screen to remind the viewers just what sort of juiciness we were dealing with was something along the lines of, “Help! I’m 18 and my boyfriend abuses me!”
There were three young women sitting in the chairs onstage, two of them white and one black, and they each told their story about their boyfriends, who were waiting backstage to come on and tell their sides. All the women cried while explaining their situations, which were all genuinely troubling and heartbreaking.
The plight of the black girl was particularly rough to watch. Her boyfriend was a 21-year-old thug and wannabe gangster who choked her, made her clip his toenails, made her tie his shoes, made her “draw his shower,” inspected her body every night to make sure she hadn’t been cheating (I’m not sure what he was looking for), scanned the bed sheets with a black light for the same reason (I do know what he was looking for), made her address him as “sir,” cheated on her because “I’m the king,” and, particularly disturbingly, made her stand in the corner for “time out” when she disobeyed him.
“I love him,” she says through mucus and tears after Maury asks her why she’s still with him.
The situations of the other two women and their respective boyfriends were similar. Each woman was belittled and objectified and physically beaten by her “man,” and each boyfriend spoke in a dialect befitting a Harlem hoodlum.
This is what pop culture, rap music in particular, has done to people. I’ve voiced this opinion to several people and they’ve all disagreed with me, but I’m sticking to it.
Think about it. What is the message of today’s rap music? Women are b*tches and, according to the rappers, this is a good thing. Women are objects; women are slaves to their masters, their boyfriends; women are there to shake their various body parts in the rapper’s faces while the rapper polishes his gun.
If you were to watch this Maury episode, there would be no question in your mind whether these three guys on stage listened to rap music. They all, even the two whites, spoke like your typical BET host. And their hand gestures, the way they moved their arms as they talked, aped the motions of rappers when they’re “spittin’ rhymes, b*tch.”
While rap music is at least partly to blame for the behavior of young, urban males, pop and R&B is at least partly to blame for the passivity of their female counterparts, known affectionately–yes, affectionately–as hoes.
Female singers, such as Rihanna and Britney Spears, write songs in which they’re pining for their man, apologizing to him for who knows what, and pleading him to take them back because–they promise!–they will do better this time.
And so now we have a generation of high-school and college females willingly, eagerly taking the abuse of their droopy-drawered boyfriends. Black eyes are better than being single.
If you want an epilogue, all three guys on Maury were taught a harsh lesson and subsequently said they would change, but unfortunately only one of them–not the boyfriend of the black girl–demonstrated true remorse.