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.
