Hip-hop is ripe for exploitation, and GOP operatives are taking advantage to try to dominate swing states. Indeed, artists like Vivio Foreign, Kodak Black, and Sexy Red have championed Donald Trump in various ways this election cycle (some with the help of Billy McFarland). The Trump campaign is trying to woo black voters in a clear way, with photo shoots featuring clips of his speeches in songs like Vivio and Kodak’s “ONBOA47RD,” a confusing political endorsement song.
But Trump and his team aren’t the first conservative group to try to reach voters through hip-hop. In 1992, California-based Steve Gooden gained fame after performing under the name TRQ (The Real Question) with a song called “We Are Americans,” which he performed at the 1992 Republican National Convention. More than three decades later, Gooden says: Rolling Stone Republicans were looking for a pro-police alternative to Ice-T's controversial protest anthem, “Cop Killer,” a song that President George H.W. Bush condemned as “sick” because it spoke of the anger that sparked the 1992 Los Angeles uprising. In the absence of Republican rappers in 1992, he says the GOP reached out to him to be their hip-hop mascot.
“The Republican Party saw me as an opportunity to fight the so-called anti-police left-wing establishment in hip-hop,” he says. “Remember, hip-hop was new. [GOP] I didn't understand the anxiety or the words we use when we protest.
His surreal 1992 appearance on the show of the late conservative media personality Wally George hot seat The TV show is an early glimpse into how Republicans are manipulating hip-hop to further their agenda. George, the self-described “father of TV fight shows,” begins the segment by calling TRQ “a great rapper, a pro-American rapper, a pro-Republican rapper,” to loud applause.
Eventually, Godden, wearing an American flag scarf and suspenders, begins singing his cheesy “We Are Americans” to a mostly white crowd who don’t seem to be enjoying the song as much as they are the opportunity to be photographed in the pre-camera era. After singing the opening lines of “America the Beautiful,” he shouts “Boy!” in a Flavor Flav-esque tone. It’s a strange sound to hear a brand of anti-establishment anti-hero in a song whose lyrics include “I’m proud to be called a Republican.” Godden’s choice to improvise, and his use of the Soul Searchers drum break from Eric B. and Rakim’s “Paid in Full,” steers the listener into collaborative waters. The clip is a glimpse into a bygone era of surreal TV talk shows; it’s as if Bill O’Reilly and Phil Donahue met on a Venn diagram.
In a 1992 Los Angeles Times report on his performance, he said: “I left [the Republican party] “I know how I wanted to be of service to the president of the United States. I think my country is calling me at this moment, and my president needs me. And I’m making my small contribution to his reelection.” But today, he says, “We Are Americans” wasn’t written as a pro-Republican or pro-Bush song, and that he was using the Republican Party as they were. “I’ll stand on your shoulders if you’ll let me so I can raise my message louder.” For this young man of color with strong opinions, his conservative platform was an opportunity to express “the message I’ve been preaching since I was six years old.” What was that message? “Our rights are given to us by God, not by any political party,” he told me over the phone.
(Although the Los Angeles Times article claims that he He says Republican officials approached him about performing the song “We Are Americans.” “You always have to follow the reports,” he says. “The Los Angeles Times is a particularly left-leaning liberal newspaper.”
Godden grew up in Washington, D.C., where his father worked in the nightclub business. Godden's mother left the family when he was six, and his ailing father disappeared from the family in Godden's late teens. By then, he had become a youth pastor in Washington, D.C., and was giving talks at churches across the country. In 1983, he was set to move to Daly City, California, with a family friend, but changed his mind. “I felt uncomfortable on the bus going west. I said to myself, 'This is not a new beginning. I'm going to a place I've never been before: Los Angeles.'”
These days, Gooden says he won’t be wearing a flag scarf like he did in the ’90s. He felt it was “necessary at that point in time in history to do so.” In 2024, he doesn’t seem like he’ll be doing much publicity for either party. “Trump, Biden, what’s the difference?” he asks rhetorically. “Neither of them makes a difference because neither of them is the reason we’re in this mess.” His comments on the Democratic Party sound like a mix of what artists like Kanye West, Ice Cube, and Ice Ware have expressed in recent years.
“[Black people] “They’re the most cohesive community in America,” he concludes. “Democrats take us for granted because they can always count on us. You don’t have to please people and do what you promise because you know we’ve already gotten them to vote. That’s why it keeps coming back with these false promises,” he says. “I used to say to my black brothers and sisters, ‘Why can’t we be as diverse as the whites? They’re everywhere. Why do 90 percent of us vote for one party? Does that make sense?’”
Gooden’s anger toward the establishment was palpable throughout our conversation. He spoke in a low, somber tone as he reflected on his vast knowledge of history and railed against perceived injustices. At times, I was with him: Biden’s comments that black voters who didn’t support him “aren’t black” were an indication that black people are taken for granted, and that both parties could do more for the oppressed in general. But he lost me when he berated marginalized groups with the kind of cynicism you’d expect from Breitbart commentators and Twitter users. That may be part of the point. “I never talk about people liking me. In fact, if you like me, I usually frown. I think there’s something wrong with you. Why do you like me? I’m rare.”
What often goes unmentioned in the cycles of outrage over the latest MAA rapper is the disillusionment that drives people toward right-wing worldviews in the first place. The American project was not created with a just solution in mind, and many of us here have no idea of its pedigree. Hip-hop was born as a response to the contradictions of American life, and in the process there have been moments when rappers have engaged with fringe groups. Whether it’s flirting with MAA, the Ados movement, the Hebrew Israelites, or the Nation of Islam, it’s all rooted in an attempt to figure out what home looks like.
Sometimes, as Godden did, people can make unlikely “allies” on their journey to understanding the world. We see this with artists like Kanye West and the growing number of rappers who have been vocal in their support for Donald Trump in this election. And it’s not just hip-hop. Reggaeton artists like Nicky Jam and Anuel AA have recently come under fire for expressing support for Trump.
Gooden’s negotiations with Republicans predated the Internet’s notoriety and hip-hop’s dominance of youth culture. In 1992, there were no young conservatives like McFarland in rap circles, and hip-hop hadn’t yet become a multibillion-dollar industry, which meant there were no groups of millionaire rappers willing to sell out their community by co-signing a far-right campaign. Hip-hop has always had its own constellation of conservative views, but in 1992, the idea of a hard-line Republican rapper was a sideshow. Today, it’s more or less the norm.
The hip-hop community has sold itself out, Godin says. “Hip-hop has been hijacked by the powers that be,” he says, adding that “hip-hop was talking to [the people] “Boldly, shamelessly, unabashedly, and in a somewhat crass way.” But now, he believes, society has “become too polished. If you give anyone enough glamour, enough women, enough pain, it’s all about them. Forget the cause and the people.”
