Woke Karen Explains Kendrick Lamar
The outrage of art.
Hi, I’m Woke Karen, a contradiction in terms, but that’s okay. We live in an age of contradictory terms.
My attitude makes me woke. My demographic puts me firmly in Karen territory.
I’m going to explain Kendrick Lamar’s halftime show to people in my demographic, the ones saying it’s the worst show in Super Bowl history, along with the ones who say they didn’t understand.
Because Kendrick Lamar gave us a gift:
Art on Super Bowl Sunday. Talk about a coup.
I know almost nothing about Lamar’s music, like I know nothing about Taylor Swift’s. I can only name one or two songs from either of them. I know next to nothing about music created by people under forty.
But I tell you what—I cannot stop watching the video of the halftime show. It’s thrilling. I may be late to the party, but I’ll be listening to more of him.
For years I’ve spent Super Bowl Sunday on City Island with Secret Service and our close friend Gary. The three of us have an annual Super Bowl Strike. Instead of watching, we eat seafood in the Bronx.
This year I had linguini with clam sauce.
But while scrolling through my social media feed, I came upon an interesting bit by my FB buddy Mick Oakleaf. Here’s part of his post on the halftime show:
He (Kendrick Lamar) actually rapped - not a recorded vocal track, not fake. He had a well-designed, visually appealing, relatively simple set up and styling, non-sexualized performers, a good political message without being harsh, and he got his point across without a ridiculous, bombastic production. It sounded terrific on our big Tannoy speakers!! I give it an A++ and I'm not really a fan of the genre. For folks who hated it, why?! Maybe you need to look deep inside and open your heart.
Hmmm, I thought. Mick’s defending it, interesting. Must check it out.
I did. And I decided to unleash the inner Karen.
Most people know what a Karen is by now—an entitled white woman of a certain age, throwing around her privilege like it’s a good look. I try to rein in my tendencies to Karen and consequently, I ask for the manager a lot less than I used to.
But there are times when being a Karen can be a community service. For instance, when I see a Black American being harassed, it is the perfect time to ask for the manager. I can use my sense of entitlement for the greater good.
And for the purpose of this essay, I’m calling myself woke. Per Merriam-Webster:
Woke: aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)
Woke doesn’t sound so terrible, does it?
And yet we are amidst a coup against the United States Government because many people in my demographic are insisting white men remain in power, no matter the cost. Even if the cost includes the nation as we know it.
Kendrick Lamar needs no explanation to the tens of millions of people outside our demographic. However, many in mine are put out, because (Spoiler Alert!) we don’t understand anything that is not about us.
Not everything is for you, as writers like Leslie Gray Streeter point out.
I could write sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph; I could write an essay, a book, a book series. I could create an It’s Not About Us Library. No matter how often anyone says it, white people are slow to understand.
Even though I finally began to grasp the concept—thank you, Linda Tolbert—sometimes I forget. That’s how deeply ingrained it is in me.
This is by design. If you’re my age or older, you’ve probably been conditioned to believe white people are in charge. Of everything.
We are not. Nor should we be.
Number One on the Things Over Which White People Are Not in Charge list:
1) The Black experience.
It’s not ours to have. What we know about being Black in America counts for nothing. Our opinion counts for even less.
Stay with me. I know it’s difficult, because I’m Get Off My Lawn years old, and understand the frustration of the world changing without my permission. But it’s a critical concept to grasp.
If you’re like me, you might have good intentions. You may not realize how deeply our sense of entitlement is. I was horrified to discover it in myself.
But if we don’t dig it out, it roots in us. That’s worse. We’ve got to stop its spread.
Regarding my demographic—I’m the oldest of GENX, which means I’m 59. I could say, “I’ll be sixty this year,” but I’m 59 and shall enjoy every minute of not being sixty.
I’m also white, Whitey McWhite White, so very white. More than one person, including my half-Spanish husband, have told me I’m the whitest person they’ve ever met. It’s not exactly a compliment, but it can’t be helped. I was born white, into an ultra-white family in what was then virtually segregated Virginia, a mere 100 years after the end of the Civil War.
That war continued to rage in the minds of many people I knew as a child. Looks like (Spoiler Alert 2!) it’s still dividing the nation.
But only because white people keep insisting on it.
And we come to the crux of the matter, the part most white people won’t even admit:
We want to keep it about us. Giving up perceived power, real or imagined, is difficult.
But it is not impossible. Saying things like, “It’s the way the world works” is nothing but white people bullshit.
It used to be considered unpatriotic to diss the Constitution. But Elon Musk, Donald Trump, the Republican members of Congress and the MAGA cult are so determined to keep everything about us, they’d sooner light the Constitution on fire than embrace inclusion.
Diversity, equity, inclusion—DEI. Like the term woke, not so terrible when you see it on the page.
Donald Trump’s government not only scrubbed references to DEI from all government websites, it may be perceived to be illegal for both government and private companies to include in their practices. This is a huge blow to anyone who isn’t a white man.
The NFL took down banners from both end zones that read,
But Kendrick Lamar does not need the permission of white people to do anything.
I should probably disclose I fell in love with Kendrick Lamar after watching his performance, but that’s too bad for me. I’m old enough to be his mother and he has no idea who I am.
I tend to fall in love when I witness a moving piece of art. When it’s created with courage, particularly during a time when political leadership is devoid of it, my heart radiates.
Lamar created such a work on a Super Bowl Sunday. How’s that for a contradiction of terms?
Maybe it’s one of the reasons people are so cranky. They didn’t expect art. They expected diversions, they expected escape. They expected sparkles and half-naked ladies, something to pull our attention away instead of something to draw us in.
He made us think. What an outrage.
The show was full of symbolism, and people can’t stop talking about it. If you want to watch a breakdown of different aspects, watch this video by New Rockstars’ Jessica Clemons.
There are many analyses. I can’t remember when any performance by anyone garnered so much curiosity.
This might be the time to mention that Lamar received the Pulitzer Prize in 2018 for his album Damn. You can’t dismiss him as anything other than he is: genius.
Kendrick Lamar is unapologetically Black. We arrive at our punchline.
He put himself on the stage with nothing but an army of Black dancers behind him. He made an American flag out of those dancers, a non-too-subtle reminder that it wasn’t white genius that built this nation. He rapped. He referred to the greater American game. Uncle Sam/Uncle Tom served as the Greek Chorus in the form of Samuel L. Jackson. Serena Williams, the greatest tennis player of all time, graced us with the dance that got her scolded at the 2012 Olympics.
As Ralinda Watts wrote in Pop Sugar:
Watching Williams c-walk on one of the nation's largest stages was a reclamation of authenticity. Seeing her c-walk last night wasn't about Drake, but rather a moment to say you will not define who I am and how I show up: a lesson we can all take notes from, Wimbledon and America included.
Lamar seems to have created a show for Black Americans full of Black strength and excellence.
Boy did we freak out.
There’s just so much to upset white people, and so little time.
Fun fact: between 1960-2000, the trend in NFL players by race has gone from predominately white to predominately Black.
As of 2024, the majority of NFL players are Black.
It just goes to show—it’s fine to have Black men playing for “your” team. But Black men performing Black music in a game played by predominately Black men is just too much.
You don’t have to be Neil deGrasse Tyson to figure out it was way too Black for middle America, and by middle, I mean white.
It is my sincere hope that you, too, might fall in love with Kendrick Lamar. And if you find yourself unable to love him, perhaps you could find in yourself what he deserves from us all:
Respect.
On arguably the most commercial night of the year, a night when a 30-second spot costs advertisers 8 million dollars, Lamar didn’t sell out.
He stood up to Trump, Elon, and all other white supremacists.
It wasn’t about us, and it was essential. Perhaps art might get us out of this mess after all. If it does, Kendrick Lamar will be remembered for leading the way.
You are so right. I've laughed several times these past few days when I've heard people in my southern town talk about the Super Bowl. No one has mentioned the actual game but the halftime show. I must admit I didn't watch it in real time because I was cleaning up dinner. But I looked over when my husband started complaining about the show. I caught the end and smiled. When I watched the replay I was delighted. Art is such a powerful way to protest. Well done Kendrick!
Mic drop