On Feb. 9, Pulitzer Prize and 22-time Grammy-winner Kendrick Lamar made waves with a historic halftime performance at Super Bowl LIX in New Orleans. The rapper staged the show as what many quickly recognized as a PlayStation controller. Light arrangements from contributors seated high in the audience spelled out “START HERE” and “GAME OVER” at the beginning and end of the set. Features in the performance included R&B icon SZA, legendary actor Samuel L. Jackson engendering a gruff caricature of Uncle Sam and an army of red, white and blue-clad backup dancers, among others. Together, the group issued a series of convincing and thought-provoking interpretations of ten of Lamar’s songs — ending with “tv off,” a track off his newest album “GNX.”
Lamar’s elaborate musical display stirred up commentary from avid supporters and staunch critics alike. Even though his performance was, for me and many others, an exciting watch in and of itself, it was clear almost immediately that he meant to invoke a deeper political and social message on stage. Jackson’s Uncle Sam promptly primed viewers for a rebellious exhibition — permitted only, in my view, on what Sports Illustrated considers “the biggest concert in the world each year” because of its promise to entertain millions — with the cryptic declaration, “This is a great American game!”
New York Times guest writer Tiana Clark, along with many social media users, understood Jackson’s statement to signify the sadistic “gamification of the elusive American dream,” which assures largely unattainable success to hundreds of millions of Americans but is bestowed upon only a small cluster enjoying financial and social excesses beyond our wildest dreams. While those who fall on the favored side of hegemonic ideals of race, class and gender continue to benefit from institutionalized privileges and protections, others endure ubiquitous struggles at the hands of centuries-long campaigns designed to thwart their survival and prosperity.
Lamar emphasizes the vitality of these tenets to the modern social, economic and political scene and how they inform the ways we conceive of oppression and resistance — even as the lines between them begin to blur.
It appears to me, too, that viewers who resonated with his message were especially moved by the performance in light of January’s transition to the new presidential administration. Here, where billionaire magnate Elon Musk, heading up the freshly minted Department of Government Efficiency, supported the termination of thousands of federal employees in just the first month of Donald Trump’s presidency, and where the world’s three richest people — Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg and Musk himself — have a combined wealth teetering around a staggering $863 billion and stood at attention during Trump’s second inauguration, Jackson’s words ring particularly true.
Elsewhere, Lamar sported a pair of flared jeans as part of his outfit for the show, which some who have analyzed the performance’s themes say recall the style’s popularity during the 1960s and ‘70s when calls for political and social change hung thick in the air.
Lamar’s rendition of “HUMBLE,” in which his dancers lined up to form an American flag and he stood split down the middle, also struck a special chord with many audience members. The choreography seemed to emphasize the increasing polarization of domestic politics and racial discourse and the fracturing of the American people. Clark added that it brought attention to the nation’s advancement, especially its economic growth, as predicated on the exploitation of slave labor and the frequently trivialized contributions of America’s Black community.
While Clark acts as a voice for the hordes around the world that rejoiced at Lamar’s halftime performance, many others rejected the excited reactions to the rapper’s production. I myself witnessed several people across social media platforms complain that the show fell flat and was “boring” in terms of its entertainment and production value compared to previous years. Others, arguing against the performance’s impact as a legitimate piece of protest, posited that denouncing greed, corruption and ignorance on a giant corporate stage undermined the rapper’s intentions.
While I disagree with such observations, I can see potential problems of representation. Some may contend that, in his demand for justice for swaths of drowning Americans, Lamar doesn’t adequately embody the socioeconomic challenges faced by the people he tries to speak to and for. Could an artist worth about $140 million truly understand, let alone articulate, the obstacles confronted by millions who are now more economically disenfranchised than himself, even if he came from very different beginnings in Compton? Elsewhere, does the way he makes his voice heard in the halftime show — surrounded by high-profile celebrities of the NFL and American music industry — overshadow the efforts of grassroots movements, spearheaded by average Americans, that strive to spur lasting change from the bottom up?
I say his (re)presentation is legitimate. In the face of sensitive considerations like these, I argue that Lamar’s performance ingeniously leverages his widely recognized platform to make visible crucial resistance to current social conditions. While artists like Taylor Swift have historically inspired mass sociopolitical mobilization by encouraging voter registration on social media, elsewhere, Lamar places the “call to action” onto a wholly different plane. His demonstration fuses his influence and his lived Blackness to lay bare the persistence of struggle and precarity for nonhegemonic groups, unrelenting even when he achieves wealth and fame.
With this truth brought to the foreground, for Lamar’s audiences, his opaque demands to his viewers to “turn the TV off” at the end of the halftime show become all the less palatable (especially in their, maybe deliberate, paradox). The discomfort, then, of his performance for viewers is vital because it inspires action. While it undermines the halftime show’s typical output of garish entertainment, Lamar’s bold performance has the potential to motivate long-term mobilization in much the same way that grassroots movements aspire to, encouraging his audience to achieve self-satisfaction with the performance’s contributions to resistance.
By showcasing political messaging during one of the most televised events of the year, Lamar was able to forge a path toward promoting change, encouraging discourse and reaching an audience who may have not previously cared. It has almost always been through conversation that we’ve arrived at action, and through action that we’ve achieved progress. In whatever way he decided to do it at halftime, Lamar arranged a convincing and, in my eyes, successful demonstration of resistance.
The confusion that he sows within his audiences, whether it stems from the show itself or how his viewers feel about the type of resistance he displays and embodies, is a necessary kickstarter of the conversation around rebellion and protest — and why we need them. As with his exhortations before lights-out to “turn the TV off,” to speak about or to his demonstration — to act on that speech — is a form of taking change into your own hands.
Caryn Gagnon is a junior majoring in political science.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial.