New Yorkers know. Hip-hop fans know. Black folks definitely know.
If you’ve seen rap music grow from indie street culture darling to a billion-dollar stock option, you’re not at all surprised by 50 Cent voting for Donald Trump, since “I don’t want to be 20cent.” History is a shifty liar and betrays truths but for so long. The real estate mogul turned dictator and the rap star turned media provocateur have a lot in common:
Donald Trump spits bars with the best of rappers, hyperbole his signature move. His stump speeches pound out rhymes that play to his own jingoistic beat. 50 Cent is a lot like Donald Trump as host of The Apprentice, a tyrant and a jokester at the height of his powers styling stagecraft for low-brow television and simpering sycophants. They are sons of Queens, an inimitable but also-ran county desperate to catch up to Manhattan chic and Brooklyn grit. They both want to silence estranged baby mamas with gag orders and counter-rumors. They plaster products with their names so there’s no mistaking the founders and no room for hangers-on, offspring notwithstanding. They’re both slick, successful, and transparently insecure. They deride perceived enemies and bulldoze threats to their power, rumbling until there is only dust left behind (see: Ja Rule, Jeb Bush).