Memorialized in what I’ve dubbed my prison mugshot are my “Nipsey Hussles”. Four straight backs, corn rolls I wear in homage to the late Loss Angeles rapper. My number one goal when I rock my Nipsey Hussles is to celebrate the connection to Nip incarcerated women, first felt when we learned he was gunned down at the age of 34 in front of his clothing store, The Marathon, in South LA, March 31, 2019.
My peers and I burst urgently into the day room kiosks of our Central California Women’s facility in Chowchilla to purchase Nipsey Hussle’s delicate gangster rap music. Although I am wise enough to wear a gray durag, tying down my Nipseys to maintain neatness and prevent breakage while I sleep, I was guilty of rap ignorance – not too familiar with Nipsey’s music.
When I heard “Racks in the Middle” from his Grammy-nominated album “Victory Lap”, my inner Compton gangster strummed. I already wear braids to embrace the culture – Hip Hop, R & B, gangster rap, thug life – without apology, but for the next year, I too walked around rapping, “last time that I checked …” feeling more connected to my upbringing.
It’s the coolest thing. Black men and women wearing the same hairstyles, perfectly masculine and feminine at the same time. This connection through hair made me want to go back, sit down and chill with Nip, to ask him what processes and products he used to style his beautiful hair. Since I can’t do that, I’ll give you mine. Before I braid my Nipseys, I wash my hair with Cantu Shea Butter sulfate-free cleansing cream shampoo, rinse and apply Luster’s Pink Revitalex Conditioner. Sometimes I leave it in to comb through my lion’s mane and style it. For daily manageability, I apply Hawaiian Silky Crème Conditioning No Lye Relaxer regular/normal, every 8 – 10 weeks.
But I’ll get back to hair, because Nip and I share another connection. The same racist white judge, Robert Perry, presided over both our cases in the injustice system.
Make no mistake, racist judges are in control of justice even for the deceased. A reforming B-lack gang member from Rollin’ 60s Crips in a beef with his own ally, a rising star staying in his community while simultaneously building it up, Nipsey was, by Perry’s estimation, a business-owning thug with the audacity to provide opportunity, jobs, knowledge, hope and a way out of the poverty and violence Perry’s ancestors created. Nip’s talent, creativity, harmonic survival skills, respect from police, and fearless peacemaking with rival gangs – all these traits created a problem for Perry’s courtroom. The place designed to keep Blacks enslaved is not there to undertake public record of an established rich Black legacy. Perry didn’t want a neighborhood hero triumphing in legal transcripts. He’d rather document Black on Black crime.
I knew Perry was going to deploy the same nefarious tactics on Nipsey’s supporters and community as he played on witnesses in my trial. Perry’s goal would be to switch up the story, leave critical testimony paying homage to Nip out the record by taking witnesses into his intimidatingly private chambers, ready to pounce on those forthright enough to take the stand to enlighten the jury. Perry would manipulate the mind of Black boys and men, women too, projecting a fear of gang violence retaliating directly against them. Hoodwink.
In my own trial, Perry made clear his disdain for young Black men, no matter what side of the table they sat on, no matter whether they were the slain victim, or the perpetrator. His goal was to not see any of them glorified. Perry took two independent witnesses into his nefarious chambers and projected fear of gang violence to keep them from telling the truth of what they saw the night of my tragedy. My case had nothing to do with gang violence, but all of a sudden, Perry said it did and that my husband and I were “Birds of a Feather”, insinuating I was a criminal just like him, so these witnesses should be afraid to testify. Then Perry dismissed them, suppressing eyewitness testimony, which pointed to my innocence.
The problem I posed to Judge Perry is I was a decorated California Highway Patrol Officer with an impeccable record, conflicting with his love for white power. His job as grandmaster was to personify me as a fearful warning to any Black women considering the field of law enforcement. For Perry, I brought a stain to the badge his ancestors had spit-shined since slave patrols. My survival of deadly domestic violence brought against me by my El Camino Conquista-driving husband, shamed the white men who allowed me to sit at the table.
Perry was clearly outraged by my choice in Club Husband. I was an attractive, intelligent and talented negro woman, courageously defiant in my lot in life. His people graciously gave me the opportunity to be a uniformed Ghetto Superstar. Instead, I embarrassed the white power structure that chooses which Blacks they allow in. Perry made sure I was convicted of a crime they knew I didn’t commit, sticking me with two life sentences, one for me, and one for my Club Husband. He disdained both of us, just like he did Nipsey and his killer.
From the bench, Perry enjoyed dividing our Black community. No matter how many conflicting statements witnesses gave to assassinate my character, Perry allowed Black people to demonize and put the blame squarely on me, bringing more vitriol from my husband’s family, friends and our community.
When Nipsey’s murder went to trial, I wrote to the State, armed with firsthand experience, asking them to force Judge Perry to recuse himself for itching to make Nipsey and his killer look like “Birds of a Feather”. My appeal was ignored, and in trial, Perry stayed true to form. He ignored the direct evidence from the community, LAPD, and gang members who all witnessed Nipsey Hussle’s procession move through rivalling hoods the distance it takes to run an actual marathon – ironically and coincidentally, the name of Nipsey’s clothing store, so disdained by Perry. There was no violence in the street, but Perry chose to obfuscate the jury into thinking about violence breaking out in his courtroom. Hoodwink.
From my cell, I watched memorials erected all over Los Angeles and beyond, Nipsey’s beautiful complexion and manicured hair bringing me back to lighter times. If I could sit down with Nip and share hair secrets, I would tell him how a woman from Compton, who learned how to braid her own hair in prison, gets that shine his hair embodies.
I already feel like Nip and I are connected by lofty family tree branches, and like Nip, a lot of my immediate family wear their natural hair. I tell them the same thing I would share with Nipsey if I had the blessed opportunity: start with “Strong Roots Spray” by Palmer’s, and another day, squeeze “African Pride Moisture Miracle Strength & Protect 5 Essential Oils with Vitamin C” directly to your scalp. For the tresses, spray “African Pride Moisture Miracle Coconut Milk & Honey Leave-In Conditioner”, and comb through, transforming to desired style. And like the old school curl activator, B-lack, hair used to drink like shots, give a final spray of “Palmer’s Coconut Oil Leave-In Conditioner”, to give a lasting misty moisture boost before stepping out the door.
Before I get out of here, I’d like to give a nod to another B-lack rapper who confidently sported the greatest Gumby hairstyle I’ve ever seen – 2Pac. The Palmer’s and African Pride work for high top fades too.
These cultural products deliver results for me as I stand stuck in the mass incarceration system in all my Black excellence. For incarcerated individuals, they all come in tote-size bottles, sold in Walkenhorst’s vendor packaging, and for free people, at a beauty supply store near you. They make perfect stocking stuffers on Jesus’ birthday. For the culture, the Bible says Jesus is brown like us, has hair like wool, and eyes like fire. I imagine Jesus handsome and slender like Nipsey, splitting images down to the sheen on a perfectly trimmed and tapered beard, fit for kings.
Last time that I checked, Nip’s life and glory not only intersect with my life experience through hair, but also in the way Nipsey helped clothe men getting home from prison, growing out of impoverished communities with high levels of gun violence, drug addiction, alcoholism, clinging to the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy, resource-deprived.
Although I have never met Nipsey Hussle, another through line I felt connecting us was his growing positive rapport with law enforcement in effort to heal long-damaged relations between police and the B-lack community police swear to protect. As a Recruitment and Public Affairs Officer for CHP, I had the same purpose. Ironically, I patrolled the same corner, Slauson and Crenshaw, where The Marathon would be memorialized in Nip’s glory.
I could totally picture Nip stopped in a car next to me at a stoplight; loquacious girls pop gum from the sidewalk. We already have a blooming rapport, from the passenger seat Nip greets, “What’s up Officer Johnson? You still the baddest one out here.” We exchange laughs over our secret; we are public relations personified. I joke, “You still have that pretty policy officer discount?” He quips back, “Over drinks.”
The green light ends our innocuous, flirty conversation. “Be safe, in these streets”, we are ordained to say to each other. As a gaggle, his buddy rolls off loudly, playing that Lil Wayne song, “Mrs Officer”, … “weeeda weeeda weee, weeeda weeeda weee …”.
In “The Undefeated” episode of the 30 for 30 podcast, King of Crenshaw host Justin Tinsley touted superstar support for Nip from NBA greats. Fan favorite point guard James Harden said he was going to make it his business to help the name “Nip” live on. Russell Westbrook eloquently strung along magnetic plays on the court the night he learned Nip went home to glory; dedicating flip moves to Nip. “Rest up king”, he homaged.
Thank you, fallen rap kings, for extraordinary music made in dangerous times. I couldn’t imagine a night out on the town without “Blue Laces 2” exacting as backdrop while Black excellence rolls around in V-12s. Picture us Rollin’ with the Nipsey Hussle, shining in African Pride and Strong Roots, turning away from the racist, haunting, Judge Robert Perry, dangling lynching ropes in our rear-view mirrors.
Nipsey is a light that continues to shine in the dark. Unfortunately – maybe inevitably – the darkness did not comprehend it. John 1:5.
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