Hip-Hop on Healthcare
You don’t normally think of rap stars as having much to do with Washington’s health care debate. After all, hip-hop is mainly about young people and young people almost never think they’re going to get sick. But, even rappers get older, if they’re lucky. Bodies begin to give out, doctor bills begin to pile up and suddenly that health care debate hits home.
“Normally I find it kind of hard being a part of things like this,” said hip-hop artist Malik Taylor, better known as “Phife” or “Phife Dawg” from the Billboard award-winning rap group A Tribe Called Quest.
True that. “This” was a health care round table co-sponsored by the New York-based Hip-Hop Theater Festival, which is something that is in town this week besides Congress.
The panel was held at the Washington, DC, headquarters of the Service Employees International Union, one of many “lobbyists” (If you don’t like what they’re lobbying for) and “stakeholders” (If you do) who are vigorously working the health care debate in Congress this summer.
In the 21 years since Tribe’s birth, Taylor has learned a few things about holes in America’s safety net –the hard way.
First there was his late friend James Dewitt Yancey, better known as J Dilla, an influential rap artist and producer who before his death from lupus in 2006, worked with Chicago’s Common and other well known stars.
During four years of struggle against the often-debilitating autoimmune disease, Dilla’s inadequate health insurance coverage ran out, leaving his family with mounting bills of thousands of dollars every month that friends and fans have tried to help pay off with fundraisers.
Phife’s doing his part, plus helping to raise public awareness of Lupus and the nation’s broken health care system — especially after dealing with health issues of his own.
Tracy Jarrett, an intern for this blog who interviewed Phife, picks up the story here:
In May 1990, Phife was diagnosed with diabetes. A self proclaimed sugar addict, Phife approached his health and dietary needs in the ways of a classic self-indulgent hip-hop star, which is to say that he did not take much care at all.
In 1999, after Tribe broke up, he noticed a pimple-like bump on his neck. Soon he was shocked to learn from a doctor that: “Your kidneys have died. You may have to start dialysis.”
He gained weight and his heart began to fail. In 2006, he recalls, with his heart working at only 25 percent, he would need a kidney transplant. Immediately. After two other donors resulted in complications, he found an ironic match closer than he had imagined: his wife.
Since January, four months after his transplant, he’s been working and traveling again. And fortunately he was covered by his wife’s health insurance, saving them from the six-figure debt that burdened Phife’s family.
“(W) hat I’ve been through the past four or five years, and prior to that, the J Dilla situation,” said Phife at the SEIU roundtable, “—that’s basically what made me come to my senses and say I have to do something to help.”
His motto? “Each one, teach one.”
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