Kirshnik Khari Ball, better known as Takeoff, one-third of the multi-platinum hip hop group Migos, was shot and killed at a bowling alley in Houston earlier this week. The 28-year-old was an instant standout in the Grammy-nominated trio thanks to the cocktail of his punchy flow and catchy ad-libs. Takeoff's death makes him at least the sixth mainstream rapper to be gunned down this year, preceded by Snootie Wild, Archie Eversole, Trouble, JayDaYoungan and PnB Rock, alongside the emerging talents we also lost to gun violence just in 2022. All Black men.
Tighten up, Watkins is the first thought that came to me when I heard the news about Takeoff. Not a hunger to scour the internet for all the details of the shooting. Not punching my Tidal app to build a Takeoff playlist, or even checking the social media pages of the other Migos members, Offset and Quavo, because I am a fan, one of the people who contributed to the more than 1.5 billion streams of their 2017 chart-topper "Bad and Boujie." I didn't even go to Takeoff's page to get a sense of what other fans were feeling. None of those normal reactions to losing a celebrity crossed my mind at the shocking moment. I just took a self-audit and thought, tighten up, Watkins. Like many Black men in this country, hyper-awareness has been my key to survival.
What exactly does "tighten up" mean? For me, it means I pause to consider where I spend time. I grew up in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in one of the most dangerous cities in America — Down Da Hill (DDH) in east Baltimore. This historic city is made up of quaint craft pubs, a thriving art community and some of the most delicious restaurants on the East coast, all of which are perfect hubs for transplants and visitors. But there's another side. The section that I am from is where a lot of the violence occurs. This is where most of my real friends and many in my family live, where the schools I visit are located and where my book giveaways take place. I live in the whole city, touching all kinds of communities, not just the sweet parts. This means I have to be conscious of what is happening in the neighborhood: Is there a beef going on? Was someone recently shot? Is a drought driving the users crazy? And so forth.
Like many Black men in this country, hyper-awareness has been my key to survival.
"Yo D, don't come out today" is a call I've heard one too many times. "It's a lot going on."
That call doesn't mean I'm not welcome or my friends are turning their backs on me. It means there could potentially be a shooting and my friends don't want me, a guy who has nothing to do with the violence, to catch a stray bullet.
I was caught in the middle of a shootout the night I published my first Salon essay, "Too poor for pop culture." I wasn't out looking for trouble, buying drugs, instigating or sticking my nose in someone's business. I was just trying to get a haircut — in honor of my first publication, to mark the official start of my writing career — in my own neighborhood. That same year, my friend John Jackson, a city worker from the neighborhood whom we called Free, died when a bullet ricocheted off a wall and pierced his head. That same year in the same neighborhood, my friends and I were celebrating making it through the year at a local bar when a bullet burst through the windshield of my car, leaving shards of glass all over the driver's seat and dashboard. I was blessed to still be in the bar soaking my liver. As I brushed the glass onto the floor mat, I thought, Tighten up when you frequent certain areas, Watkins, because even though your reality has changed, the neighborhood hasn't. Then I fell asleep in the car.
We don't start out like this. Poor Black boys in America live wild, reckless and free lives, just like most boys in the country. We are as curious as we are musty. We play football way past dawn, blow hours on the basketball court shooting jumpers deep into the night, even after the lights go out. We are playful, shy, always goofy. We dream about our crushes. We are always ashy, and always — always — hungry, willing to eat you out of house and home if you allow us. And then something happens. Somewhere between the end of middle school and the beginning of high school. That shift between preteen puberty and becoming a young man. The age when we truly know if we are going to make it in sports or not, and if not, we start to look at the options around us. Normally the quickest, most lucrative, most accessible and most attractive option is the streets.
This is not the experience of every Black man. But many of us who are from poverty remember exactly how those conversations went with our friends who struggled their way through middle school and couldn't see high school as an option. Professions like rapper and TV star are pipe dreams. City worker goes out of the window because you need a diploma or GED for that. But hustling, robbing and extortion are real and always hiring, and they pay every day.
Only an end to systemic poverty will stop the murders and eradicate that mentality.
I don't know the person who shot Takeoff, but I'd bet my last dollar they didn't grow up in a community overflowing with hope, love and opportunity. More than likely they are from a place similar to mine, where conflict must be handled in absolutes or you risk losing everything you worked to acquire in that world. And a lecture, a thinkpiece, a reading list, or a "day of peace" cannot and will not fix that. Only an end to systemic poverty will stop the murders and eradicate that mentality. Until that happens, we will be mourning Black rappers, Black city workers, Black hustlers, Black children, Black people.
And those of us Black men who are visibly successful and aim to be positive examples in impoverished neighborhoods will continue to live delicate, paranoid lives because we know our Black male life is more fragile than a cheap wine glass. It can be canceled at any time by a cop, a kid who found a pistol, or even a street dude with poor aim. As a result, my initial reaction to any murder is to tighten up.
Tighten up. Refuse to live freely. Rarely extend the friend group. Take care of one too many people you hope will take care of you. Never live in the moment. Always plot the next move. Keep an eye on any and everything. Don't have a lot of fun in the process, because you don't want to end up a headline.
Takeoff should be able to hang at a bowling alley without losing his life. All of us should. America doesn't always work like that.
