The music video for "Who I Smoke" currently has over 20 million views on YouTube. On a surface level, it's a campy spin on Vanessa Carlton'due south "A Thousand Miles," similar to Baltimore rapper YTK's recent Mariah Carey-inspired "Let Information technology Off." The video shows Florida artists Spinabenz, Whoppa Wit Da Choppa, Yungeen Ace, and FastMoney Goon wylin' out on a golf course with all their jewels on while they rap. Information technology's as if the video treatment came from the same Wayans Brothers who wrote the infamous scene of Terry Crews singing "A Thousand Miles" in White Chicks.

The "Who I Smoke" video is the kind of ironic, outlandish content that makes for slap-up social media fodder. It'southward hard non to gawk at. But a deeper agreement of the lyrics should make most want to turn away in discomfort. The song'southward title, "Who I Fume," refers to the slang of "smokin'" expressionless enemies. The phrase "smokin on (insert person)" pack has alloyed into the internet lexicon to disrespect the likes of Rush Limbaugh, but similar then many things in popular culture, information technology came at the expense of a Blackness life. Chicago youth coined the term in the early 2010s to joke about a 15-year-onetime rival who was fatally shot ("smoked"), allegedly a sick twist on the story that The Outlawz smoked their friend Tupac'south ashes.

It's on that grisly premise that "Who I Fume" lies. The song is a manifestation of a generation that knows zilch else but the net being a complimentary-for-all—and at present it's their turn. They've seen rappers use the digital space to diss their enemies and proceeds traction for it; they've seen people use social media to fan the flames of local beef; and they're thirsty for social media fame.

When you lot grow up in proximity to an endless cycle of gun violence and desire to affirm your side'southward superiority, a mutual route to alluring viral attention is to get equally disrespectful equally possible. We saw 50 Cent push limits with his antics vs. Rick Ross in 2009. Many recoiled when Main Keef joked about the death of Lil JoJo on Twitter in 2012, or when his young man Chicagoans made songs reeling off the names of "expressionless opps." A couple of years later on, the world was captivated by 6ix9ine's "test my gangster" performance, replete with an unabridged gang set as supporting bandage.

The "Who I Smoke" rappers, and some of their young peers, may not know whatsoever meliorate than their social media antics, but older fans do. People of a sure age remember the negative elements of the Chicago drill scene's rise. Young suburbanites lived vicariously through Chicago gang violence by using videos and social media to link sure drill artists to gangs. They spectated Twitter arguments and Instagram Live sessions. People who weren't even total-time artists became social media stars for their proximity to drill artists. Some made fortunes off pathologizing the kids as "savages." The sensationalism tied to the scene hurt their ability to perform in their home city, and served as further impetus for cops to surveil them.

Nearly reactions to what's going on in Jacksonville correct now bespeak that we're already headed downward a similar path to what happened in Chicago. There's been a lot of hysteria nigh "Who I Fume" and Foolio's Fantasia-sampling "When I See You" answer, and in that location'due south a whole ingather of kids who are enjoying having new "real" heroes to spectate. There are others gawking at the scene as if they represent a new low for humanity. And a minority is watching the scene with concern, hoping the artists tin can milk shake the workout of their environment and employ their talents to lead productive lives. Whatever people end upward doing after watching "Who I Fume," the important part for the creators is that—for better or worse—they're watching.

We got to this bespeak later a serial of dramatic changes over the years, and we can give thanks the net and social media for expanding the war breast of rap beefiness. Artists had relatively limited opportunities to talk their shit during the early 2000s, besides the occasional TV or radio advent and magazine feature. Only a changing media landscape, led past independent journalists, shortly gave them new venues to air out enemies.

Tru Life hacked Jim Jones' MySpace page and posted edited photos feminizing the Dipset capo. The Game released an entire DVD dissing fifty Cent and G-Unit, including footage of him walking up to 50's Connecticut mansion. There was even the YouTuber who took it upon themself to reply to Cam'ron'south "Swagger Jacker" Jay-Z diss with their own concocted clip of Cam'ron "biting" other MCs' lyrics.

The beef documentaries capitalized on fans' involvement in controversy past offering up the behind-the-scenes stories backside rap conflicts. Street DVDs like SMACK DVD, The Come up DVD, Cocaine City, and Sub-O DVD fulfilled fans' desire for intimate access to artists. They went anywhere and captured tensions between not just star artists, but their crews. Of a sudden, rap beef wasn't just nigh dueling songs or waiting iii months to read what someone had to say about a foe in a magazine. These new, raw media platforms were allowing for instant fume.

Sites like YouTube, WorldstarHipHop, OnSMASH, ForbezDVD, and others picked upwards from the DVDs as resource for artists non only to have in-depth interviews and share videos (including disses) but to drop clips dissing their rivals.

While some may signal the finger at how disrespectful rap beef has become, it'due south also worth noting that these songs have millions of listeners. Many rap consumers want this violence.


These avenues gained more attention not just for stars, but lesser known artists. French Montana, who started Cocaine City, used his platform to proceeds notoriety via videos featuring him and Max B dissing Jim Jones — and waiting outside Jones' studio sessions. During the early stages of the 50 Cent vs. Rick Ross beef, artists like late G-Unit chapter Mazaradi Fox and a so-relatively unknown Gunplay became known on Worldstar, setting a precedent where it wasn't just two artists going at it; members of an artist's entourage could gain a higher contour past jumping into the fray, too. Rap crews had the freedom to say whatever they wanted, unbound past radio or MTV regulations—and the disrespect was flagrant. To most listeners at the time, Pac's "MOB" and Biggie'due south "squad in the marine blue" were just faceless references when the two artists checked them on records. Imagine how much more noise (and danger) there would take been during their conflict if both respective crews were in the public space, egging on violence.

That dynamic paved the way for what we later saw from those in the orbit around drill music scenes. People like 6ix9ine's one-time manager Shotti didn't even rap, but he kept beef going with his repast ticket's rivals. These people had less to lose and more to prove, which means they were willing to get nastier and escalate a war of words toward actual violence.

Rappers weren't the only people using the internet as a battlefield. Oxford Bookish reported that "gang-associated youth use online platforms like Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram to taunt rivals and merchandise insults in ways that cause offline retaliation," though they also qualified that "there is surprisingly trivial empirical research investigating how gang-associated youth actually deploy social media in gang conflicts and to what upshot." Forrest Stuart, a Stanford educator conducted a study with "60 immature men affiliated with gangs" and found that "contrary to common belief, the majority of social media challenges remain confined to online space and do not generate offline violence." But these arguments still stir a contentious temper in neighborhoods rocked by gun violence. These platforms led young people with proximity to gangs to crave local hood fame and online notoriety via social media. And things often escalate even more quickly when they accept rap aspirations.

While those who grew upwards in and around these communities were already used to such madness, the rest of the globe was commencement exposed to digital gang beef upon the rise of the Chicago drill scene. The world collectively gasped when Primary Keef joked near the death of rival rapper Lil JoJo, but those already in tune with the scene knew that this young generation of rival neighborhoods were always interacting disrespectfully on social media.

Keef's tweet magnified how much Chicago's decades-long gang conflict had pervaded the city'due south rap scene. Neighborhood friends of artists got on the radar of rap fans considering they were referenced in songs or seen in videos. Reddit pages and social media accounts popped upwards defended to chronicling arguments between rival rappers and their crews. What was marketed in the rap media as rap beef was actually gang beef that spilled into the music. Instead of traditional rap disses with name flips or music-orientated insults, artists would drib songs dissing entire gangs, spitting on the memories of their expressionless enemies. Artists vied to up the ante (and the appointment) by being more disrespectful than the final song, reeling off longer and more vicious assaults on the dead. And outside the booth, they would further the tension by tweeting out jokes nearly slain rivals.

Rap fans take long been enamored with artists who rhyme about their gang ties in their music and give a glimpse of the lifestyle in videos. Social media offered an even more intimate opportunity to spectate gang culture and put a face on the people in the midst of the conflict.

6ix9ine admits to being influenced past the Chicago drill scene. The controversial rapper capitalized on the public's digital bloodthirst more than anyone. He'southward a product of the social media generation that gained attending pre-rap, with antics like performing wrestling moves on bra-and-panty-clad women. Social engagement seems similar the nearly of import affair in his life, leading him to utilise an attending-at-all-costs mentality to rap with infamous consequences.

His daily calls for rap rivals and gang members alike to "examination my gangster" didn't stay relegated to the internet. 6ix9ine got into a fight with a coiffure of people in Minnesota during Super Bowl LIl festivities, and with Rap-A-Lot affiliated artists at LAX. He had his coiffure rob two people that he erroneously thought were also with Rap-A-Lot in New York (and reportedly filmed information technology). His beef with Casanova reportedly caused a shooting at Brooklyn'southward Barclays Centre, and he testified that he had someone shoot at Primary Keef in 2018 after they got into it online.

Even though 6ix9ine ended up temporarily incarcerated along with the Nine Trey Bloods he told on, his strategy was working for a time. He realized that the internet ecosystem rewards shocking content, and he could plough his engagement into sales. The infamy he gained from beef helped him build a large fanbase that catapulted him to the top of the Billboard charts. The act of starting beefiness, gaining attention, and turning the hysteria into money has become a risky design for anyone longing to apace gain attention on social media.

That's the world that these young Duval County rappers grew up in, and they're following some of the aforementioned tactics as their predecessors. They're function of a generation of rappers who can't properly separate the streets from their profession—and they're getting momentarily rewarded for not beingness able to. The major beefiness in the city is centered effectually ascension rappers Foolio and Yungeen Ace, as well as all their affiliates. They've used social media to antagonize each other, like when Yungeen Ace affiliate Ksoo got football game player Leonard Fournette to hold upwardly a Mike Bibby jersey, unknowingly making light of Foolio's 16-twelvemonth-old friend Bibby (who Ksoo was recently charged with murdering). They took advantage of the momentary hype of the Clubhouse app past holding rooms where they antagonized each other. The sorry reality is that their arguments could be considered a twisted course of rap marketing, as they satiated their impressionable fans' desire for drama.

Conflict is a surefire way for artists to gain notoriety. Disrespectful records like "Who I Fume" are going to sew the numbers for a time, but none of the fans who thirst for these antics are ever there when artists suffer the consequences of their actions. Julio Foolio recently told Complex that "the fans play a big role." He noted, "The same mode our job is to wake upwardly and rap, information technology'due south most as if some of these fans' jobs is to wake upward and troll under Foolio's comment department." Yungeen Ace added, "The fans make this shit even deeper, and it turns into a pride thing… These folks don't care that we're talking nearly real people because this is the entertainment manufacture, and they only want practiced music." To fans, information technology's but entertainment, fifty-fifty if people are dying behind it.

In that location have been numerous troubling instances of artists dying right later the release of incendiary diss songs. DC rapper OG ManMan was killed shortly after releasing "Truth," a diss song paired with a video depicting him at a rival'southward grave site. Chicago rapper Lli Marc was also killed days after releasing his OTF diss "No Competition." There's no way to know the circumstances of their deaths, but inflammatory disses aid feed a violent climate. That'southward why King Von'due south uncle Range Rover Hand urged Lil Durk to stop dissing dead rivals later his blood brother DThang was tragically murdered last weekend.

The lyrics on these aren't just confined—lives were lost. They deserve more than to exist commodified as part of America's lust for Black death.


So far, the Duval County scene has been engaged with by fans in a like fashion to Chicago drill: The artists' music is being overlooked in lieu of gawking at their conflicts. And nosotros've already seen the larger consequences of defining a scene past its worst moments. The New York, London, and Chicago establishment has used sensational media coverage to stagnate their respective drill movements: stopping shows, surveilling artists, and veritably exiling its biggest stars. We've seen police departments weaponize the sensationalism past criminalizing artists, their lyrics, and even their social media footprint to ensnare them in sweeping gang indictments and RICOs. The justice system's predatory tactics haven't had the level of pushback they deserve because and then much of the public buys the hype that these artists are "savages."

While some may bespeak the finger at how disrespectful rap beef has become, it'southward as well worth noting that these songs have millions of listeners. Many rap consumers want this violence. Rap music has become a multibillion dollar industry in part because it feeds racist fantasies well-nigh who Black people are. The further the lines are blurred between rap and the streets, the more than that listeners can get their fix of Blackness dysfunction (with no personal consequences). The ongoing fallout of King Von's death is i of the more than glaring examples, with fans spectating every development like it's a reality bear witness. There are too many rap consumers and rap media professionals who may like rap music, but couldn't care less about the people making the music. The lyrics on songs similar "Who I Smoke," FBG Duck'south "Dead Bitches," and more than aren't only bars—lives were lost. They deserve more than to be commodified as part of America's lust for Black expiry.

At that place'due south a well-meaning inclination to theorize that young artists who reverberate the violence in their cities are but products of their environment, but nosotros should offer them more regard than to pretend they have no bureau. These are intent decisions made by homo beings looking for a specific reaction and acting out against perilous conditions. The earth is anti-Black; it makes sense that they lash out at this reality through war with faces that look like their own.

Instead of gasping at them and moving on, or coddling their actions with theorizing that doesn't accost the root of the trouble, we should ask each other some questions: Why is the value of Black life so depression to so many people? What does information technology say about our society that lampooning Black death is accounted entertaining? How much of this morbid humor is nearly hordes of young people laughing to keep from crying or admitting their fright of life'due south fragility?

Renowned scholar and activist Kwame Ture one time proclaimed, "History doesn't echo itself… nothing can." The tragedy of underserved Black communities, which we see through rap, isn't a generational bicycle, but a systematic deposition of humanity that's only getting deadlier every bit the toolbox expands. The cyberspace gives people the means to go on upwardly disharmonize in front of the whole world. And it too gives people who will never venture into certain neighborhoods a stake in fueling the violence within them. Instead of observing all of this, feeling powerless to the cycle, nosotros can end the process.

It'southward common knowledge that interim out is a sign of low self-esteem and loneliness. Doing and so on social media may merely be a hope that the likes and views gained equally a result tin temporarily make full a hole that society doesn't care to. The young people in Chicago, Jacksonville, Brooklyn, and and so many other cities aren't the simply groups using the internet to deed out. But living in an caitiff system means they're the only people facing deadly consequences for information technology.

During an interview with YouTuber Cam Capone, Foolio reflected on his beef with Yungeen Ace and also admitted, "Damn, I exist thinkin,' what if all united states was like i? Like together… We would be powerful." Information technology's possible. Simply anybody would get-go have to be in a infinite to see the bigger moving-picture show.

Information technology took Gucci Mane and Jeezy experiencing the comfort of financial security and clarity of age to squash their differences and come to an agreement. Unfortunately, too many rappers were killed before they reached that point, in part because their music was so criminalized that it cost them opportunities and kept them in the hood, mired in a counterproductive mindset. Every onlooker who fans the flames of these beefs—from fans to media—is complicit in standing that cycle. Maybe going forrard, we could be more than cognizant of how to best engage with vehement social media antics. It'south a thing of life and death.