Just finished an article about “Hip Hop” music. It ran in National Geographic. Writer James McBride categorizes some of Hip Hop as “social commentary.” And he went to Dakar, Senegal, to search for the African roots of this music. Upon arriving in Dakar, he notes: “The stench of poverty in my nostrils was so strong it pulled me to earth like a hundred-pound ring in my nose.” Just like the slaves in the South invented “the Blues” out of their pain, true Hip Hop eminates from the “quiet rage and desperate fury” of the Senegalese, McBride continues. And he adds that desperation has indeed gone global: “Today, two percent of the Earth’s adult population owns more than 50 percent of it’s household wealth, and indegenous cultures are swallowed with the rapidity of a teenager gobbling a bag of potato chips…” And to spin off from this metaphore, therein lies the problem. In the market at Senegal, McBride met a teenage beggar whose body was malformed by polio. He crawled on his hands and knees like a spider, begging for scraps of food. And meanwhile, people in our culture will think nothing of buying ‘bag after bag’ of non-nutritional junk food like potato chips — while this youth in Senegal (Biafra, Uganda, Burundi…) is in such tremendous pain and desperation. Note: As president, I would do everything possible to try to mobilize more people in America (and throughout the First World) to help that kid in Senegal.