(diss)Course Analysis: Diss Tracks as Cultural Reckoning

(diss)Course Analysis: Diss Tracks as Cultural Reckoning
A still from Shabjdeed and Al Nather's 2020 song, 'Kteer Ktar'

“What’s Beef?” asked Biggie Smalls 30 years ago, and the answer remains: “A moral compass.”

A couple of weeks ago, when Shabjdeed took aim at Saint Levant in a full-fledged diss track, comment sections arrived at one conclusion: “This is not the time to create division.” What this conclusion glossed over entirely, however, is that division already exists. 

No side is necessarily superior to the other, but there is no denying that the star who became famous singing “Rode to Haifa in a Tesla, told the soldier to relax”, when one could only dream to drive to Haifa, Teslas are not imported to the West Bank, and said soldier would murk you, unquivering, over an abrupt glance let alone a relaxed ‘relax’, is naturally already “divided” from the artist enclaved by concrete checkpoints on all sides. 

That is simply the truth; manipulating it is useless and dishonest, and the dreamy illusion of unity, especially the kind meant to be televised, has barely ever served anyone. We are demanding a whole nation, with its people scattered across not only the globe but Palestine itself, to manufacture a singular, shared and whole identity; it is just impossible. 

The division exists already; and it is in dire times when necessity demands some things be set straight, it is obligatory and gainful, especially when culture today tiptoes, conceals truth with fuchsia flowers and diplomacy. 

Believe it or not, the very times the comment sections call wrong for such actions are exactly the perfect times to weed out the performers and the profiteers, the champions and the leaders – for rebellion, any rebellion, requires the closest thing to a clean slate. A movement, at the end of the day, is its people. 

The common misconception about diss tracks is that they burn bridges, they pollute the culture with secondary discourse, and misdirect the attention of an already distracted audience. While partially true, at their best, diss tracks can do the exact opposite. They steer the conversation into its correct direction, they come as a consequence to the dishonoring of a moral imperative. 

“You are hiding a child, let that boy come home,” In the popularized myth of Adonin, it was this one line by Pusha T that pushed Drake to reform. Once referred to as a “deadbeat”, Drake became an active father to his son Adonis, present and proud. Evident or not, the streets agree: public denouncement of a matter led to action, even if indirectly.  

Diss tracks are hence a demand for accountability; they are the corrective method of the mere crowds, taking matters into their own hands, an extension of the essence of hip-hop: when you violate the unwritten rules, you get served a verdict written in rhymes.  

It is true that the jabs thrown at Saint Levant, and the following discourse, relate to a much larger conversation regarding representation and positioning, but it’s important to trace the original reasoning behind it. 

This beef, before national politics got dragged into it, stemmed from street politics, a tradition Shabjdeed has developed of dissing those who schedule their performance on the same day that Shabjdeed has scheduled his. 

Dissing Emsallam for the same reason back in 2018, Shabjdeed said: “You like to split and we like to share, we extend to you the hospitality of an honoured guest, and you take out of your neighbor’s pocket.” 

This, in essence, is the novelty of a diss track. It keeps individuals in check, communities even, especially for standards that are mentioned in no written law, but relate to the earnest human taste and instinctive tact. You share, you give, you wish good on and for your neighbor. 

To point out and behave in relation to this tact, especially once fractured, is, ironically, an assumption of good faith, built on a perceived notion of belonging to the group of people to whom such codes matter. It is not exclusion, but a recognition that someone belongs enough to be judged. 

In simpler terms, the bar above, or “SLV”, could only happen if, in the first place, there was an assumption that Emsallam and Saint Levant are aware and actively present in the moral community that backs and upholds their neighbor, that they presumably abide by the code. Before the diss track, comes an expectation of solidarity. 

Diss tracks do not create divisions, they only react once these divisions manifest themselves too evidently. 

Betrayal is only possible where a community once existed. To call out a behaviour that disrupts a customary law is not an insult, nor is it personal; it is ethics: how standards are maintained, how trust, that leads movements towards change, is conserved.

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