Dear Jay-Z,

Marlon Peterson, a Brooklyn native, shares this open letter to Jay-Z on his birthday. Originally written in July 2017.

Dear Jay,

If you ain’t from “old Brooklyn, not this new shit,” then this think piece ain’t for you. Shout out to NA Rock, aka, Nostrand Ave, to those who don’t know. This will be the best of the good 4:44 think pieces.his will be the best of the good 4:44 think pieces. I was born on NA Rock and P-street (Pacific Street) — the Crown Heights side of Nostrand. I know you from the Bed-Stuy side. Either way, boast about being Brooklyn representer, like you.

Was scared just like you. Hurt just like you. Covered all that hurt and fear up in syndicated street masculinity episodes making me more eager to frown than to “Smile’. Wasn’t a drug dealer like you — I didn’t illustrate my hurt or fear that way. Instead, I embraced other ways to shutter real feelings with anger; denigrate and street harass around the way girls; and find hope in the trepidation of the next person’s eye. We both went to George Westinghouse, though neither of us finished. I transferred out because of trauma; you dropped out because of trauma.

Cats from The Stuy was real. Up NA Rock into Crown Heights niggas was real, too. While y’all had Marcy and Sumner Project beefs we had Pacific Street, Bergen Street, The Marks, Park Place all squabbling. Then the West Indians on Dean and St. John’s wasn’t light work, either. That’s was during the 1988 era brag about. The hood was suffering. All those people on those blocks, and in Marcy Projects was hurting, just like you. Crack was killing us and no one in America thought about our drug problem the way they approach the opioid nowadays. I mean, damn, has anyone researched an antidote to crack yet? They already arresting us for K-2, and no body talking about public health. I guess “still nigga,” huh?

White supremacy was killing us back then, too. I know you remember what those White boys did to Yusef Hawkins and Michael Grifitth. You lived through TNT, the narcotics tactical NYPD unit that the hood knew planted drugs, guns, and beat the shit out of men and women in the back of police vans just like they did Freddie Gray. You rapped about Freddie Grey, right? I know those things were bothering you back then. Why don’t you talk about ’88 in a less glorified way? Fear made you. Why not say that?

Things didn’t change much in ’96 when Reasonable Doubt came out, except lil sisters and brothers all over BK was turning Blood or Crip. Bloods came to Brooklyn because of Rikers Island, and Rikers killed Kalief years later. I know Kalief’s death bothered you because you knew the type of pain and trauma that the system of incarceration inflicted on NA Rock. You said it, “One out of three of us is locked up doing time You know what this type of shit can do to a nigga mind.” Losing Emory for 10 years hurt you. You made a television program about that hurt. That’s the real reason Kalief’s story touched you.

The game was different. Crack was still relevant, but not like before. Abner Louima happened. Amadou Diallo happened in ’99, around the time of Hard Knock Life. You wasn’t in Marcy anymore. I was hollering “Money, Cash, Hoes,” and was getting none of the above; aspiring to be the version of your life you gave us through lyrical exercise.

By American Gangster, the only people buying up the neighborhood was Bruce Ratner and the Walentas family. And, you were the poster child for the Nets coming to the Atlantic Yards — i remember that picture of you and the defender of stop and frisk, Mayor Bloomberg doing the first honorary shoveling.

You sold us. Like loyal Brooklyn representers we bought into your ideal of gaining wealth, and owning yourself. You were doing this for the NA Rock. Right?

Here’s the thing, Jay. Now at 4:44 most of the niggas from NA Rock can’t afford to live in this new shit — let’s call it LaLa Land. I don’t know what Brooklyn looked like 5 years ago because high rises go up every other week, and, yeah, landowners (some Jewish) are unscrupulously pushing longtime residents out of Brooklyn. And I ain’t got the money to choose live here much longer — not yet. I guess I’m caught up in this Red Queen’s Race …maybe you are, too.

But, my brother, if you consider yourself a wayshower, like you mentioned in “The Story of O.J. Footnotes”, are you sure you’re listening to the universe accurately? The wealth you’ve accumulated; the autonomy of your brand; the power of your platform — is it authentic to the hurt you left unrevealed on the streets of NA Rock? Is it the answer to the pangs of the oppressive conditions that finally got you rhyming like Common? Or, is it now conveniently making cents to rhyme about Black pain and the way we Black men hurt Black women? Meek Mill doing it now. I realize he’s your lieutenant now; a more receptive mentee than Beanie Siegel. I know that’s how we show hood love. We pass on what we know to the young cats coming up. You a role model, Jay. I appreciate you for you.

You introduced me to Che Guevara back when I was locked up. When I saw you on the MTV Unplugged album cover with that Che t-shirt, I researched that shit. Not sure how much you ascribe to Che, but allow me to introduce a quote of his to you:

The true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.

Do you really love us?

I’m confident you’ll continue to evolve because you have people like the homie dream hampton teaching you. She’s a wayshower. You are, too. You’re gifted. Something about you seems chosen.

The question is, who do you want to be chosen by?

One our greatest wayshowers, Audrey Lorde told us:

“For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us to temporarily beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.”

The Blueprint to our healing and eventual thriving from the pain and hurt of people dying over a neighborhood that our momma’s renting is not through credit — alone. Genuine change is not the evolution of tools of the oppressor; it is the dismantling of the tools of the oppressor. I get the generational wealth thing, I read Black Enterprise while I was in my second prison-NA ROCK was the first. Up north was the 2nd. I think folks wished striving for the 1% wasn’t the holy grail. Maybe generational justice for niggas from NA Rock and Marcy. Some shit we born into, like Buffet’s kids.We need more than nickels and dimes. Money can buy the dynasty, but it cannot buy the society.

So, yeah, at some point we must Kill Jay-Z.

Sending this to you with all the love of real Brooklyn nigga. I now live on Marcy Ave, a few blocks from Marcy Projects. Still got that old Brooklyn nostalgia in my heart interspersed with the hurt that cats on NA Rock got right now, except we can no longer hang on Nostrand Ave. Brooklyn is on it’s new shit.

Most of us can’t fall back and land on a bunch of money. Gotta knock your hustle, bruh, because I love us.

Hope these Cashmere Thoughts provided you with a little game to transition from the game to what justice looks like for NA Rock.

I’ll be looking out for more 4:44 Footnotes, and I’ll see you at Barclays in couple months.

I’ll be in those expensive seats and instagramming during the show because I want to show off…

Yeah, maybe I should be addressing this letter to me.