There's layers to this one. The first being can I say how wild it is, even if it falters in the process, to have a song from a massive and influential rap artist where its entire basis is in trans acceptance and acknowledgement of a person's own transphobic misgivings. To openly lay any criticism at their own feet for their prejudice instead of seeking to absolve it through the actions of the other. I didn't know what to expect from a new Kendrick album but a track talking about trans relatives that's critical of everyone who was transphobic to them, including himself, wasn't one of them. That this might make a few people pause and reflect on how they're treating trans people they know is a positive.
That said, if we're discussing it, the execution is messy. Not least in the use of the f-slur. In the original line I can understand why it's there. Does it need to be? Not really – you could use alternatives and get the point across – but within the story the song is telling, and it being critical of it, then I can at least understand how it found its way there. Does it risk ignorant people using this song as a means to shout "faggot" out loud without thinking to the context? Yep. Which isn't great. It's also muddied as he goes on to say "I said them F-bombs, I ain't know any better" recognising that it's something he shouldn't use any more, but at that point it's been said three times again for no real reason.
The whole song closes with...
...and it's odd. You could easily write the verse without saying faggot again three times, for the third time. Yet at the end of the journey and the climax of this song about realisation and understanding he's still using it. It's a missed opportunity to marry the end of the story with his present-day understanding. Showing the progression and appreciation of the final point being made.
The misgendering bounces back and forth between 'he' and 'she' through the song with no real consistency to the timeline. Which is easy to at least understand; he's emphasising the struggle he had in recognising his Uncle's identity, and those others had around Mary-Ann's. Similar to the above I think it's overplayed more than it needs to and, dare I say it, writing that was a bit more clever could have circumvented the need to reiterate it over and over but fundamentally I'm not spitting teeth over it. The dead-naming feels gratuitous though, especially when extended beyond his family.
Really though, the underlying theme is that he loves both family members for who they are and that was the consistent thread in his experience of their transitions. It isn't said begrudgingly either. His understanding and progression is in appreciating how the actions of others made those relatives feel, rather than lamenting the loss of any former identity. This is not some 'trans widow' take, he's proud of who they became. He even finds the confidence to stand up for his cousin against prejudice in church:
Now perhaps this is more of an indictment of just how rare it is to see this sentiment both in and out of rap, but despite it's faults it's one where the counterbalance weighs in favour of the positive for me. That doesn't negate the points made earlier, and I don't think being critical of those elements makes him an enemy. Nor is it worth lamenting media literacy being dead just because some people don't want to stomach a cishet guy saying 'faggot' 10 times in the space of 5 minutes. It's clear to me that some more thought to the writing could have presented the same message to the same audience, while avoiding these trappings.
What we are left with though, is a song on Kendrick's latest album talking about trans members of his family and how much he loves them. About how they've been mistreated, and how it's worth standing up in the face of prejudice towards them. That's something I didn't expect to be able to say this time last week. I'm pretty happy to have that.
