Since I began to pursue and participate in rap in 1991, I understood that regardless of how much money I made or what my position in the music industry would be, I had a duty to call out what I felt was bullshit, whether by serious critique or lampoonery. Participation in rap was a dirty job, but the dirt was one of its greatest attractions. That’s what I assumed from my education of listening to just about every rap album released between 1988 and 1993. Times done changed, but Generation X’s rap fans were reared with such strong DNA that it’s an utter shock to see its members remain so silent. So when Jay-Z declines to comment on a dangerous race-class situation at a company he’s in bed with (Barney’s) or Russell Simmons solicits tips on exorcising the need for money from your life on Twitter (from the strong wi-fi connection at his mansion in The Hamptons), I instinctively react like like I’m s’posed to: with zero regard for bank accounts. Both men have made enough money to fill up the seat of J-Lo’s pants and been involved with great things musically, but when do you finally have enough “fuck you” money to start saying “fuck you” to people who need to hear it? “Hater” rules mean because all Russell Simmons did in his prime at Def Jam, Kimora Lee’s legs and his net worth, no rappers I know of besides Professor Griff put a fucking target on his head for endorsing a Harriet Tubman sex tape. “Hater” rules also let headphone guru, Dr. Dre, catch zero dissonance for being part of a joint letter that requests his work not be sampled, according to Billboard Magazine. The king of P-Funk replays and liberal Leon Haywood lifts doesn’t want to be sampled? Get the whole entire fuck outta here.

But it’s overwhelmingly bizarre to be attacked on Twitter by someone in my own tax bracket for critiquing the actions or words of someone who could match both our yearly salaries in three hours. It’s also strange to note that so few people born in the 70s find anything wrong with the aforementioned situations and feign ignorance to the tune of “they’re rich, fuck it!” But strangest of all is if the L.A. Clippers simply reversed their warm-ups and proceeded to play a game for an overtly racist owner 24 years ago, the man responsible for Are We There Yet? would probably cut a Clipper diss record and perform it at the Staples Center at half time in a Bitch Killa t-shirt.

Generational differences are natural and healthy. A 14-year-old kid in 2014 should not be like his equivalent from 1991. Wear your skinny jeans and dance at 25 BPM to molly rap, that’s not for me to judge. But utter indifference to what’s going on is not healthy, regardless of generation. Speaking with young adults regularly helps keep me in tune with where things are.

Why get mad when you can get money instead?

Instead of dissing that person, focus on your endorsements.

I’ve heard that a lot. While very adult-like, mature and diplomatic in theory, fuck that shit. It defies what made rap such a respectable force for many years. Even those who hated rap respected it enough to use it for target practice in the media. The firecracker opinion from the successful rap star is so obsolete that rap doesn’t even scare anyone anymore. Say it aloud: “Rap is not scary music.” Like, it doesn’t give rich white people, police chiefs and conservative black politicians nightmares. Daytime talk show hosts invite rappers to be guests and the vibe is positive and jovial the entire fucking time. Oh my God. Let that sink in. I feel like Ricky Baker was just shot in that alley and I’m bringing his bloody corpse back to mama.

As for rap’s internal affairs, nobody entered rap unchecked at one point in time. Even those who were established had to constantly jockey for respect regardless of record sales. That’s why there was something exciting about envisioning LL Cool J cashing checks from Deep Blue Sea at the bank, then heading to the studio to rip Wyclef a brand new asshole on “Rasta Imposter,” a white label diss that quietly ranks with “Jack the Ripper” and “To Da Break Of Dawn” in potency. Today, there’s something exciting about seeing Chuck D use social media as a platform to address issues that make people uncomfortable, but it’s odd to see so many people bring money (and the cloudy concept of music industry “relevance”) into the equation when it has nothing to do with the points being made. Some disagree with comments on Lord Jamar’s Twitter feed and they have a right to, but the fact that his outspoken nature is a shock to anyone is proof of how far in the rear view mirror a man with an opinion and the balls to voice it is in 2014. If that weren’t the case, deleted tweets and half-baked apologies wouldn’t be at an all-time high.

Like the outspokenness of prior generations, any spurts of expression or “hating” done in current times will quickly be silenced by money, the threat of losing it or accusations of not having enough of it. That has led us to a casually disinterested, stylishly aloof and coolly indifferent general outlook where we give everything in life a three-mic rating because we’re scared of giving otherwise. Anything more is dick-riding. Anything less is “hating.”

The music business in 2014 has the worst case of Stockholm syndrome I’ve ever seen. Our opinions have all been ambushed with tranquilizer darts. I mean, when a 23-year-old in customer service making $21,000 a year will hop on Twitter to defend a millionaire from “hater” artists making $50,000 a year who take swipes at said millionaire, everything is officially beyond repair. Maybe when the customer service rep realizes his career will cap out at $40,000, the “hater” artist one day asks him for a job because his shit dried up and the millionaire gets a stripper pregnant and goes flat broke, we’ll all have the same net worth and diss each other equally. So start “hating” on things again. Anger is a human emotion; it’s perfectly all right to be a “mad rapper.” If you’re not sending Keisha and The Duh-Duh man to someone’s crib with AK-47s, then you’re not hating on them. It’s just your opinion.