Black charities’ already small share of grants from traditional foundations is shrinking. Allocations dropped to 1.6 percent in 2003.

Indeed, hip-hop culture, which traces its genesis to the Bronx in the early 1970s, is a growing force. Hip-hop and rap records accounted for more than 12 percent of the $12.1 billion recording industry sales in 2004. The artists and their music also define fashion trends and advertising and marketing strategies for everything from video games to financial services. While hip-hop, like any popular trend, remains subject to the capricious winds of the music-buying public, its stars possess the potential to make a lasting and profound impact on American philanthropy. Because of the combination of their upbringing in underserved communities and their social consciousness, along with their worldwide notoriety, hip-hop philanthropists have both strong motivation and a powerful platform for doing good.

Simmons, like many committed philanthropists, aspires to change the root causes of poverty and inequality rather than simply trying to alleviate some of the suffering that is the outgrowth of the problems.

"[Our goal is to have an] impact on policy . . . whether or not you call it philanthropy," Simmons says. "In other words, when we get people to be better citizens by voting, or money in the education budget by rallying as we did a few years ago and getting [New York Mayor Michael] Bloomberg to put money back in the education budget, that’s the same thing to me. I’ve got a blurred line between the social and philanthropic stuff."

Nelly established Jes Us 4 Jackie in 2003 in honor of his sister, Jackie Donahue, who died of leukemia. The nonprofit is designed to help redress the lack of black donors on the bone marrow registry. The group had signed up 2,700 donors by November 2005, and had found successful matches for seven patients. "A lot of people ask me, like, what’s my biggest achievement, what do I feel, like, defines Nelly, and I’m, like, it has nothing to do with music," he says. "You know you can be the richest man on the planet, but how many lives have you saved? We saved seven. So top that one. You know what I’m sayin’?"

Controversial Collaborations
If these philanthropists hope to achieve these goals, they will have to find ways to mollify donors, corporations and other philanthropies that are reluctant to align themselves with an industry that often celebrates violence and misogyny. Most hip-hop charities forge their own path, but those that seek to expand are considering partnerships with larger charities or businesses; some are already making such connections. Haddigan of the Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation hopes to follow an established charity model by creating a hip-hop community trust, banking on Rush’s decade of experience connecting with grassroots organizations. Meanwhile, Target is in talks with Rush to donate up to $1 million, according to a person familiar with the discussions.

These collaborations are not always comfortable. In September, Kanye West diverged from his script during a live Red Cross telethon for Hurricane Katrina victims, tearing into media portrayals of black people and the delays in administering aid. "Those are my people," West said. "George Bush doesn’t care about black people." Enough of his fans agreed with West that a remake of his song "Gold Digger" (renamed "George Bush Don’t Like Black People") became a cult hit.

Even as some hip-hop stars have been willing to spark controversy in support of a cause, the public personas of others have, at times, repelled even those they seek to help. A backlash against Nelly’s video for his song "Tip Drill"–in which he swipes his credit card through a woman’s backside–wrecked his outreach to Atlanta’s Spelman College last year. Students at the all-female black college protested his appearance to promote bone marrow donations, and the event was canceled. Last fall, 50 Cent’s G-Unity Foundation made a $100,000 donation to Teach for America–even as billboards for his film, Get Rich or Die Tryin’, were removed from the vicinity of Los Angeles schools after protests about the image: 50 Cent’s bullet-scarred, tattooed back, with arms outstretched, holding a gun in one hand and microphone in the other.