“The revolution will not be televised.” – Gil Scott-Heron, 1971
“The revolution about to be televised.” – Kendrick Lamar, 2025
The lights go out, and the field fills with thousands of point lights, glowing like an arcade. They asked for a half-time performance. They got a protest.
While social media buzzed about hip-hop feuds and fashion choices, Kendrick Lamar was busy hijacking Super Bowl LVIII to deliver a message Gil Scott-Heron never could have imagined: the revolution would, in fact, be televised—right between Doritos and Budweiser commercials.
The Great American Game
Hundreds of millions watched with anticipation as Caesars Superdome morphed into a living video game controller. The numbers counted up to 100 as they began to start the game.
“This is your Uncle Sam, and this is The Great American Game!” shouted renowned actor Samuel L. Jackson, playing the American icon Uncle Sam, as he began the performance.
The “game” in question wasn’t just about entertainment—it was about exposing what is right in front of us. Lamar laid bare a system where some players start with cheat codes while others do not even get a starter pack.
By choosing the Super Bowl—corporate America’s holy grail of advertising—as his platform, Lamar was able to co-opt the most watched television program of all time and turn it into a political platform. Scott-Heron was right that corporations are not to be trusted to support the interests of Black America.
The revolution was not brought by the corporations but a Black artist who knew how to play the game. It was not radical. It was not ground-shaking. And it never needed to be.
“Twenty years in, still got that pen dedicated to bare hard truth,” said Lamar at the onset of his performance.
He would go on to expose the truth, using the very system that did not want him to win.
Playing by the Rules
“Too loud, too reckless, too ghetto,” said Uncle Sam after Lamar performed one of his latest releases, “squabble up.” “Mr. Lamar, do you really know how to play the game? Then tighten up!”
“squabble up” is not the mainstream hit that audiences want. Uncle Sam embodies this broader American public response to Lamar’s performance. He can play the game and appease the masses by playing the chart-toppers like “HUMBLE.” and “Not Like Us.”
Lamar captures the plight of the Black creative in America. They may praise you for your talents, but you need to “sit down, be humble.”
“That’s what America wants. Nice, calm. You’re almost there, don’t mess this up,” said Uncle Sam.
Kendrick also brings out Serena Williams, acclaimed tennis star, to crip-walk during his performance of “Not Like Us.” While many focused on her role as Drake’s ex-girlfriend, the act was far more symbolic.
After winning at Wimbledon in 2012, William crip-walked, or c-walked, in celebration. The dance originates with the gang the Crips from her hometown of Compton. Her dancing caused much uproar in the tennis community, deciding it was unprofessional and promoting gang violence.
The line is thin for Black people in power. The game inherently expects those in powers to be respectable, to fall in line, and to avoid affirming any negative stereotypes. The game is rigged against Black artists.
“They try to rig the game, but you can’t fake influence,” said Lamar.
After two decades in the industry, Lamar has acquired status. He may not have the right cheat codes to win extra points, but influence sends him places he could not reach otherwise. Kendrick has a position of power that allows him to reach mainstream America.
Don’t rock the boat, just play the game.
Turn the TV Off
“You picked the right time, but the wrong guy,” said Lamar.
Lamar may not be the man mainstream America wanted, but the time to act is now. While some argue his performance was not political enough or catchy enough, it was the perfect palatable performance for mass audiences.
Not televised during his performance was the act of protest from dancer Zül-Qarnain Nantambu.
Far more radical, Nantambu pulled out a flag in solidarity with the conflicts in Sudan and Gaza. He was abruptly detained by security in front of a crowd of 70,000 spectators.
They did not want to be seen. They do not want the revolution to be televised, but the time is now, and Kendrick is telling you to “turn the tv off.” The game isn’t meant to be watched—it’s meant to be played. Nantambu’s question echoes beyond stadium walls: “Are you going to be brave? Are you going to be a coward? Are you going to take a stand?”
The revolution may be televised, but real change happens when we stop being spectators. Lamar and Nantambu have shown us two paths of resistance—one working within the system, one breaking it open. The choice now isn’t whether to watch the game but how you’ll play it.
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