No one wants to admit it apparently, but Iggy Azalea was slighted by both BET and Nicki Minaj during this year’s BET Awards. It was unfair, iron-fisted, and, unfortunately, necessary.

Military historian Edward Luttwak describes a coup as “the infiltration of a small, but critical, segment which is then used to displace the government from it’s control.”

History has shown with coups that “the infiltration” is rarely fair or feathery. Meaningful reclamation is oftentimes rooted in ruthless, statement-making ferocity. Being passive and nice doesn’t work; it gets you ran over.

Black popular culture is currently being ran over.

Ms. Azalea is, and has been for much of this year, the latest bullet point in a growing list of small, critical statements; the paradigm gentrification of black popular culture the evil, omnipotent tyrant.

She isn’t the first: twerking, Macklemore, corn rows. Each were similar statements leading up to a reality: Black people were giving the mainstream an inch, and surrendering a cultur—uh, mile.

Black folk are some of the most inviting people on the planet. It’s a completely understandable, albeit pitiful trademark. Universally oppressed and opposed, we sometimes view acknowledgment from other cultures as some form of victory. Being appropriated (read: copied) provides a backhanded sense of worthiness. It makes a people so often told they aren’t shit feel like they have something others want.

We become beside ourselves when white Brits sing soul, asians master a pop-lock, or Australians put together a few rap bars. It’s fun and exciting because people don’t love us. They’re not supposed to want to do what we do! It’s interest we return in-tow, with gratitude.

But that’s the problem with being at the bottom of the totem pole: a welcoming invitation can always run the risk of blitz.

Suddenly “twerking,” a dance that’s been around for decades in urban communities becomes a world-wide phenomena lazily attributed by many to Miley Cyrus. Corn rows, a traditional African hairstyle around for centuries becomes Elle Magazine’s new, hot “must have Kenzo resort look.” Iggy Azalea, after a par for the course debut album that sold 52,000 first-week copies, becomes the supernova female MC suddenly “running” hip-hop over a “strangely quiet” Nicki Minaj.

It’s worth noting Ms. Minaj’s debut album “Pink Friday” sold over 375,000 copies in it’s first week, and also that she has released or been featured in more than 10 songs this year alone. But these things don’t matter. This isn’t her house anymore, it’s Iggy’s.

These small, cricial statements placed BET in a sensitive position.

For the fifth week in a row now, Iggy Azalea has had both the number one and two songs in the country. Her latest single, “Fancy,” whether many want to admit it or not, is about as close to the song of the summer as it appears we will get this year. As a rapper, these things deserve a spotlighted set at the biggest urban music awards in the country.

Yet, during Sunday night’s ceremony, Iggy wasn’t afforded the primetime. She lost the Best Female Hip Hop Artist award to Minaj, who hasn’t charted a solo single or released an album since 2012 (the recently released “Pills ’n Potions” notwithstanding), and was introduced as T.I.’s auxilliary.

Performing first as a guest on Tip’s latest single “No Mediocre,” before pirouetting into a forgettable solo “Fancy” moment, it seemed as if BET was sending a subliminal message: “T.I.’s the focal point here, not Iggy.”

BET realized a marquee Iggy Azalea set at their show, or her winning Best Female Hip Hop Artist would have been an indelible stamp of legitimacy signaling the culture’s opened arms to an artist who essentially performs in caricature. It would have been a no return zone.

And then there’s Minaj.

During her acceptance speech, Nicki made a conspicuous point to speak on the importance of authenticity: “What I want the world to know about Nicki Minaj is when you hear Nicki Minaj spit, Nicki Minaj wrote it,” she said as she struck a cutesy pose; a small gesture meant to soften the dagger’s sting. That and the obligatory “no shade,” which of course directly translates to “ALL THE SHADE. OBVIOUSLY.”

The moment wasn’t that dissimilar from Taylor Vaughan’s “She’s All That” prom speech. Nicki, like Taylor, won this one on reputation, not current cache, and she didn’t care.

Rachel Leigh Azaleas can’t be out here winning tiaras over Taylor Minaj’s because they adopt a Decatur accent, walk down stairs to Sixpence None The Richer, and chart a single or two.

So, smiles and curtsies for the devoted, barbs and veiled shots (that shant be confirmed or, more importantly, denied) for the opposition.

Was this all unfair? I believe so. Had a black female rapper accomplished what Azalea has in the past six months she’d have had a solo set and statuette to boot (and handed Minaj her first loss in five years). At the crux of her popularity, Iggy deserved that moment of hard earned glory. Then again, so did Kendrick Lamar at the Grammys.

But that’s the perk of having the party at your house: the rules are your own; you deserve the right to acknowledge who you want, how you want in what way you see fit.

BET, like many African Americans currently tuning in to the current Iggy Azalea conversation, were apprehensive about the latest guest at it’s doorstep. Now simply didn’t feel like the time to be inviting her in.

So for once, we closed the door.