Before the rapper Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest shouted “Resist! Resist! Resist!” at the top of his lungs at the Grammy Awards; before Busta Rhymes called Donald Trump “President Agent Orange” and referenced his “unsuccessful attempt at the Muslim ban”; before Tribe and Anderson Paak kicked their way through an oversize wall and brought dozens of people of a wide range of nationalities onstage (along with a dance troupe that recalled Public Enemy’s quasi-military S1Ws), Q-Tip introduced his group’s performance with some words of encouragement and defiance:

“We’d like to say to all of those people around the world, all of those people who are pushing people who are in power to represent them: Tonight, we represent you.”

These were words for the disenfranchised from a stage that has long connoted power and influence. In the current political moment, in which membership in the U.S. experiment is subject to greater and greater obstacles, this performance was a loud statement of pushback.

That is especially true given that the Grammys find themselves in the throes of similar friction over belonging. Simply put, the Grammys, like America, have an inclusion problem — or more to the point, an exclusion problem. The 59th annual installment of the ceremony, which took place at the Staples Center in Los Angeles on Sunday night, was as noteworthy for who won as who didn’t, for who attended as for who opted to sit out. It was a show about borders — who is allowed to cross, who isn’t and who doesn’t even bother trying.

Adele won all five Grammys she was nominated for, including album of the year (for “25”), record of the year and song of the year (for “Hello”), besting Beyoncé in all three categories. “25” is Adele’s least impressive album, but its pomp-and-circumstance soul belting is the sort of classicism likely to appeal to the Recording Academy voting members, who tend to skew older and more traditional. Beyoncé’s album “Lemonade” (and the song “Formation,” nominated in the other two categories) is musically provocative and wide ranging, and rife with commentary about the meaning of blackness in this country.

At the end of the night, when Adele won album of the year, she deferred to Beyoncé: “The way that you make me and my friends feel — and the way that you make my black friends feel — is empowering,” Adele told her from the stage, while behind her, a huge gaggle of predominantly white male songwriters and producers clapped enthusiastically.

In that moment, just a few feet separated Adele and Beyoncé, but the chasm between their treatment by the Grammys was huge, and potentially unbridgeable. It was #GrammysSoWhite come to life. For years, Kanye West has complained about how black artists — himself, but also others — are mistreated in the main Grammy categories. This year, Frank Ocean, fatigued with the Grammys’ handling of black music, opted to not even submit his music for consideration. (The other big all-genre category, best new artist, was won by a black artist, Chance the Rapper.)

The Grammys’ race problem is so pernicious that some white winners have chosen contrition over exuberance — Adele’s embrace of Beyoncé, Macklemore’s apology to Kendrick Lamar in 2014 (Macklemore reportedly did not submit his most recent album for consideration this year) — demonstrating a greater understanding of the fundamental imbalance of the Grammys system than the Grammys themselves.

Despite minor rule changes and lip service to the idea of better representation, the Grammys remain on the defensive. In the days leading up to this year’s telecast, the show’s longtime producer, Ken Ehrlich, deflected Ocean’s criticisms in an interview with Rolling Stone, earning a rebuke from Ocean on Tumblr: “Use the old gramophone to actually listen bro, I’m one of the best alive. And if you’re up for a discussion about the cultural bias and general nerve damage the show you produce suffers from then I’m all for it.”

The Grammys’ consistent celebration of tradition-minded white acts feels like single-party rule in an evenly divided nation, while the royalty from the other side — Beyoncé and Jay Z, Jennifer Lopez, Rihanna — looks on politely from the front rows. (Or, in the case of West and Ocean, who did not attend the Grammys, not even looking on.) There was also frisson in the ceremony’s lumpy attempts to bridge the age gap: When the show tried to highlight the work of Neil Diamond, via a clumsily executed version of James Corden’s “Carpool Karaoke” routine, it was clear that most of the assembled stars didn’t know the words to “Sweet Caroline.” And in a country in which around 15 percent of the population — more than 50 million people — speaks Spanish, there were no Spanish language, or even bilingual, performances. The language was heard only during the in-memoriam segment, and in a Johnnie Walker ad that featured a pointed bilingual cover of “This Land Is Your Land” by the Los Angeles band Chicano Batman.

Again, strictly controlled borders. It’s in these moments that the Grammys’ lack of imagination and tolerance contrasts with the general progressive political stances of the artists it celebrates. During the show, Lopez quoted Toni Morrison on the role of art in fraught political times. Katy Perry performed “Chained to the Rhythm,” her new anti-political-apathy single, with an armband that read “PERSIST” — a reference to Elizabeth Warren’s recent Senate silencing — and concluded in front of an image of the Constitution.

Beyoncé performed in a gold crown that suggested a futuristic Lady Liberty, and during her acceptance speech for best urban contemporary album, preached about the power of inclusion: “It’s important to me to show images to my children that reflect their beauty, so they can grow up in a world where they look in the mirror, first through their own families — as well as the news, the Super Bowl, the Olympics, the White House and the Grammys — and see themselves, and have no doubt that they’re beautiful, intelligent and capable.”

Honoring Beyoncé in categories devoted to black music goes part of the way to fulfilling that vision, but it’s where she’s not honored that feels more pointed: She has won 22 times, but only four of those awards have been in all-genre categories. (She has lost album of the year three times, to Beck, Taylor Swift and Adele.)

So long as the Grammys continue to strike a blow for the values of yesteryear over the energy of today, they will remain an agent of the status quo, not resistance or evolution. But when an institution stands still, while its citizens are pressing for change, how long can the borders hold before everyone outside is let in, or everyone inside decides it’s not worth staying and leaves?

© 2017 The New York Times Company