I can remember very clearly where I was when I learned that Tupac Shakur was dead. It was a pivotal and momentous event in my young life and I will always be able to tell the story of where I was when I heard the news.
On Wednesday morning as Barack Obama delivered his now famous address on race in America, I again knew that I was witnessing something that I would remember for the rest of my life.
I draw that parallel between two radically different men (a convicted rapist and the former editor of the Harvard law review) to highlight a startling truth: those men have captivated, intrigued and inspired my generation more than any other person I can name.
Tupac Shakur’s name is on more lips than usual this week because the LA Times ran a front page story Monday which yet again rattled the cage of mystery surrounding his death. The story quotes several unnamed sources (jailhouse snitches, most of them) who claim that Sean “P Diddy” Combs had prior knowledge of an attack on Tupac.
The attack, which did not go according to plan, is the event that ignited the now fossilized “east coast west coast beef” of the mid-nineties which ended in the deaths of both Tupac and Notorious BIG. (Biggy Smalls)
The LA Times has published some other preposterous garbage concerning these murders, one such story contained a claim that Biggie gave a Crip a million dollars and his own gun to kill Tupac. I would not be surprised if Chuck Phillips, the reporter filing these stories, has a screenplay he wants to sell because the sum of these stories is essentially unsubstantiated Hollywood foolishness.
But Maybe I’m off base. Maybe Phillips and the editors at the Times are onto something. Maybe, for example, Tupac really did roll a joint while dripping blood from five bullet holes (as Phillips’ piece reports), but I’m more inclined to say that this story smells like caca. (Something closer to the truth can be foundin a book called Labyrinth, which implicates members of the LAPD in both murders.) As it turns out, however, it doesn’t really matter.
As I read the story, I wondered if this case is even relevant any more. The kids who are buying rap records now (or downloading them on itunes, whatever) were six years old when Tupac was killed. They still wear t-shirts with his picture on them and can quote his songs, but they only know him as a figure. The mystery surrounding his death isn’t relevant because the only Tupac they know is a dead icon, a hallowed saint of American rap history.
This is the only way I ever knew JFK.
Mentioning Kennedy in this context brings me back to the enthusiasm which members of my generation share concerning Barack Obama’s candidacy. We’ve never seen a politician like this: a man who intrigues and unites, speaks frankly and eloquently about race and inspires historically apathetic young men and women to participate in the democratic process.
We’ve only heard stories about the men like this that came before. And we also know that all of them were shot and killed and had high schools named after them.
Tupac’s legacy is in line with the Kennedy’s and Dr. King’s if only in his ability to inspire and communicate. In fact, aside from the truth that Shakur and Obama are both attractive black men, the only thing they really have in common is that they are both incredibly gifted orators.
My generation values an effective communicator and that’s fitting, as we came up in the communication age. Tupac showed us that you can be a super communicator: a rapper, actor, poet and, yes, even a politician.
This is a footnote from Tupac’s story that often goes overlooked. At the time of his murder, he was flirting with politics, speaking at voter registration drives in South Central Los Angeles.
True conspiracy theorists have floated the idea that the US Government killed Tupac because they saw his potential power as a political leader and were threatened by it. I wouldn’t go that far, but I would say that if he wasn’t killed and he decided on a life in politics, he would have done quite well, criminal record be damned.
I spent most of the day on Tuesday after Obama’s staggeringly eloquent speech puzzling over these men and their respective resonance with people of my generation. As evening approached, it occurred to me that while I’ve been to countless political events this campaign season, it’s been quite a while since I went to a hip-hop show. So I got off my Brooklyn couch and went into the city to see Masta Ace (of "Born to Roll" fame) perform and ask some people what they thought of the new development in the Tupac case.
When I first got to the club, I was pleased to discover that even on a cold Tuesday night, hip-hop can still bring a crowd. The activity in front of the venue was dominated by a group of about 20 young black kids pouring out of a white hummer limo with New Jersey plates, dressed impeccably and ostentatiously in silver shoes, gold teeth and blindingly white baseball hats.
Their arrival punctuated by the clink of empty Hennessey bottles falling from the back seat of the limo and onto the Manhattan sidewalk.
I went inside behind them, trying to blend into the entourage and spent some time at the bar, watching the show. After a while, I made my way across the room and walked past a familiar face in the crowd, a man I recognized as Q-Tip from the wildly famous and influential Queens rap group A Tribe Called Quest. I managed to get his attention and ask a couple questions about the Tupac case.
He was very quick to strike down the speculation about Puffy as divisive; something hip-hop doesn’t need right now. When I asked him if the deaths of Tupac and Biggie were still relevant, he smacked his lips and told me, “Of course it’s relevant. These are our icons. But all this mess isn’t going to bring them back.”
I nodded and thanked him for his time. It is a sign of our gradual maturing that my generation’s mantle of icons has expanded to allow room for someone like Barack Obama. It is the hope of millions of young people that he can appeal to the rest of America, who are older and whiter and decidedly not Tupac fans.
1 comment:
Mr. Morse,
its your random myspace friend who writes every now and then.... I hadnt checked your blog in a while but I wanted to share this story with you....
I recently worked the Ohio Primary for Sen. Obama and one night I wrote of my experience there, this is what became of my thoughts....
"Fluidity of Thought"
So tonight ends day one for me in Ohio.
The Tucker family has opened their doors to myself and my campaign best friend Chase.
Chase is a junior from Nashville. Who from the initial outset he and I got along well.
I lay in bed and could not sleep and felt the urge to write.
The tuckers have been so generous to us.
They did not even know us and opened their home to us without question.
The gave us each a bed, a fully stocked fridge and anything we could ask for.
I am blown away at the generosity of a family who didnt even know our names and we showed up on their doorstep at 11 o'clock at night.
We were met with smiling faces, and they were truly happy that we were here as if they were honored to have us in their home when it should have been us honored by them.
Mrs. Tucker told us that the city she lives in is very conservative and she is very proud of her Obama lawn sign she has. She told us about how much controversy it caused in her neighborhood, and that she would do anything for us because we are working on a campaign for a man she believes in.
I lay here in their home and I am at a loss of word and I feel this emotional wave hit me. I do not know any of these people I have met on this trip so far. At times I thought I was insane to just leave and go to a city I had never been to, and stay for an entire week. Coming here I had no idea where I would be laying my head down. I literally met Chase and 15 minutes later he and I were adventuring to a city we both had never been to, to go to a home of a family who the only information we had about them was their address. And it dawns on me that we are from different states, from different lifestyles, at different places in our lives but we instantly have a bound because we are standing up for change. We believe that this is the hope and inspiration that we have been waiting for.
The campaign staff are just mentors for me. I watch them work and I try to take in every little idiosyncrasy, anything that I can use for myself. They are doing the job that I wish to ascend to one day. I spoke with Nate who I am interning for, and he told me that he was finishing his last semester of college and ended up volunteering for the campaign in Virginia. He said that once he started he couldn't stop and he has been working for the campaign ever since. If I would have heard someone say this to me before today, I would have thought they were crazy. Who would ever leave college in their last semester to volunteer full-time for a campaign? But now i understand, there is this uncharted feeling I have. I know that the days ahead will be stressful and tiring, but that all seems secondary to the goal.
To be able to work on a campaign that inspires you so much. To be around those who are like you, and wish to see the country mend its wounds. In 2004 I felt the country would never reelect Bush. I didn't know how well of a president John Kerry would be, but I was willing to have anyone run the country who wasn't Bush.
After that election I sat on my couch and had an empty feeling of apathy. I lost hope in the system, and felt that I had been cheated of something. It was like I was sucker punched and there was a bad taste left in my mouth.
This time around there is something different.
This time I see a better America ahead.
This time I have hope.
Barack Obama said once "In the end, that's what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or a politics of hope? I'm not talking about blind optimism here -- the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don't talk about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. No, I'm talking about something more substantial. It's the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a millworker's son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too. Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope!"
I end with this...
Hope is acting beyond yourself.
Hope is knowing that no matter the price, there will be better days ahead.
I begin to think of the America that Senator Obama could bring us.
I dare to hope that this too shall become reality.
And I can look back on this time in my life and say that I put aside my fear of uncertainty. Learned that in order to get change I must be willing to give of myself in order to get it.
I look on the faces of the volunteers who have come from all over the country and I see in their faces the hope that they are doing what is necessary for the greater good of our country.
I am humbled and I begin to see that the difference with Senator Obama is he represents what American Democracy should be.
I once thought what I would ever say to Senator Obama if I ever got to meet him. The only thing need be said is.....
"thank you for restoring my hope"
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