On its surface, the music of Tupac Shakur (1971-96) appears to maintain the sexism, violence, and drugs associated with "thug life," in keeping with gangsta rap's ideology. Tupac's works explore the culture of his African American environment and address problems stereotypically assigned to it, while simultaneously drawing upon street myths to create his own legend. Because he was silenced by gunfire in September 1996, Tupac's murder may seem to many to be a fitting end to the violent lifestyle depicted in his work, but his voice sings on in defiance of the life he saw, lived, and recorded. Even though gangsta rap is frequently viewed as a transient genre of the late 1980s and early 1990s, significant principally in its elucidation of white stereotyped African American culture, Tupac's music transgresses such a restrictive border. Indeed, I suggest Tupac's music is unique in its positive address of African American women and their struggles in society and, as such, should be considered Tupac's true "poetic legacy."1 What I wish to address is neither the larger issue of why rap music has caused such controversy, nor how gangsta rap swept the nation and intrigued so much of America's youth, especially the white audience which makes up seventy percent of rap's consumers.2 Rather, I would like to counter the attacks which have been consistently made upon Tupac's work for its unsuitability in our society. In this article, I explore the complex contradictions inherent in Tupac's music, particularly the dialogue between his misogyny and his enlightened views of women.
Before I look closely at several songs, though, it is necessary to acknowledge that Tupac's lyrics are deeply ingrained with the misogyny and "thug life" so typical of gangsta rap and that this article is not an attempt to deny that position. Most criticism of Tupac focuses on the negative and violent aspects of his works, such as "Hit 'Em Up" and its infamous insult to the Notorious B.I.G. While it is surely too simplistic to situate such a complex artist within the reductive categorization of "gangsta," I do not hesitate to agree that his work can easily be bracketed as offensive and misogynistic. But simultaneously, as Kevin Powell points out in a retrospective of Tupac's life and career, "Shakur's lyrics were all over the map. Sometimes you didn't know if he loved black people or if he absolutely despised them."3 Tupac's music also reveals the white stereotypes that African American women have to fight to escape, revealing his own struggle and, perhaps, failure to defeat the African American male stereotype imposed upon him.
In The New Yorker in July 1997 Connie Bruck noted that, "unfairly or not, Tupac Shakur's name has become synonymous with violent rap lyrics and 'thug life.'"4 Such an association has become even more entrenched since his death, for he can no longer respond to his critics directly, as he did so powerfully during his brief life, although his music still makes his arguments for him. Why is it that 'blame' for gangsta rap, for the violence and misogyny it depicts, has been pinned so consistently upon Tupac? Part of it perhaps rests upon his tragic and yet representative life story-a young man raised without a father who found his own identity peddling drugs on the streets of Los Angeles before successfully breaking into the music industry and catapulting to stardom. Part of it equally likely rests upon his handsome appearance and his sultry voice, as well as upon his success as an actor and as an artist, his records selling in numbers unprecedented for a black rapper. Part of it, too, lies in his own personal mythology, from his birth to a former Black Panther to the mystique he built around his own life by taking street events and making them his. And part of it, of course, must rest upon his 1995 conviction for sexual abuse.
But most of the condemnation heaped upon Tupac is for his depictions of women. In her campaign against rap music his leading critic, C. DeLores Tucker of the National Political Congress of Black Women, denounced Tupac specifically as degrading black women, which probably (and ironically) augmented his sales. But her accusations do not consider the whole picture. We need to understand his apparent sexism as an authentic evil in the "very real images and messages in the everyday world of the rapper and his original fan: the black urban youth."5 Rap is, above all, an account of the inner city with which most of its dominantly white listeners are unfamiliar, and, as such, it is necessarily and simultaneously an act of documentation, exaggeration, and of mythologizing. Both Tupac's life and art were involved in aspects of the form of expression he chose. There are still specifically positive aspects in much of his work, especially in its inspirational address of African American women: "for all his wanton machismo, Tupac rapped passionately about the strength of black women."6
Many of Tupac's lyrics can stand alone as purposeful narrative poems. His lyrical proficiency is widely acknowledged, and, immediately before his death, he was working on his first book of poems; he wooed his fiancee, Kidada Jones, by sending poems to her house every day.7 It quickly becomes evident that, alongside the frequent uses of the terms "bitches" and "hos" to which Tucker so strenuously objects, Tupac's lyrics address women positively. His first commercially successful single, "Brenda's Got a Baby," was from his 1991 debut album, 2Pacalypse Now. Apparently based upon a newspaper article Tupac read, it relates the story of a twelve-year old girl who gave birth to a child fathered by her cousin. Helpless, and knowing that the pregnancy needed to be hidden from her family, she threw the baby down into an incinerator. Tupac's sympathies lie squarely with Brenda and he indicts both her family and the larger society for its lack of assistance for the young girl. Noting that Brenda "never really knew her moms and her dad was a junky," Tupac relates that when she became pregnant by her cousin,
She tried to hide her pregnancy from her family,
Who didn't really care to see, or give a damn if she
Went out and had a church of kids,
As long as when tha check came they got first dibs.8
Tupac denounces the family for being remiss in their duty to care for their own. As he relates how Brenda had the baby alone and "didn't know what ta throw away and what ta keep," he also indicts the larger society for its lack of education of young African Americans. He notes: "The girl can hardly spell her name. / That's not her problem; that's up to Brenda's family. / Well, let me show you how it affects tha whole community."
Her family learns finally of the baby's existence ("Momma say, 'you makin' me lose pay, the social workers here everyday'") although it's too late for Brenda. Tupac concludes that Brenda's family rejected her and that she was unable to get a job. She tried to make a profit by selling crack, but her attempts ended when she was robbed. Ultimately, she is forced on the streets to find her existence: "there ain't nothin' left ta sell, / So she sees sex as a way of leavin' hell. / It's payin tha rent." Tupac does not use the word "bitch" in this song, and even the unjust summary of the bare details of the narrative which I have given reveal that Tupac sympathizes with the twelve year old girl.
Tupac's attitude toward African American women as confined and entrapped by their societal environment is a consistent theme on each of his albums. In "Keep Yah Head Up,"9 which Ivan Solotaroff has called an "inspirational ode to black women,"10 Tupac addresses "my sisters on welfare" and advises them to ignore African American men's behavior toward them:
Forgive but don't forget, girl keep ya' head up.
And when he tells ya' you ain't nothin',
Don't believe him.
And if he can't learn ta love ya, you should leave him,
Cuz, sister, you don't need him.
I ain't tryin' ta gash up, but I just call 'em how I see 'em.
Ya know what makes me unhappy?
When brothers make babies
And leave a young mother ta be a pappy.
And since we all came from a woman,
Got our name from a woman,
And our game from a woman,
I wonder why we take from our women,
Why we rape our women,
Do we hate our women?
Christopher Farley observes that this song is "chivalrously supportive of black women,"11 and indeed, Tupac's message to African American women is that they must believe in themselves and not allow African American men to position them constrictively as necessarily secondary within society. In this song, then, Tupac criticizes himself and male African American society for maintaining its sexist attitudes toward women. At the same time, he encourages African American women to take control of their own lives and to defy society's stereotyping of their roles.
On Thug Life Volume 1 (1994), Tupac notes that "Mama told me, 'son there'll be days like this,'" as he relates the deaths of many of his friends. In his autobiographical "From the Cradle to the Grave" on the same album, he recalls his "Mama always workin' tryin' to make ends meet," and notes that his existence is an homage to and a voice for "the mothers that cried" whose sufferings find no release. Indeed, mothers in Tupac's music, while real, are also idealized and earn his utmost respect-the mother figure in Tupac's songs is usually a positive one. His music records his understanding of his own mother's endeavors and ultimately elevates her in his respect as a woman who struggled consistently and successfully raised him, a task he recognizes as a challenge for any single mother. He records that "for a woman, / It ain't easy tryin' ta raise a man" in one of his most acclaimed songs, "Dear Mama,"12 a song which Farley terms "a surprisingly tender tribute."13
Tupac recalls how he ran wild as a child and caused his mother grief but also acknowledges the vital discipline which shaped his behavior:
Runnin' from tha Police, that's right,
Momma catch me, put a whoopin' to my backside.
And even as a crack fiend mama,
Ya always was a black queen mama.
. . .
Ya always was committed, a poor single woman on welfare,
tell me how ya did it.
There's no way I can pay ya back,
But tha plan is to show ya that I understand-
You are appreciated.
Throughout the song, Tupac expresses his recognition of his mother's sacrifices and applauds her strength. He notes that his father's absence meant that his mother was both parents for him. Even when he moved out when her drug habit became too much for him to bear, he still ensured that she had money for rent while recalling that "when I wuz low, you was there for me, / Ya never left me alone, coz ya cared for me." He recalls how she always managed to find enough for the children to eat, making "miracles every Thanksgiving," and that "all my childhood memories / are full of all the sweet things ya did for me." What most critics of Tupac's music conveniently overlook is this consistent portrayal of his own mother as a strong African American woman for whom he has the ultimate respect. Tupac demonstrates his appreciation of his own mother's efforts and applauds her consistent devotion to him and to his half-sister. As in other songs, Tupac recognizes and depicts the day to day hardships of many women's lives in the inner city, noting their strength and the respect which should be accorded to them.
"Wonda Why They Call U" is a narrative addressed to a young woman whom Tupac has seen grow up and change. At the outset, he notes that "In the locker room, / all the homies do is laugh. / High fives coz anotha nigga played your ass." He asserts that of course she can do as she wants to with her body, even though she is called "sleazy" and "easy," but he suggests that, rather than "play[in'] tha game," she "get mad and change." Tupac notes that she is looking for a way out from the position in which society has placed her and suggests that there is a way: "Keep your mind on your money, / enroll in school, / And as the years pass by / You can show them fools." But the girl doesn't seem to hear his advice as she gets ready to go out, "still lookin' for a rich man, / . . . / got your legs up / tryin' to get rich." He points out that she needs to "switch" from the conventional negative expectation of what an African American woman can do to succeed, noting that her adherence to the stereotype is what has led to her being called a "bitch."
As Tupac continues to follow her actions, he notes that she leaves her children at home as she goes to a club to look for a rich man, and pleads with her to look beyond the limits of her environment:
It's like your mind don't understand:
You don't have to kill your dreams
Plottin' schemes on a man.
Keep your head up, legs closed, eyes open;
either a nigga wear a rubber or he die smokin'.
Clearly Tupac is speaking out against not only selling your body, but also telling this woman that her life does not have to revolve around being with a man. And, if she cannot break away from this traditional belief, then he advises her to remember that sex can kill her-if she cannot see beyond sleeping with men as a way to rise up in the world, then at least she should ensure that there will be a life left to live afterward.
As her life continues and she becomes pregnant again, Tupac watches her receiving more welfare money which she spends on getting her hair done before she goes out to meet another "trick," intimating that, whereas she might formerly have been sleeping with men solely for self-advancement, now she has become a prostitute relying upon their payment for financial support supplementary to that forthcoming from the county. Tupac momentarily recalls her in high school, when she was innocent of the world and of the opportunities before her, before concluding his narrative of her decline:
But now things change,
And you don't look the same,
Let the ghetto get the best of you,
and baby, that's a shame.
Called HIV,
and now you're 'bout to be deceased,
and finally be at peace.
Having recounted her rise and fall, Tupac concludes the narrative noting that she succumbed to the ways of the inner city, giving up on herself and on her abilities to break out of stereotypes-she succumbs not only to prostitution, but, furthermore, dies alone of AIDS. For Tupac, this tale of a young African American woman with her whole life ahead of her, who succumbs to her culture's low view of her gender and uses her sex to try and move forward, is a tragic one. Simultaneously, in exploring aspects of this stereotype, noting that her fall into prostitution is a hard cycle to break, Tupac provides a powerful indictment of a culture which offers little alternative to inner city African American women. With no encouragement and without positive reinforcement of her own identity, this young African American woman saw herself as society positioned her-as a body-and tried to use this body as a way to break free. Not hearing Tupac's emphasis upon the possibilities, on the need to stay in school, to keep her "head up, legs closed, eyes open," this young girl became yet another victim. And, as Tupac reiterates throughout the song, her behavior earned her the epithet of "bitch."
But, given that this song endorses education and demands alternatives for African American women in the inner city, protesting against a culture and men who maintain women's secondary position based upon their gendered biological makeup, the epithet of "bitch" seems reinvented. For Tupac demonstrates that "bitch" is applied as a matter of course to women who adhere to societal expectations and stereotypes. At the conclusion of his rap, Tupac addresses Tucker directly, asserting that this song explains why he refers to women as "bitches." And his conclusion is not angry at women such as the one whose tale he narrates in the rap; rather, the "bitch" figure is a protest against the limits placed around African American women's potential within society. Tupac concludes that "it ain't personal;" rather, he is trying to explain that using "bitch" does not have to be a negative term but instead reconstitutes the epithet designed to injure. It then acts as a protest against a dominant white society and its African American sub-culture in which African American women are constrained as doubly penalized, both for their race and for their gender.14
Rolling Stone's Powell, writing after Tupac's death, asserts that "to me, Shakur was the most important solo artist in the history of rap . . . because he, more than any other rapper, personified and articulated what it was to be a young black man in America."15 Indubitably, Tupac's is a voice which calls to his own culture and to that of the larger dominant culture for urgent reform. His "Thug poetry," such as "Brenda's got a baby" and "Wonda why they call U," narrates the stereotypical existence of many young African American women who, trapped in their culture's constrictive societal positioning, turn to drugs and prostitution. But, as Tupac carefully informs his audience, there are alternatives to such a lifestyle, and Tupac's rapping highlights such alternatives in the form of carefully crafted rhythms and rhymes which reflexively reinforce their content. The strength of Tupac's music and poetry have led to the first university course in his life and works, offered at the University of California at Berkeley, where students study his writings in context and where, perhaps, Tupac's hitherto negative media depictions will finally be reevaluated.16 An angry voice within a minority culture, Tupac emerges as an artist deploring African American inter-destruction, instead offering alternatives and hopes for reformation. As such, his music merits serious attention as lyrical poetry which spans and embraces both mass and high culture.
Discography
Shakur, Tupac. 2Pacalypse Now. Interscope, 1991.
-. All Eyez On Me. Death Row, 1996.
-. Me Against The World. Interscope, 1995.
-. Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z. Interscope, 1993.
-. Thug Life Volume 1. Interscope, 1994.
Notes
1 Allison Samuels and John Leland, "Trouble Man," Newsweek, 23 September 1996, 73.
2 Connie Bruck, "The Takedown of Tupac," New Yorker, July 1997, 46-64. Kheven Lee LaGrone's "The 90s Minstrels" (to the Quick, Spring 1999, 18) provides alternative and useful perspectives on the larger issues of gangsta rap.
3 Kevin Powell, "The Short Life and Violent Death of Tupac Shakur: Bury Me Like a G," Rolling Stone, 31 October 1996, 47.
4 Bruck, 48. What Bruck fails to note, as do most critics who connect Tupac to "thug life," the tattoo emblazoned across his stomach and an oft repeated phrase in his work, was Tupac's own explanation that "thug" "meant those who didn't have anything, and that the letters were an acronym for 'The Hate U Gave Lil Infants Fuck Everybody.'" Anson, Robert Sam. "To Die Like A Gangsta," Vanity Fair, March 1997, 279.
5 Venise Berry, "Redeeming the Rap Music Experience," Adolescents and Their Music: If It's too Loud, You're too Old, ed. Jonathon S. Epstein (New York: Garland, 1994): 183.
6 John Leland and Allison Samuels. "The New Generation Gap," Newsweek, 17 March 1997, 59.
7 Anson 280-81. A leading female African American poet, Nikki Giovanni, dedicated her 1997 collection, Love Poems, to Tupac, and includes a poem, "All Eyez On U," addressing him. (New York: William Morrow, 1997): 62-64.
8 All lyrics are my own transcriptions.
9 From Tupac's 1993 album Strictly For My N.I.G.G.A.Z.
10 Ivan Solotaroff, "Gangsta Life, Gangster Death," Esquire, December 1996, 83.
11 Christopher John Farley, "Out of Jail-and Ideas," Time, 4 March 1996, 64.
12 From his 1995 Me Against the World album.
13 Farley, 64.
14 Nonetheless, it is important to note that Tupac's use of the word "bitch" is as problematic as his conflicted address of women. In some songs, he uses it in its pejorative sense, but, in others, such as the one I discuss below, the word is negative only insofar as the song's protagonist succumbs to the stereotype attached to the word rather than rising above it.
15 Powell, 80.
16 "Poems of the Late Tupac Shakur to be Studied at the University of California at Berkeley," Jet, 29 September 1997, 22.
