It’s hard to believe that 28 years have passed since we lost Tupac Shakur. I remember that time so clearly because it marked a pivotal moment in my life and my journey as a hip-hop artist. Back then, I was living in New York City, chasing my dreams to become famous in the music industry and striving to be a bridge between the United States and my motherland, Nigeria. Hip-hop had taken over my soul, and I was determined to make my mark as a powerful voice in the culture.
I had the privilege of meeting Tupac once in Las Vegas, along with Suge Knight, during a time when the energy around hip-hop was electric. It was the golden era of the 90s—when the talent was raw, the lyrics were powerful, and the culture was alive with meaning. During that time, I was on the verge of being signed to a major label indie deal and was well-connected with the biggest names in hip-hop, doing shows, rocking the stage, and living the dream. The hip-hop world was big, but in many ways, it felt like a small family.
But then, everything changed. The news of Tupac’s death in 1996 hit me hard, like a gut punch I wasn’t prepared for. This wasn’t just a tragic loss of another artist; this was the murder of one of the truest voices in hip-hop—someone who embodied the art form in its purest sense. Tupac didn’t just rap; he was a revolutionary, a poet, and a voice of truth for the Black youth in America. He was someone who carried the weight of the community on his shoulders, never afraid to speak out about the injustices and struggles that Black people, especially in the U.S., were facing.
What made Tupac stand out, to me and to so many others, was that he wasn’t just an entertainer. He was a freedom fighter in his own right, raised by the legendary Assata Shakur, who was a member of the Black Panther Party and a revolutionary in every sense of the word. Tupac’s rhymes reflected this revolutionary spirit, and I respected him deeply for it. I saw him as one of the few artists who remained true to the essence of hip-hop—an art form that was born from struggle, resistance, and a desire to spark change.
When Tupac was murdered, it felt like a piece of hip-hop died too. It was heartbreaking to witness the death of someone who had the power to inspire, who wasn’t afraid to speak his truth, and who stayed committed to the original purpose of hip-hop. Tupac wasn’t just rhyming to get paid—he was rhyming to uplift, educate, and empower.
In that moment of grief, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey and purpose. Like Tupac, I had always seen hip-hop as a revolutionary force, something that could be used to empower African people, whether they were in the streets of New York, Lagos, or anywhere else in the world. The rhythmic beats and poetry of hip-hop were more than just entertainment to me—they were a tool for change.
Over the years, I’ve often thought about how the hip-hop culture has evolved, especially after the loss of artists like Tupac who lived and breathed the revolutionary spirit. The commercialization of the genre has caused some to forget the roots from which it sprang. And while I love seeing hip-hop grow and expand globally, I also feel the responsibility to remind myself and others in this space to keep true to the culture.
Tupac’s legacy reminds us all of something important: Hip-hop is not just a genre of music. It’s a movement. It’s a means of resistance, empowerment, and education. When Tupac stood up to speak, he wasn’t just rapping for himself—he was rapping for every Black youth in America, for every person who has been marginalized, for every individual searching for their voice in a world that tries to silence them.
Today, I want to challenge all of us who still practice the art of hip-hop to take a step back and ask ourselves: How are we keeping the revolution alive? How are we using our rhythm and poetry to uplift our people and stay true to the culture?
As artists, MCs, DJs, and producers, we have a responsibility to honor the foundation of this culture and continue its legacy of truth-telling and empowerment.
Tupac’s death was a wake-up call for me, not just as an artist, but as a person deeply rooted in the African diaspora. His life—and his tragic end—reminds us that this work is not finished. The struggles that inspired the birth of hip-hop are still with us, and as long as they remain, so must our commitment to the revolutionary power of music.
I will continue to walk this path of Freeing My Chi staying connected to my purpose of being a bridge between worlds, using my voice and platform to empower African people and Black youth around the globe. In honor of Tupac, and in honor of every artist who stays true to the mission of hip-hop, we must keep pushing forward. We must continue to use our art to challenge systems of oppression, inspire change, and elevate the consciousness of our people.
We are the keepers of this culture. Let’s continue to uplift it, protect it, and keep the revolution alive.
Rest in Power, Tupac Shakur. Your voice still echoes, and your legacy lives on in every verse, every beat, and every movement that dares to speak truth to power.
Peace and power,
Madarocka Chi