The Tupac murder trial has finally begun. A 63-year-old former gang leader, Duane “Keffe D” Davis, is accused of orchestrating the murder of rapper, actor, and activist Tupac Shakur in a drive-by shooting 30 years ago. Tupac’s reputation – both alive and since – is chequered to say the least. Some still perceive him as one of a cadre of thugs who glorified gun violence and the gang lifestyle in the 1990s (if you’ve ever heard the phrase “Thug Life,” that’s one of his). Others have continued a campaign of quasi-canonization, presenting him as a tortured poet struggling against the strictures of fate. The latter argument gradually won through, with Tupac now closing in on Princess Diana in the global “national treasure” stakes. And in a similar fashion to Diana, it all feels slightly confected and overdone.
Middle-aged men have also played their part in neutering gangsta rap
The trial already feels like one of those exercises you do in a history class, run by an overly keen young teacher, encouraging debates such as “was Churchill right to” or “was Caesar justified in.” Just like these debates, the real result doesn’t matter. Those involved have become characters of fiction, fetishized so much over the years that we might as well be discussing Odysseus or Captain Ahab: any answers or new information feel purely academic. It also turns out that the best means of neutralizing 1990s gangsta culture was there all along: you neuter it by making it cuddly and universal, turning its Glock-toting villains into doe-eyed saints.
