“In the event of my demise

when my heart can beat no more

I hope I die for a principle

or a belief that I had lived for

I will die before my time

Because I feel the shadow’s depth

so much I wanted to accomplish

before I reached my death

I have come to grips with the possibility

and wiped the last tear from my eyes

I loved all who were positive

In the event of my demise”

— Tupac Shakur



Those were the words of Tupac Shakur, slain rapper/poet/actor, who has been dead for more than 10 years now.

Some would say I probably don’t fit the prototype of a Tupac fan. I’m a middle-class white man who grew up in the Deep South listening to country music. But I found Tupac to be deep and inspiring — something that hit me the first time I heard one of my all-time favorite songs, “Only God can judge me.”

And no, I’m not a Tupac fan simply because of the music or beats.

Tupac, who rapped about everything from his faith to selling drugs, was a modern-day Edgar Allen Poe of sorts for me. He shed light on a life I knew nothing about, yet I somehow strangely related to.

Don’t laugh; it’s not so far-fetched.

I was told a local teacher once wouldn’t allow a Tupac poem — from his book of poetry titled, “The Rose that Grew from Concrete” — to be accepted as a favorite writer for a class project because Tupac wasn’t a true artist.

The reason: he was a thuggish rapper and certainly not a positive social influence, the teacher said.

I guess the teacher never read the history of other “artists” — especially Poe, who was a far cry from a model citizen. I never knew artists were judged with such a sharp eye. I guess the rules are different if you’re a black, self-described thug with tattoos and a bandana around your head.

We live in a society where Hank Williams, Johnny Cash and Hank Williams Jr. (all artists I happen to like) are revered as acceptable artistic geniuses while Tupac is labeled a menace, even though all were pretty much equally rebellious within their musical genres and communities.

Williams Jr., however, is easier for America to accept, even though one of the lines from his songs I fondly remember went: “I’d love to spit some beechnut in that dude’s eyes and shoot him with my old 45 — a country boy can survive.”

And Cash sang about cocaine and Williams about whiskey and women.

My point is this: few artists are perfect. If I judged every artist on the merit of their character, I’d likely be left in silence. And I’m a big

believer in learning from people from vastly different walks of life.

Tupac, through his music and poetry, spoke to me. In his music, I found a passionate soul who had a lot to say — good and bad. I found a man who struggled with drugs, paranoia and his faith in God. I also found an honest person who rooted for the underdog, which most of the time happened to be those

who had the least in society. His stories and experiences helped me open my eyes. It helped me understand his situation, which in return helped me open my mind and heart.

Here’s an interesting fact: Tupac’s life, music and poems have been the focus of studies and classes at such prestigious institutions as Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, and the University of Washington to name a few.

It was that fact that helped the local teacher open her eyes years ago and allow Tupac’s poetry to be accepted as a favorite writer for a student’s class project. I was excited the teacher opened her mind.

Last week, I missed the opportunity to hear Afeni Shakur, Tupac’s mother, speak at a conference at Jackson State University. I missed her speech, but I was able to read some of her comments. She’s an inspiring individual who has gone through a lot. She’s bright, articulate, and strong.

Afeni, a former black panther, talked about the Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation for the Arts — which provides students with performing arts learning in Stone Mountain, Ga. I have donated to the foundation, which Afeni began in Tupac’s honor. To learn more about the foundation and to donate, visit: www.tasf.org.

In closing, I’ll leave you with the title poem from a book of poetry Tupac wrote when he was a teenager.

“The Rose that grew from concrete”



Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete?

Proving nature’s law wrong it

learned to walk without having feet.

Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,

it learned to breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else ever cared.



Fredie Carmichael is editor of The Meridian Star. E-mail him at

fcarmichael@themeridianstar.com