"I don't know how to describe it." Christopher's tone sank. He lowered his head slightly, his thick lips pressed tightly together, his emotions clearly churning within him.
"The conflict between us isn't as simple as writing a few aggressive lyrics into a song." Christopher finally admitted it. "We want to look toward a better future, but Tupac is always looking back—at suffering, violence, injustice. I know those things really exist, but we still have to solve the problem."
"My old man always told me that if we wanted to win, we had to stand on higher ground. To do that, we could use any means necessary. Now I've made it. I'm adored and in the spotlight."
"I feel like I'm getting closer and closer to changing something, but he calls me a traitor. Don't you think the two of us should be the other way around?"
Christopher's voice was full of deep confusion. He said, "Doctor, maybe you think every Black rapper came off the streets, screwed up from childhood, either dealing drugs on street corners or robbing shops and pedestrians."
"I admit I was like that. My mother couldn't support the two of us by herself, so I became a drug dealer in the neighborhood very early on. That earned me my first pot of gold, and I was punished for it too. I spent a long time in prison."
"I'm not proud of it, but I have to say that without that money, I wouldn't have had the freedom to make rap music. This society took too much from us. We were only finding ways to take it back ourselves."
"Tupac was different. Though he might have had some unspeakable past too, he was probably led astray by the bad influences in certain neighborhoods."
"His family wasn't well-off,