The young woman that was sexually assaulted by Tupac Shakur and his thugs. Her Side of the story.
I’ve read Kevin Powell’s interview with Tupac [„Ready to Live,“ April], in which I was misrepresented. Up until this point I have only told my story under oath in court; nobody has heard my story, only his side, which is much different than what Tupac stated is the true story.
A friend of mine took me to Nell’s, where he introduced me to [the men VIBE identified as] Nigel and Trevor, who later introduced me to their friend Tupac. When I first met Tupac, he kissed me on my cheek and made small talk with me. After a while, I excused myself and started to walk to the dance floor.
When I felt someone slide their hands into the back pocket of my jeans, I turned around, assuming it was my friend, but was shocked when I discovered it was Tupac. We danced for a while, and he touched my face and his body brushed mine. Due to the small dance floor and the large number of people, we were shoved into a dark corner.
Tupac pulled up his shirt, took my hand, traced it down his chest, and sat it on top of his erect penis. He then kissed me and pushed my head down on his penis, and in a brief three-second encounter, my lips touched the head of his penis. This happened so suddenly that once I realized what he was trying to do, I swiftly brought my head up. I must reiterate that I did not suck his penis on the dance floor. He pulled his shirt back down and asked me what I was doing later.
I told him that I was going home because I had to go to work that day. Then, as people started surrounding him again, he grabbed my arm and said, „Let’s get out of here, I’m tired of people stressing me.“ We exited Nell’s, got into a white BMW, pulled up at the Parker Meridien, and went to his suite. We conversed, and he rolled up some blunts. We started kissing, and then we had oral and vaginal sexual intercourse several times.
He called my house a couple nights later and gave me his SkyPager number and told me he wanted to see me tomorrow. That evening after work, I paged him, and his road manager called me back and informed me that Pac really wanted to see me but he had a show to do in Jersey, so I should call a car service and take it to the Meridien and he would pay for the cab.
Once I got to the hotel, I met Charles Fuller for the first time; he paid for the cab and led me upstairs. Inside the suite, Tupac, Nigel, and Trevor were seated in the living room, smoking weed and drinking Absolut. Tupac told me to come in and pointed to the arm of the sofa near him, and I sat down. After about 20 minutes, Tupac took my hand and led me into a bedroom in the suite. He fell onto the bed and asked me to give him a massage. So I massaged his back, he turned around, and I started massaging his chest.
Just as we began kissing, the door opened and I heard people entering. As I started to turn to see who it was, Tupac grabbed my head and told me, „Don’t move.“ I looked down at him and he said, „Don’t worry, baby, these are my brothers and they ain’t going to hurt you. We do everything together.“
I started to shake my head, „No, no, Pac, I came here to be with you. I came here to see you. I don’t want to do this.“ I started to rise up off the bed but he brutally slammed my head down. My lips and face came crashing down hard onto his penis, he squeezed the back of my neck, and I started to gag.
Tupac and Nigel held me down while Trevor forced his penis into my mouth. I felt hands tearing my shoes off, ripping my stockings and panties off. I couldn’t move; I felt paralyzed, trapped, and I started to black out. They leered at my body. „This bitch got a fat ass, she’s fine.“ While they laughed and joked to one another, Nigel, Trevor, and Fuller held me in the room, trying to calm me down. They would not allow me to leave.
Finally, I got to the elevators, which had a panel of mirrors. Once I caught sight of myself, I sank down on the floor and started to cry. They came out, picked me up, and brought me back into the suite. Tupac was lying on the couch. In my mind I’m thinking, „This motherfucker just raped me, and he’s lying up here like a king acting as if nothing happened.“ So I began crying hysterically and shouting, „How could you do this to me? I came here to see you. I can’t believe you did this to me.“ Tupac replied, „I don’t have time for this shit. Get this bitch out of here.“
The aforementioned is the true story. It was not a setup, and I never knew any of the thugs he was hanging with. Tupac knows exactly what he did to me. I admit I did not make the wisest decisions, but I did not deserve to be gang-raped.
Tupac's Life: Tupac's side of the story:
Was Tupac Who We Thought That He Really Was?
This bottom piece here was written by an African American Male as he recounts what he saw in Tupac's interview on tv.
The seeds of the incident appear to have been planted long before it actually took place. More than most rappers of his stature, Tupac spent much of his early career battling accusations of inauthenticity. A sensitive, doe-eyed art student from Baltimore, he'd moved to the West Coast in the early 1990s to escape a tumultuous home life.
"[My] mother" — the late former-Black Panther Afeni Shakur — "was pregnant, on dope, dope crack," Tupac said in a 1995 deposition, according to the New Yorker. "We never could pay the rent ... I didn't want to be there anymore."
It was not a sustainable situation for the 16-year-old. Rather than stay with Afeni in Maryland, Tupac left to spend the rest of his young adulthood with a family friend north of San Francisco, in hardscrabble Marin City. There, the local kids and gangsters bullied him mercilessly.
"I didn't fit in. I was the outsider," Tupac said, according to the New Yorker. "I was the target for ... the street gangs. They used to jump me, things like that ..."
In 1992, things started to look up. Tupac moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in entertainment. But by 1993, his social life revolved largely around the local Crips and Bloods gangs, whose reign of violence in the streets had infiltrated Southern California's music scene. His behavior started to reflect his environment. Tupac bought a gun and began practicing at shooting ranges. He got into multiple fights, racking up a long sheet of criminal and civil suits.
At the time, his actions were attributed by observers to a need to prove himself to his peers.
"People would test him," Man Man, Tupac's friend and road manager, told the New Yorker. "And Pac felt, I have to prove that I'm hard."
In this context, Tupac's time in prison can be seen as a necessary break. The space he got to reflect — which lasted from February to October 1995 — seemed central to his artistic turnaround, even when it was undercut daily by the whiplash effect of incarceration's horrors.
All of this contributed to the making of an icon. Today, Tupac is considered one of the greatest rappers of all time, a savant whose untimely death cut short a career marked by arresting candor, relentless advocacy for the lives of young black men and an uncommon attentiveness to the plight of black women.
At the same time, his real-life treatment of these women leaves a gaping hole in his legacy. When asked by Vibe magazine journalist Kevin Powell how he felt about women during his trial in 1995, Tupac answered chillingly:
Tupac was with three of his male associates at the time. He and Jackson reportedly had sex in his room, during which two other men came in and started touching her. Tupac claimed he left her alone with them. He maintained he didn't know what happened after they entered the room, but that Jackson emerged later, distraught and in tears, and called hotel security.
In Jackson's version, it started the same way, but Tupac was in the bedroom the whole time. She said she was forced to perform oral sex on him while the other men touched her. She was then forced to do the same on another of Tupac's associates, while Tupac held her down.
At the end of it all, Tupac and two of the other men with him were arrested and charged with sexual abuse. Tupac was eventually convicted for "forcibly touching Ayanna Jackson's buttocks" — a "compromise verdict" where prosecutors could not secure a heftier conviction, according to the New Yorker — and sentenced to prison in February 1995.
The day of his sentencing, a crowd of the same women Tupac would later claim did not support him showed up at the courthouse, weeping. One of them managed to kiss him on the cheek, according to the New York Times. A court officer promptly ordered her back to her seat.
Two decades after the fact, snapshots like these give us telling insight into the cruel balance female fans are expected to strike when it comes to famous men who behave badly. For black women especially, the pressure to choose between racial and gender loyalties is especially acute: When black men are abusive, black women are expected to keep quiet about it. We need to present a united front, they are told. Racial advancement hinges on us standing together — even when that stand proves to be one-sided, with women supporting men on one end, and men standing by in silence as women are violated on the other.
Tupac proved indignant when this balance came under attack during his trial. He'd written "Keep Ya Head Up," after all.
"I felt like it should have been women all over the country talking about, 'Tupac couldn't have did that,'" Tupac told Vibe's Kevin Powell. "And people was actually asking me, 'Did you do it?'"
We still see this dynamic in plenty of cases today. The most prominent example is Nate Parker, the actor and director whose upcoming film, The Birth of a Nation, tells the story of Nat Turner's 1831 slave revolt. Parker stood trial in 1999 for allegedly raping a woman who said she was unconscious. He was acquitted, but his friend and Birth of a Nation writing partner, Jean McGianni Celestin, was convicted of sexual assault. (His conviction was later overturned on appeal.)
Both men have gone on to some degree of professional success — though audiences are now questioning whether they can, in good conscience, support a film made by two men who many feel have shown cavalier disregard for women at best, and sexual violence toward them at worst.
As for the victim, she can no longer speak on the matter: she died by suicide in 2012.
"It's hard," her brother, Jonny, told Variety in a recent interview, "seeing my sister's life slowly crumble while these men are by all accounts relatively successful and thriving."