Don Killuminati: Dilemma of the unreliable narrator

We can’t trust an unreliable narrator. As the name suggests, we are supposed to doubt the narrator, to question their words and intentions. The quality of having to doubt the narrator makes literature intriguing. Commonly, we are supposed to trust the narrator, to think that the narrator is always correct. However, taking a break from that narrative uncovers many opportunities for messing around with the art and the audience. This intrigue is not limited to books and poems, but also to other forms of art, specifically hip-hop.

Hip-hop music is gang music. It is Thug Life Till We Die music. It is about guns, power, drugs, and how my clique is better than yours. Most artists put on a flashy persona, asserting dominance. It is explicit, in your face. But only a few artists have thought beyond this stereotype; one of them is Tupac Shakur.

Tupac, famously spelt as 2Pac, needs no introduction in the hood. For the ones outside the hood, Tupac Shakur, also known as Makaveli The Don Killuminati, was an American hip-hop legend. Most famous for his powerful music and iconic presence, 2Pac was the thing. From writing raps to recording them, his music took over the hip-hop scene in the early 1990s. Yet, 2Pac’s fame is not limited to music; it was his personality. He was a rebel, a revolutionary. And yes, many don’t think that way. For a lot of people, 2Pac was just a gangster whose life was stained with crime and violence. But for others, 2Pac is the definition of revolution. In one song, he explicitly raps about his gang prowess. In another, he passionately raps about the situation of African Americans in the USA.

2Pac was a dilemma. As a young boy, he was interested in ballet and poetry. His words and actions were not those of a Thug, but those of a sensitive and thoughtful artist. He grew a deep appreciation for Shakespearean plays during his time at the Baltimore School of Arts. Coming from a politically controversial family, he was raised in a charged environment. His entire family was associated with the Black Panther Party, a political organisation that advocated for Black nationalism and armed self-defence, primarily against police brutality. In 1993, 2Pac was involved in a shootout where 2Pac shot at two police officers allegedly harassing a Black motorist. Apart from that, he was involved in many serious legal cases for physical assault.

This dilemma leads us to the concept of the unreliable narrator. 2Pac is an unreliable narrator, to the extent that his legal cases could not decipher the truth about him. 2Pac was convicted of first-degree physical abuse in 1994 but maintained his innocence publicly, adding another layer to his narrative of unreliability. The jury found him guilty of abuse whilst acquitting him of more serious charges, creating legal ambiguity that 2Pac weaponised in his later work.

For his last album, he adopted the alias Makaveli, inspired by the Italian philosopher Niccolo Machiavelli. While in jail for the aforementioned legal case, 2Pac read Machiavelli. Interestingly, Machiavelli is known for his aphorism that the ends justify the means. And for 2Pac, that motto was his life.

2Pac always projected a revolutionary image. He was the change. And, for that matter, we can’t deny it. But here’s where it gets complicated. When you listen to Keep Ya Head Up or Brenda’s Got a Baby, you hear genuine social consciousness. He wasn’t performing activism; he was living it. Yet in 1994, Tupac was convicted on legal charges but publicly denied it. This contradiction, between what the court found and what he claimed, is itself proof of his revolutionary stance. He refused to be pinned down by institutions, by the system, by a single coherent story. His unreliability wasn’t a weakness; it was endurance.

In defence of the Don Killuminati, we could say that his Thug Life persona was an act to keep the art flowing. To be a rebel, without being an explicit target. For 2Pac, Thug Life was more than just guns and power; it was the Black community. It was a system that promoted unity against the system. 2Pac was on the FBI watchlist because of his politically charged activities. He was a vocal Black rights activist. His song Changes deals with topics of war, poverty and capitalism like never before. 2Pac introduced vulnerability and sensitivity to the brandishing hip-hop culture.

The name Don Killuminati was 2Pac rejecting conspiracy theories. While many in the Black community believed in secret societies like the Illuminati controlling everything, 2Pac disagreed. He wanted people to see the real enemy: visible systems like police and mass incarceration, not imaginary conspiracies. His focus on actual institutional power, rather than the Illuminati, proved right. Decades later, documents revealed the FBI had systematically surveilled Black artists and activists. Hence, 2Pac added the “K” before Illuminati, referring to killing the (idea of) Illuminati.

2Pac was strategically unreliable. The truth of 2Pac and his actions lies with him alone. The unreliable narrator blurs the line between truth and falsehood, and 2Pac existed precisely in that blur. His truth was entangled with the violence and chaos that surrounded him. It was complicated, layered, and perhaps can never be fully deciphered. To this day, 2Pac’s truth remains hidden beneath myth and memory. All we know is that he was a gangster rebel, a dilemma of manhood and meaning. His identity was fluid: a misogynistic criminal to some, a hero to others.

Hip-hop has always prioritised keeping it real, a devotion to authenticity, power and presence. But 2Pac diverged. His words, his performances, his name, and his many selves all seemed to question the very fabric of that reality. Where did the young, sensitive 2Pac go? Or did he simply disguise himself within the storm of circumstance, camouflaged by survival and performance alike?

2Pac was a master of unreliable narration, and his life itself was the ultimate embodiment of it. Truth bled into fiction until both became indistinguishable. The authenticity of every version of him faded at the edges, leaving only perception to guide us. His art, his anger, his vulnerability, all of it was real, and all of it was theatre. The concept of truth dissolved into something more subjective, more haunting. What remained was confusion, debate, and most profoundly, uncertainty.

And it is within that uncertainty that the art of 2Pac truly resides, the twilight zone between life and legend, honesty and illusion. The greatest unreliable rapper, not because he lied, but because he lived between truths.

In 1996, Tupac was gunned down in Las Vegas at just 25. The streets fell silent. His voice and words were taken far too soon, leaving behind questions, echoes and the lingering feeling that a fire for change had not gone out, only transformed.

“I’m not saying I’m gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world.” –Tupac

(The author is a student of Humanities at  DPS Srinagar)