How can you mourn someone you never met?
It’s a question many young people, particularly those who follow hip-hop, are asking when it comes to rapper Nipsey Hussle.
The murder of Hussle, 33, who was shot dead in front of his clothing store, may just seem like a routine tragedy of a young talent cut short in their prime. But while he didn’t reach the mainstream level of success that some of his peers did, he was a prime example of using his platform to improve society around him.
Hussle was born Ermias Asghedom to an African American mother and Eritrean father who fled Eritrean War of Independence. Asghedom didn’t have an easy path in America: he grew up in the rough neighborhood of Crenshaw in South Central Los Angeles, dropped out of high school at 15, and was a member of the Rollin 60’s Crips, one of the most dangerous gangs in the country. When his life was cut short, he had a Grammy nomination to his name, a budding real-estate empire aimed at rehabilitating his old neighborhood, and a planned collaboration with hip-hop star Meek Mill. He had a child with his girlfriend, 34-year-old actress and TV personality Lauren London.
Asghedom is hardly the first one to come from such humble beginnings. Snoop Dogg, a member of the Rollin 20’s Crips, gained mainstream prominence in the early ’90s after linking up with the influential producer Dr. Dre.
It may seem trite to talk about the American dream, but Asghedom lived it.
Hussle, who got his stage name from comedian Nipsey Russell, began rapping professionally in 2005, but did not release his first studio album with a major label until 2018. While he was struggling to land a major record deal, Hussle instead launched his own label, where he released over a dozen mixtapes. As a result, he built a significant following in the West Coast hip-hop scene, and was ultimately recognized when his debut studio album, Victory Lap, was nominated for Best Rap Album.
Asghedom’s legacy was visible all around him. Rather than allowing outsiders to gentrify his neighborhood, Hussle bought up property, started local businesses, and employed ex-felons who couldn’t find honest work. He led the Destination Crenshaw arts project, a 1.3-mile open-air museum, to revitalize the neighborhood as a point of black pride. He launched a STEM academy in Crenshaw to build a “bridge between Silicon Valley and the inner city,” an endeavor he hoped to bring to other cities like Atlanta, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C.
Stories of Hussle’s selflessness have poured in since his death. One particular account about a streetlight electrician who was assigned to the Crenshaw district stood out in mourners’ minds. The electrician recalled Hussle used to check in with him, bring him snacks, water, or soda, and even expressed his gratitude for his work.
It may not sound like much, but in an era where hip-hop artists are notably self-destructive, Hussle made headlines for creating, building, and genuinely trying to be a force for good for those around him.
In his short 33 years of life, Hussle taught us many invaluable lessons. He taught us that you can make a name for yourself even when the chips are stacked against you. He taught us that even being a member of a dangerous gang can’t erase your essential love and humanity if you don’t let it. And, most importantly, he taught us that there’s always a way to pay it forward even when you weren’t offered those same opportunities by others when you were young and hungry.
Hussle leaves behind a legacy as a world-builder, not destroyer. And he became something far more stars should: an example.
