Tupac Resurfaces in Havana / Secret Credits Reveal He’s Been Running a Music Label Underground
For years the streets believed he was gone. Behind the scenes, Tupac allegedly built a hidden imprint in Cuba, signed new artists, and moved behind the curtain while the world watched his “memorials”.

For nearly three decades, the hip-hop world has mourned the loss of Tupac Amaru Shakur, the poetic firebrand whose lyrics dissected the soul of Black America amid the chaos of gangsta rap’s golden era. Shot in a drive-by ambush on the Las Vegas Strip on September 7, 1996, and pronounced dead six days later at age 25, Tupac’s demise sparked endless speculation. Was it East Coast-West Coast rivalry? A setup by Death Row Records boss Suge Knight? Or something far more audacious—a meticulously staged exit from the spotlight that threatened to consume him?

The streets whispered theories from day one: Tupac faked his death, inspired by his alias Makaveli, a nod to Niccolò Machiavelli, the Renaissance philosopher who plotted resurrections from the grave. Fans pored over clues in his final album, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory, where track timings and cover art screamed symbolism. Rearrange “Makaveli,” and it spells “Am Alive K.” The release date? November 5—exactly seven months after his “death,” tying into the numerology of betrayal and rebirth. But amid the holograms at Coachella and posthumous hits, one persistent rumor stood apart: Tupac didn’t just vanish; he fled to Cuba, seeking sanctuary with his exiled aunt, Assata Shakur, the Black Panther activist granted asylum by Fidel Castro in 1984.

Now, in a bombshell that could rewrite hip-hop history, leaked production credits from underground Latin trap albums point to the unthinkable: Tupac has been alive in Havana all along, quietly helming a clandestine music label that’s mentored a new generation of artists. Dubbed “Makaveli Imprint” by insiders, this shadow operation has funneled beats, bars, and revolutionary ethos into Cuba’s burgeoning rap scene, all while the world paid tribute to his “ghost.” Sources close to the Cuban hip-hop underground, speaking on condition of anonymity due to the island’s tight media controls, claim Tupac—older, bearded, and reclusive—has signed at least a dozen acts, blending his Thug Life philosophy with Afro-Cuban rhythms. “He’s not chasing fame anymore,” one Havana producer told this outlet via encrypted channels. “He’s building legacy from the shadows.”

The spark for this revelation traces back to 1996’s fever dream. Tupac, fresh from a stint in Clinton Correctional Facility for sexual assault charges he always maintained were bogus, inked a lucrative deal with Death Row. Suge Knight bailed him out for $1.4 million, demanding three albums in return. All Eyez on Me dropped in ’96, a double-disc opus that sold five million copies and cemented Tupac as rap’s messiah. But whispers from his inner circle hinted at unease. Keyshia Cole, then a teen protégé, later revealed Tupac confided plans to bolt Death Row for Quincy Jones’ label, scouting talent like her for a cleaner slate. “Death Row wasn’t the place for kids,” Cole recounted in a 2020 interview. Fat Joe echoed this, claiming Tupac eyed independence via his own imprints, like the nascent Makaveli Records, distributed through Death Row but destined for autonomy.

Enter the Cuba connection. Assata Shakur, Tupac’s aunt and godmother, had long symbolized resistance. Convicted in 1977 for murdering a New Jersey state trooper—a verdict activists decried as frame-up—she escaped prison in 1979 and resurfaced in Havana five years later. Fidel Castro personally welcomed her, decrying U.S. imperialism. Tupac idolized Assata; her poetry infused his work, from Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z… to prison letters where he vowed to carry her torch. Conspiracy theorists latched onto this: Why Cuba? No extradition treaty with the U.S., a haven for Black revolutionaries. Suge Knight fueled the fire in 2017, smirking on a prison call, “Pac’s somewhere smoking a Cuban cigar.” Michael Nice, a self-proclaimed ex-bodyguard and Black Panther affiliate, went further in 2018 YouTube rants, alleging he orchestrated Tupac’s exfiltration via Castro’s network post-shooting. “A body double took the heat,” Nice insisted. “Pac was airlifted out, wounds bandaged, straight to Havana.”

Sightings piled up like unsold mixtapes. In 2016, a viral clip from Consequence joked Tupac was “living in Cuba,” but locals soon corroborated. YouTuber CharlieBoyTV hit Havana streets in 2018, flashing photos; women in Old Havana nodded, “Yes, I’ve seen him—tall, tattooed, quiet.” A cab driver pinpointed a Malecón café. By 2019, a grainy pic surfaced on Wired Up TV, purportedly Tupac at 48, verified by an unnamed “family friend.” “He’s in Cuba because he can’t be extradited,” the narrator claimed. Even Treach of Naughty by Nature whispered off-camera in 2010: “Last saw Pac in Cuba.” Reddit’s r/Tupac subreddit devolves into debate yearly—old heads citing the Outlawz smoking “fake ashes,” Afeni Shakur’s cryptic site teasing a “secret live return.” As one user posted in 2024: “Pac predicted it all. Lyrics like ‘My every move is a calculated step to embrace an early death’—that’s blueprint.”

But the real detonator? Those secret credits. In late September 2025, a whistleblower dumped files on a Tor-hidden forum frequented by Cuban rappers. Buried in liner notes for Revolución Subterránea, a 2024 mixtape by Havana collective Los Panteras Negras, was a pseudonym: “M. Amaru—Exec. Prod.” Cross-reference with Tupac’s birth name, Lesane Parish Crooks, and middle moniker, Amaru (Quechua for “spiritual warrior”), and it screams authenticity. Deeper dives reveal patterns: Similar tags on 2018’s Afro-Thug Vol. 1 by Orishas alum Ruzzo, and 2022’s Havana Heat by upstart El Guerrero. Sources say Tupac, under aliases like “T. Makaveli,” scouts talent at underground cyphers in Centro Habana, mentoring kids from sugarcane fields to Malecón benches. “He teaches beats with revolutionary fire,” a signed artist, “La Sombra,” messaged. “Tracks about police brutality, but with salsa flips. No guns, just truth.”

This underground empire isn’t sloppy. Makaveli Imprint operates via encrypted drops—USB drives smuggled on flights from Mexico, distributed through Cuba’s paquetería network of black-market couriers. Revenue? Crypto wallets tied to NFT drops of “lost Tupac verses,” masked as AI-generated homages. One insider claims Tupac’s hand in 2023’s viral track “Exilio Eterno,” a diss on U.S. sanctions echoing Changes: “Still ballin’, but from the other side of the wall.” Distribution hits Spotify via VPN proxies, crediting “ghost producers.” It’s a far cry from Death Row’s platinum excess—Tupac’s label prioritizes impact over charts, signing queer Afro-Cuban MCs and ex-political prisoners, infusing Thug Life with santería spirituality.

Skeptics, of course, scoff. Las Vegas PD’s Chris Carroll, who cradled the dying rapper, dismissed it in 2018: “Ridiculous. He died in my arms.” The 2023 arrest of Duane “Keefe D” Davis for the shooting seemed to seal the case—motive: a Crips-Bloods beef sparked at the Tyson fight. Autopsy photos, family denials, and Amaru Entertainment’s control of Tupac’s catalog (reclaiming unreleased masters in 2020) scream finality. Yet, as hip-hop evolves— Kendrick vs. Drake echoing Pac vs. Biggie—the allure endures. Tupac’s mother, Afeni, who passed in 2016, once said he “chose to leave quietly.” In a 2025 world of deepfakes and resurrections, who’s to say?

If true, this Havana haven explains the void. Tupac, burned by betrayal—jail time, label wars, assassination attempts—chose exile over empire. Running Makaveli Imprint, he’s not resurrecting 2Pac the icon but birthing something purer: a sonic underground railroad, smuggling stories from the margins. Imagine sessions in candlelit casitas, Tupac schooling protégés on Machiavelli while congas thump. Tracks laced with coded nods—”7 days to freedom,” “Cigar smoke signals.”

The leak’s timing feels prophetic, dropping amid Cuba’s 2025 youth protests against blackouts and rations. Tupac’s voice could ignite. Will he surface fully? A hologram won’t cut it now—fans crave flesh-and-blood bars. As one leaked credit reads: “Exit: Legend. Enter: Phantom.” If Tupac’s pulling strings from Havana, the curtain’s rising. The world watched memorials; he built monuments. Thug Life eternal, from the Strip to the Straits.