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Young Thug, Gunna and the romanticization of gang culture 

Graphic by Audrey Garcia

Over the past few months, Young Thug has had one message for the world: everyone’s a rat.

Since his release in Oct. 2024 amid the high-profile YSL RICO case, Thug has been trying to expose those he believes betrayed him. Leaked jail calls show him calling out fellow artists and affiliates for cooperating with law enforcement, especially Gunna, who took a plea deal in 2022. 

The hip-hop world exploded with debates over who’s “real,” who “snitched” and who crossed the line.

Then came the twist.

A leaked interview showed Thug himself in a two-hour conversation with law enforcement. The man who once stood as a symbol of street loyalty appeared to be doing the very thing he condemned.

For some fans, that moment shattered the illusion and exposed a bigger issue: how gang culture and the street codes have been warped into performance, marketing and empty posturing.

Gang culture goes mainstream

Gang culture wasn’t always criminal, nor was it a conduit for entertainment. It began as a response to systemic violence. In mid-20th-century Black communities, street organizations were often grassroots collectives born out of the need for protection and solidarity.

However, as hip-hop exploded into the mainstream in the 1980s and ‘90s, those street realities became lyrics and profit incentives. Authenticity became a product, and labels figured out that the grittiness and aggressive nature of rap music could sell. 

By the time drill music emerged in the 2010s, gang affiliation wasn’t just a byproduct of a rough environment; it became a symbol of credibility.  

But between jail, death or both, the price is often heavy.

The street code is a mirage

When Gunna took a plea deal, the backlash was swift. Despite his lawyers’ insistence that he never testified against Thug or anyone else, his reputation took a hit when Thug cut him off and social media labeled him a snitch.

Fast-forward to Thug’s alleged cooperation, and the hypocrisy becomes clear.

If “street codes” only apply when convenient, are they just a facade?

The “no snitching” rule was once a method of survival. Black communities didn’t trust the police, so loyalty became the law. But today, those same codes are inconsistently applied, often used to coerce people into staying quiet while others get away with crimes that hurt the community.

Meanwhile, the same executives profiting off gang-affiliated rappers never live by these rules. 

Well, how about the fans that are debating them?

Most have never been in a situation where they would face significant jail time; if they were, they would fold under pressure. 

Let’s change what’s cool

Every time we praise a rapper for “keeping it street” or cancel someone for choosing freedom over silence, we uphold a value system rooted in trauma and destruction. 

Labels profit from it. The media amplifies it. But it’s Black communities burying the dead and serving the time.

Thug’s post-release crusade shows us how hollow and performative our idea of “street” has become. It’s selectively applied and weaponized against the very people it was once meant to protect.

Rappers who’ve made it out have nothing to prove. You don’t need to keep one foot in the streets to stay respected. 

That’s not real; it’s reckless.

What’s actually real? Staying free, building wealth and pouring back into the community. Use your platform to speak the truth, not recycle pain.

The streets aren’t sacred. 

They’re dead.

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