The culture lost a giant. Sacha Jenkins was more than a writer, more than a filmmaker. He was one of the most trusted voices to ever document hip-hop—because he didn’t just cover it. He lived it.

Born in Philly and raised in Queens, Jenkins came up through zines, graffiti, punk, and pure DIY grit. As a teenager, he published Graphic Scenes & X-Plicit Language, one of the earliest zines dedicated to graffiti art. By 20, he helped launch Beat Down, the first hip-hop newspaper. Then came Ego Trip—the raw, hilarious, no-punches-pulled mag that shaped a generation’s understanding of rap and race in America.

But he wasn’t done.

Through Ego Trip, Jenkins helped redefine hip-hop storytelling with classics like The Book of Rap Lists and The Big Book of Racism, plus boundary-pushing TV like The (White) Rapper Show and Race-O-Rama. He always told the truth, even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.

And then came the films.

Jenkins directed and produced some of the most vital music docs of our time. Fresh Dressed traced the evolution of hip-hop fashion from hustlers to haute couture. Burn Motherfucker, Burn! unpacked the trauma and fury behind the 1992 LA riots. Word Is Bond spotlighted the lyricism and linguistic genius of MCs. And Wu-Tang Clan: Of Mics and Men gave us an intimate, unfiltered look at one of the most legendary rap groups of all time—earning him an Emmy nod. He even stepped into jazz history with Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues, a film as nuanced and revolutionary as its subject.

In every medium—print, screen, stage, or mic—Jenkins centered authenticity. He elevated the voices that shaped the streets, that created culture out of struggle, and that never got their due. As Chief Creative Officer at Mass Appeal, he helped usher in the #HipHop50 movement, ensuring the genre’s golden anniversary was about more than nostalgia. It was about recognition, reflection, and legacy.

Sacha Jenkins told our stories with love, bite, and an unshakable belief in the power of culture to change lives. His work wasn’t just influential—it was foundational.

He leaves behind a wife, two children, and a canon of work that will keep inspiring writers, filmmakers, and truth-tellers for years to come.

Rest easy, Sacha. You gave the culture its history book—and its conscience.