A Song for Assata

Honoring Assata Shakur through love, legacy and action

News of Assata’s transition hit me hard. I’ve spent the days since in reflection — as I’ve moved through work and mothering and the ordinary rhythm of home — mulling over what her presence here meant, and how we can honor her legacy. Processing. To be honest, in times as tumultuous as these, I’m still at a loss.

I first picked up Assata: An Autobiography when I was pregnant with my first son, about seven years ago. Who knows what drew me to it at that particular time, but perhaps it was the weight of carrying new life inside me — a new generation. Perhaps it was my way of looking for answers, for guidance from someone who’d survived much more than I could imagine.

What I found there has stayed with me ever since. I saw a picture of a woman who endured the unthinkable, yet never gave up on her people. A woman who was hated and mistreated, yet still clung tightly to love in all its forms. A woman who was brutalized and neglected, yet never lost faith in our collective freedom. A woman who conceived, carried and birthed her baby girl in the most dastardly conditions you can imagine. And escaped. Survived.

A true freedom fighter. A warrior. A Queen Mother. And now, an exalted ancestor.

And while I’m still struggling to process her physical absence, I hold onto her story, the words she left with us. I think of the pain she endured yet never yielded from her mission. I think of the many comrades who must have worked in concert to keep her safe in Cuba…for decades. I think of her precious daughter, Kakuya.

Hollywood teaches us to picture revolution as fire and spectacle. Assata’s life tells me something else. It’s not about pyrotechnics, it’s about presence — with ourselves, and our loved ones. It’s not about combat, but consistency. Not about reforming, but reprogramming. It’s about fundamental change — in the way we live, eat, educate ourselves, work… the way we see each other.

In my house that looks simple on paper, hard in practice. It looks like dedicating my time, talent and resources to work that preserves our stories and reinforces our families. Like homeschooling my children instead of arguing with some Karen about critical race theory. It looks like owning land, even if the path is slow and the steps are small. It looks like loosening our dependence on corporate systems and state institutions that are not designed for our (or anyone’s) benefit. It looks like investing more in the next generation than in the next shiny treat. It looks like my husband and me putting our heads down and slowly, painstakingly building what we want to see in this world, even when no one else can see it yet. It looks like turning off the screens and tuning into our babies’ faces. Because we’ll never get this moment back.

No, it’s not easy. No it’s not perfect. Yes, it requires sacrifice and offers few accolades. I have been humbled more times than I can count. Yet when I think about Assata’s courage, I feel the call to do more. Not louder. Deeper.

How do we honor Assata’s legacy — and that of all of the true revolutionaries before her? We study and carry their words into our daily lives. We build families and communities that can withstand pressure. We love each other like our freedom depends on it, because it does: “It is our duty to fight for our freedom,” Shakur wrote. “It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.” That’s not a slogan to me. It’s a blueprint.

So I return to the passages that feed me. I return to her (and Sister Audre’s) insistence that no one will hand us the tools to undo the systems that harms us. I return to her refusal to forget that we are oppressed, because forgetting makes you numb and numbness makes you complacent — complicit. I return to her daughter’s name and think about what it means to raise children inside a commitment like hers.

Thank you, Assata, for what you endured and what you gave. For the roadmap and the warning. For the love that kept shining through the unthinkable. May we be worthy of your example. May we love each other. May we move like people who know we are not free yet, and refuse to pretend otherwise.

Rest well, Queen Assata. We’ll study. We’ll build. We’ll love. We’ll keep going.

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Below are a few excerpts from Assata: An Autobiography that I’ll continue to carry with me. Feel free to post yours in the comments and check the other books in our Required Reading. Sending love.

Assata On Education:

“The schools we go to are reflections of the society that created them. Nobody is going to give you the education you need to overthrow them. Nobody is going to teach you your true history, teach you your true heroes, if they know that that knowledge will help set you free.”

On Oppression:

“Every day out in the street now, I remind myself that Black people in amerika are oppressed. It’s necessary that I do that. People get used to anything. The less you think about your oppression, the more your tolerance for it grows. After a while, people just think oppression is the normal state of things. But to become free, you have to be acutely aware of being a slave.”

On Politics:

“Those who believe that the president or the vice-president and the congress and the supreme kourt run this country are sadly mistaken. The almighty dollar is king; those who have the most money control the country and, through campaign contributions, buy and sell presidents, congressmen, and judges, the ones who pass the laws and enforce the laws that benefit their benefactors. The rich have always used racism to maintain power. To hate someone, to discriminate against them, and to attack them because of their racial characteristics is one of the most primitive, reactionary, ignorant ways of thinking that exists.”

“As far as I can tell, you have the extreme right, who are fascist, racist capitalist dogs like Ronald Reagan, who come right out and let you know where they’re coming from. And on the opposite end, you have the left, who are supposed to be committed to justice, equality, and human rights. And somewhere between those two points is the liberal. As far as I’m concerned, “liberal” is the most meaningless word in the dictionary.”

On Freedom:

“Nobody in the world, nobody in history, has ever gotten their freedom by appealing to the moral sense of the people who were oppressing them”.

“It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains”

On Words as Medicine:

“One night one of the nurses came in and gave me three books. I hadn’t even thought about reading. The books were a godsend. They had been carefully selected. One was a book of Black poetry, one was a book called Black Women in White Amerika, and the third was a novel, Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse. Whenever I tired of the verbal abuse of my captors, I would drown them out by reading the poetry out loud. “Invictus” and “If We Must Die” were the poems I usually read. I read them over and over, until I was sure the guards had heard every word. The poems were my message to them. When I read the book about Black women, I felt the spirits of those sisters feeding me, making me stronger. Black women have been struggling and helping each other to survive the blows of life since the beginning of time. And when I read Siddhartha, a peace came over me. I felt a unity with all things living. The world, in spite of oppression, is a beautiful place. I would say “Om” softly to myself, letting my lips vibrate. I felt the birds, the sun, and the trees. I was in communion with all the forces on the earth that truly love people, in communion with all the revolutionary forces on the earth.”

Thank you, Assata Shakur, for all that you gave us. Rest well.

Original Shero Print, Original Issue 2019