Dear Assata,

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I never met you, but something tells me I knew something about you. In undergrad, I read your book, Assata: An Autobiography. It was one of the books assigned to me as a student majoring in Black studies.

From the picture on the cover, I imagined you glanced over your shoulder at me. You wanted me to catch up, become conscious, help educate our community, and join the movement. Comfort things and real responsibilities delayed and diluted my contributions.  

No excuse excuses my reluctance.

Last Friday, your spirit passed to the ancestral realm. Four days ago, I picked up your book again to see what you left behind. This letter shares some of what I found.

On page one, I inhaled your poem, Affirmation.

"I believe in living.

I believe in the spectrum of Beta days and Gamma people.

I believe in sunshine.

In windmills and waterfalls,

Tricycles and rocking chairs.

And I believe that seeds grow into sprouts.

And sprouts grow into trees.

I believe in the magic of the hands.

And in the wisdom of the eyes.

I believe in rain and tears.

And in the blood of infinity."

I exhaled and read your words twice to interpret the subtle meanings. After the second round, I closed my eyes and imagined the imagery.

As I continued to read your book, I had questions.

Why did you write "i" in lower case throughout the text? Did you do this to convey humility? The gesture echoed how Ancestor bell hooks wrote her name to help readers emphasize her message rather than her identity.

Despite the answers you left in the pages of your autobiography, the reply to this question and others will never come from your voice again. Your time came in a country that became your home after your birth country dehumanized and imprisoned you for the crime of resisting. You exercised courage by sharing your story.

Please rest in freedom, knowing that others recognize your account and acknowledge the injustice.

The police brutalized and framed you for your affiliations with the Black Panther Party. They lost a member of their fraternity and wanted vengeance. Like the guards who abused you in prison, they were “just following orders.”

COINTELPRO's objectives included dismantling social and political organizations that posed a threat to the US government. According to this resource, the FBI targeted the Communist Party of the USA, White hate groups, Black nationalist organizations, feminist organizations, and New Left groups.

It didn't matter whether individual members or organizations aimed to aid equality, equity, or something closer to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," as declared in the doctrine of independence. The FBI perceived you, King, X, Newton, and others as enemies of the State. They were willing and did use every ounce of their powers to maintain freedom for some and oppression for others.

I learned of your death last Friday from a text message. I verified the news and searched your name.

Media outlets confirmed you passed at the age of 78, “from health conditions and advanced age.” I stood stunned as I read the cryptic words.

For the last seven days, I have thought about you. As I jogged, practiced capoeira, and lifted weights this week, your sacrifices, including living separately from your daughter, crossed my mind. I read pages from your book every day. 

Yesterday, I played Common’s song, “A Song for Assata,” and wondered about your reaction to hearing it for the first time. Did he get your story right? How did you feel about him using your voice at the end to describe freedom?

I have more questions, but you’re gone. The government refuses to allow for the burial of your body on US soil. Perhaps following libation ceremonies, the Creator will enable your spirit, Ms. Shakur, to guide us to answers.

In the struggle for liberation,

V

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