Those who have died have never, never left
The dead are not under the earth
They are in the rustling trees
They are in the groaning woods
They are in the crying grass,
They are in the moaning rocks
The dead are not under the earth.
—Sweet Honey in the Rock, “Breaths”
Assata Shakur, our revolutionary Black elder, has transitioned into an ancestor.
News of her death Friday morning unraveled my best-laid plans and demanded my stillness. This Black woman radical wrote love poems in prisons of hate; brought new life into the world when the U.S. Empire was gunning for her death; and told her own truth as white supremacists and their agents smeared her with lies.
Her poem “Youngbloods,” was my earliest awakening that the dead could get new life with the stroke of a pen, and reimagination could bring healing. Her words on a Black woman’s needs (“A revolutionary woman can’t have no reactionary man!”) gave clarity to my deepest relationship woes. And her defiance of the United States Empire and long life in the aftermath made me aware of another possible future.
She was the first Black woman I ever really thought of as being protected by community. This leader in the Black Liberation Army, imprisoned on fantastical charges, had a battalion of comrades at her behest who broke her out of slavery and Underground Railroaded her to Cuba where Fidel Castro granted her asylum. For 46 years (!!), from 1979 to 2025, the Cuban people and her accomplices kept her safe from harm — even as the first Black face of this white empire had her bounty doubled to $2 million in 2013 and listed the then-66-year-old Shakur as the #1 most wanted “terrorist” in the WORLD. (Thanks, Obama!). Alhamdulillah, Assata Olugbala Shakur died outside of the long arm of the U.S. Empire. They never got their hands on her again! What a joy that she, after a long life, is now truly free.
When a revolutionary dies, we’re called to be more courageous. In working through my grief that she is no longer in this plane of existence, I’ve been emboldened by her words. Her voice. Her pictures. She gave us SO MUCH and has passed us the baton. My urge to do something is unfocused as of yet, but I do believe that with the lessons she left us, clarity will come, in community.
My first virtual event for Black Girl Watching was a 3-week reading and discussion group with Black men on bell hooks’ The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity & Love. Our last session was today and I am so energized by the beautiful group of Black men I spent time with in struggle these last three weeks! I want to do it again.
If you’re interested in reading Assata: An Autobiography with the BGW Book Club, please sign up here and get a free pdf of the book.
In the meantime, I am reminded that she and so many radical Black icons turned to documentary filmmaking in order to leave us with lasting information and encouragement. Their love for life and insistence upon it is encapsulated in their creation of art. How they made art mattered.
Often, when Black art and Black artists are shut out of “mainstream” awards, there are two options the Black artist can take. One is to ignore the institutions’ century-long, publicly stated anti-Black purpose (like the Grammys, which was founded to root out and suppress the popularity of Black music, or the Oscars, which was founded to bust up the unions and bend filmmakers’ artistic expression to the Academy’s will) and try again to make something that they’ll value next time. The second option is for Black artists to become radicalized, divesting from their systems of power and creating art from a liberated space.
Should we choose the radical route, some of our most impactful and iconic Black feminist artists have provided a blueprint in their biographical documentaries for Black creatives. Here are some lessons to glean from their stories and how you can watch their documentaries right now:
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