“Assata,” by Kevin Rashid Johnson.
Every little girl should know her name.
From the bowels of repression and calamity, she came.
Wrung poetic lyrics of love from raw pain.
From a system designed to break
She remained untamed.
Gave herself over wholly to our freedom fight.
So, the pigs tried to assassinate her that night
On the Jersey Turnpike alongside Zayd,
Who they actually slayed, and Sundiata fled.
Shot her point blank, “Hands up.” “Don’t shoot.”
Her will to live for the people embedded limb to root.
A true comrade sister, she survived the impossible,
Brutal abuse, neglect, even by pigs in the hospital.
Where they beat her, tortured her, even threatened rape,
But she clung to life, endured racist hate.
A continuation of a long train of fighting oppression.
From the earliest age, she learned the lessons
Of existence, of persistence, of never giving in,
Of daring to struggle, of deserving to win.
Organized with the Panthers, resisted chauvinist men.
Recognized that our fight was for the future of our children.
For the armed struggle, she was all the way down.
Joined the Black Liberation Army, fought in the underground.
They put her in a men’s prison,
Thought it would break her will.
But it made her stronger, turned her mind to steel,
Where she molded, honed it, made it razor sharp,
So her wit would fit level with her heart.
Every effort to stop her was doomed to fail.
Conceived a beautiful child from inside a cell.
She embodied the thing slavers most feared,
The will to war, to protect our kids.
Even thought a cell would stop her, but it wasn’t to be.
The love of the people set her free,
And surpassed borders to the Cuban Isle,
Where she found asylum, to live free in exile.
The meaning of her name gets her to the score.
‘She who struggles’
Assata Shakur.
This is Kevin Rashid Johnson coming to you from within America’s Gulag Archipelago. Dare to struggle, dare to win. All power to the people.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
