The news of Assata Shakur 's death in Havana, Cuba, on September 26, was greeted with a profound sense of shared loss among revolutionaries and activists around the world. Shortly afterward, at a solidarity gathering in New York, Cuban Foreign Minister Bruno Rodríguez Parrilla said simply, “We did our duty .” This humble statement summed up four decades of unwavering commitment by the Cuban state to protect one of America’s most wanted revolutionaries and allow her to live her life as a free woman. Cuba’s steadfast stance, despite immense pressure and threats, underscores a fundamental truth: a nation’s principles are revealed not only in its words, but also in the people it chooses to protect.

A life of struggle and political awakening

Born JoAnne Chesimard on July 16, 1947, in New York City, Assata’s life reflected the turbulent realities of being a Black woman in the United States . She came of age during the height of the civil rights, Black power, and anti-war movements, a period that profoundly shaped her political consciousness and that of countless young people across the country. She initially attended Borough of Manhattan Community College and later transferred to the City College of New York , where she became a powerful voice of student activism and a key organizer. Her journey led her to join the Black Panther Party (BPP) in Harlem, an organization that would soon leave an indelible mark on the struggle for Black liberation. While mainstream media often portrayed the BPP as a violent gang, Assata and others knew it as a vital, community-based organization that offered free breakfast programs for children, health clinics, advocated for self-defense against police brutality, and mobilized the Black community in political struggle.

Assata and many other members of the New York branch of the BPP would later join the Black Liberation Army (BLA). This underground organization emerged from a militant wing of the movement. It advocated armed struggle against the oppressive US government, seeing it as a legitimate way to confront the infrastructures of white supremacy and racism at the core of American society and achieve freedom for Black people. This shift was also a direct response to the brutal repression of the Black Panther Party by the US government, which sought to dismantle and destroy Black and left-wing organizations. Countless Black Panther Party leaders, such as Fred Hampton, were assassinated, while many others were framed, arrested on trumped-up charges, and held as political prisoners for decades.

The U.S. government’s repression of the Black Liberation Movement was not limited to public arrests and trials. A far more insidious campaign, the FBI’s Counterintelligence Program (COINTELPRO), operated in the shadows, unknown to the public and the activists it targeted. From the mid-1950s to the early 1970s, COINTELPRO was a systematic effort to “expose, disrupt, divert, discredit, or neutralize” political organizations deemed a threat to national security, with the Black Panther Party (BPP) and other Black revolutionary groups as its primary targets.

The FBI, under J. Edgar Hoover, viewed these movements as a serious internal threat. The program used a wide range of tactics, from psychological warfare to outright violence. Agents sent anonymous letters to foster distrust and rivalry among Black leaders and organizations, often leading to internal divisions and sometimes violence. The FBI also used informants to infiltrate the groups, spread disinformation, and provoke clashes with law enforcement. The goal was to dismantle these movements from within, without ever having to acknowledge the government’s role.

The existence of COINTELPRO remained secret until March 8, 1971, when a group of activists calling themselves the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI broke into a small FBI field office in Media, Pennsylvania. They stole hundreds of documents and, after carefully reviewing them, turned them over to news organizations. These documents provided irrefutable evidence of the FBI’s illegal activities against domestic political groups. The revelation sparked public outrage, Senate hearings led by Frank Church, and a greater understanding of the lengths to which the government was willing to go to suppress dissent.

The unfair trial and the daring escape

On May 2, 1973, Assata was arrested on the New Jersey Turnpike along with two other BLA members. A shootout ensued, resulting in the deaths of a New Jersey State Police trooper and one of her colleagues, Zayd Malik Shakur. Assata herself was seriously wounded by a gunshot. What followed was a highly publicized trial that was widely condemned as a political witch hunt. Assata was charged with murder, despite having been shot in the back and having her hands raised. The evidence against her was flimsy and circumstantial, and forensic experts testified that her injuries made it physically impossible for her to have fired a weapon.

Despite a lack of credible evidence, she was convicted in 1977. In a system designed to crush dissent and criminalize Black people, her conviction was a fait accompli.

“I am a 20th-century fugitive slave,” she famously said. “Because the United States legal system is cruel, racist, and unjust. And I had no hope of ever getting a fair trial.”

After two years in prison, on November 2, 1979, she staged her legendary escape with the help of other BLA members. This act of liberation was not only for her, but also became a powerful symbol for the movement.

The Cuban refuge and American hypocrisy

After her daring escape, Assata Shakur arrived in Cuba, where she was granted political asylum in 1984. For the U.S. government, this was a direct affront. Pressure on Cuba to return her began almost immediately and never ceased. The campaign against her was not simply the pursuit of a fugitive, but an attempt to make an example of a prominent revolutionary and punish Cuba for its solidarity with her.

The US government repeatedly attempted to criminalize Cuba’s decision to grant her asylum by labeling the country a " state sponsor of terrorism ." The bounty on Assata’s head was a constant reminder of this campaign. In 2005, the bounty was set at $1 million, a move that coincided with a period of heightened hostility and renewed threats from the Bush administration against Cuba. In 2013, the FBI, under the Obama administration, added her to its Most Wanted Terrorists list—a classification normally reserved for leaders of al-Qaeda and ISIS—and increased the bounty to $2 million. This unprecedented measure was intended to demonize her and justify any action taken against her, including attempts to capture her “dead or alive.” The use of billboards, particularly in New Jersey, was a public relations campaign designed to mobilize public opinion against her and against Cuba.

Cuban officials consistently and vigorously defended their decision. Fidel Castro called her a “true political prisoner” who was “a victim of the fierce repression against the Black movement.” He believed the U.S. attempt to portray her as a terrorist was “an injustice, a brutality, an infamous lie.” In a show of continued defiance, other officials and ordinary citizens in Cuba have echoed this sentiment, hailing her as an honored guest and a sister in the struggle. For Cuba, granting asylum to Assata was not just a political issue, but a matter of principle, a testament to its anti-imperialist and anti-racist convictions.

The terrorists next door: Luis Posada Carriles and Orlando Bosch

The US government’s obsession with Assata Shakur is evident when compared to its treatment of Luis Posada Carriles and Orlando Bosch Ávila, two of the most notorious anti-Cuban terrorists. Both were Cuban exiles who received open funding and training from the CIA to carry out a campaign of violence against the Cuban Revolution.

His most infamous act was the bombing of Cubana Flight 455 in October 1976. The civilian airliner exploded mid-air shortly after taking off from Barbados bound for Jamaica, killing all 73 people on board, including the entire Cuban national fencing team. Both Posada Carriles and Bosch were arrested in Venezuela for the crime. However, they were eventually released and both returned to the United States.

Posada Carriles, a former CIA agent trained in sabotage, explosives, and guerrilla warfare, was directly implicated in the bombing and other terrorist attacks throughout Latin America. Despite overwhelming evidence and his own confessions in a 1998 interview with the New York Times , the U.S. government refused to extradite him to Cuba or Venezuela. In 2005, he was arrested in the United States for illegal entry but was later released on a technicality.

Similarly, Orlando Bosch, who was arrested and briefly imprisoned in the United States for a bazooka attack on a Polish freighter in Miami, was later allowed to return to the United States following a concerted pressure campaign by prominent Cuban-American politicians. The U.S. Department of Justice officially classified him as a terrorist, but he was pardoned by President George H.W. Bush.

The contrasting treatment of Assata Shakur and these two terrorists speaks volumes about the true priorities of the US government. While it pursued a Black revolutionary for decades, it provided sanctuary to men who committed mass murder against Cuban civilians. This profound hypocrisy highlights a clear double standard: dissent at home is branded as terrorism, while violence against a perceived enemy abroad is considered a justifiable political act. This underscores the political nature of Assata’s persecution and the double standards of the US judicial system. It cements her place as a symbol of resistance against a deeply flawed and unjust system. Meanwhile, to this day, Cuba remains on the list of state sponsors of terrorism.

A beacon for future generations

Assata Shakur’s flight and exile were not just a physical escape from an unjust and violent system, but a political and ideological act. Her unwavering faith in a socialist future—a world free from the exploitative forces of capitalism, imperialism, and racism—was what made her a profound threat to the American establishment. Her vision sought a fundamental restructuring of society, a vision that directly challenged the very foundations of American power. That is why her presence in socialist Cuba was not accidental, but a deeply symbolic act of solidarity. For millions of young people who have discovered her story, whether through her powerful autobiography or a simple sign proclaiming “Assata is welcome here,” she is more than a historical figure. She is a living testament to the possibility of resistance. She embodied the courage not just to think about change, but to fight for an entirely new world. Her words, “I don’t think you can be a revolutionary without having a socialist vision,” serve as a guide and affirm that the struggle for Black liberation is inextricably linked to the internationalist struggle for a world without blockades, sanctions, genocide, and US imperialism. Her legacy is a powerful reminder that true freedom requires us to dismantle the old and build something new, together.