Assata: An Autobiography

by Assata Shakur

I am hiding my beautiful, nappy hair under this wig and hating it, hiding my stuff to save my life. I, who have had to give up my headwraps and my big, beaded earrings, my dungaree jackets, my red, black, and green poncho, and my long African dresses in order to struggle on another level, look out from under my wig at my sisters. Maybe we are all running and hiding. Maybe we are all running from something, all living a clandestine existence. Surely we are all being oppressed and persecuted. I imagine the headlines: “Nigger Woman Nabbed for Nappy Hair.” “Afro Gal Has Tangled Hair.” “Militant Mom Bares All.” It is really too much to comprehend. Such horrible things have been done to us. A whole generation of Black women hiding out under dead white people’s hair, I have the urge to cry, but i don’t. It would draw attention. I keep from getting up until my stop comes. I pray and struggle for the day when we can all come out from under these wigs.