Assata: An Autobiography

by Assata Shakur

Life was like a bus: you could either be a passenger and go along for the ride, or you could be the driver. I didn’t have the foggiest idea where i wanted to go, but i knew that i wanted to drive.

CULTURE i must confess that waltzes do not move me. i have no sympathy for symphonies. i guess i hummed the Blues too early, and spent too many midnights out wailing to the rain.

You must not feel guilty for what has been done to us. Only the strong go crazy. The weak just go along.

Momma, i am proud of you. I look at you and see the strength of our people. I have seen you struggle in the dark; the world beating on your back, dragging your catch back to our den. Pulling your pots and pans out to cook it. A mop in one hand. A pencil in the other, marking up my homework with your love. The injured have no blame. Let it fall on those who injure. Leave the past behind where it belongs— and come with me toward tomorrow. I love you mommy cause you are beautiful, and i am life that springs from you: part tree, part weed, part flower. My roots run deep. I have been nourished well.