Assata Shakur, a name that has echoed through decades of American activism and controversy, died last week in Havana, Cuba, at the age of 78. The Cuban Ministry of Foreign Affairs confirmed her passing on September 25, 2025, attributing it to health complications related to advanced age. Shakur, born Joanne Deborah Chesimard on July 16, 1947, in New York City, leaves behind a legacy that is as polarizing as it is influential.
Shakur’s life story reads like a chapter torn from the tumultuous pages of 20th-century American history. A member of the Black Liberation Army, she became a symbol of resistance for some and a convicted murderer for others. Her notoriety began in earnest after a fateful night in 1973, when a routine traffic stop on the New Jersey Turnpike erupted into gunfire. Trooper Werner Foerster was killed, another officer wounded, and Shakur, along with two others, was accused of murder. In 1977, she was convicted of Foerster’s killing, armed robbery, and several other crimes, and sentenced to life in prison. Throughout her trial, Shakur insisted on her innocence, claiming she was unarmed and had her hands up when she was shot. Medical testimony appeared to support her account, but the jury found otherwise, and her fate seemed sealed.
Yet, Shakur’s story was far from over. In 1979, with the assistance of the Black Liberation Army, she staged a daring escape from prison. By 1984, she had surfaced in Cuba, where Fidel Castro’s government granted her political asylum, much to the dismay of U.S. authorities. The FBI, never relinquishing its pursuit, eventually placed Shakur on its Most Wanted Terrorists list in 2013, offering a $1 million reward for information leading to her capture. She was the first woman ever to appear on that list, and the reward would later be doubled to $2 million, underscoring the intensity of the hunt.
Shakur’s years in exile were anything but quiet. According to the New York Post, she became a figurehead for activists and a symbol of resistance for those fighting for racial justice. Her autobiography, Assata: An Autobiography, and her speeches continued to inspire generations, particularly within Black liberation circles. She was also known as the godmother of the late rapper Tupac Shakur, further cementing her influence in American culture.
When news of her death broke, tributes poured in from left-leaning organizations and activists, sparking immediate and fierce backlash. The Chicago Teachers Union (CTU), which represents more than 27,000 members, hailed Shakur as "a revolutionary fighter" in a social media post, quoting her: “It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.” The Democratic Socialists of America echoed this sentiment, vowing to "honor her legacy by recognizing our duty to fight for our freedom, to win, to love and protect one another because we have nothing to lose but our chains."
Such tributes did not go unnoticed—or unchallenged. New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy, a Democrat, condemned the CTU’s post as "shameful and depraved" on September 27, 2025, declaring, “She was convicted of the murder New Jersey State Trooper Werner Foerster, who was executed in cold blood. There are so many worthy heroes to celebrate. She is not one of them.” Other New Jersey politicians, including Democratic Rep. Josh Gottheimer and GOP Rep. Tom Kean, paid tribute to Foerster, emphasizing the gravity of his loss and the pain still felt by his family and colleagues.
Political tensions flared further as Republican gubernatorial candidate Jack Ciattarelli criticized his Democratic rival, Rep. Mikie Sherrill, for her silence on the matter. “Praising the murderer of Trooper Foerster is disgraceful. Here in New Jersey people from all sides of the political spectrum have condemned the attack – except for my opponent,” Ciattarelli said. “Mikie Sherrill cannot even bring herself to acknowledge Trooper Foerster’s death as she runs to appease the radical left. Both Mikie and CTU should be ashamed of themselves.”
The reaction was not limited to politicians. Community Notes on social media posts quickly pointed out Shakur’s conviction and her status as a fugitive on the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists list. Civil rights attorney Andrew Laufer stated bluntly, “She was a terrorist and murderer and I’m saying this as a civil rights attorney.” Others on social platforms expressed outrage, with comments like, “She’s a cop killing terrorist. Shame on you. This is really such a disgrace.”
The federal law enforcement perspective was equally uncompromising. On September 28, 2025, FBI Director Kash Patel took to social media to advise Americans against mourning Shakur, labeling her unequivocally as a “terrorist.” In a strongly worded post, Patel wrote, “Joanne Chesimard didn’t ‘fight for justice.’ She murdered New Jersey State Trooper Werner Foerster in cold blood, then fled to Cuba to escape accountability. The FBI never stopped calling her what she was: a terrorist.” Patel added that mourning Shakur “spits on the badge and the blood of every cop who gave their life in service.”
Yet, for many in activist communities, Shakur’s narrative is not one of terrorism, but of resistance. Supporters argue that she was targeted for her activism and pursued for crimes she did not commit or that were justified in the context of broader struggles for justice. Her words, especially those quoted by the CTU and DSA, have become rallying cries for those who see her as a revolutionary figure, not a criminal.
This sharp division over Shakur’s legacy is nothing new. Since her conviction and subsequent escape, she has been a lightning rod in debates about race, justice, and the boundaries of activism in America. The case has long been a point of contention between the United States and Cuba, with repeated but unsuccessful efforts by U.S. authorities to secure her extradition. The FBI’s $2 million reward for her capture remained unclaimed until her death.
Shakur’s story, for better or worse, is woven into the fabric of American history. She was a freedom fighter to some, a cop killer to others, and a symbol of the unresolved tensions that continue to shape national conversations about justice, race, and resistance. Her death in Havana closes a controversial chapter, but the fierce debates she inspired are far from over.
As the dust settles, one thing remains clear: Assata Shakur’s life and death will continue to provoke reflection, anger, admiration, and debate—perhaps for generations to come.
