The recent passing of revolutionary Black Panther activist Assata Shakur on September 25th, 2025, in Havana, Cuba, at the age of 78, has sent shockwaves far beyond political circles. Her death, after decades in exile, has not only marked the end of an era but has also reignited profound conversations about her godson, the legendary rapper Tupac Shakur. New footage and statements allegedly showing Tupac alive and saying goodbye to Assata before her death have surfaced, casting a haunting shadow over his own demise nearly three decades prior and deepening the mystery of their intertwined, revolutionary legacies. This connection, often overlooked, represents one of hip-hop’s most powerful and politically charged relationships, rooted in a shared commitment to black liberation that defined both their lives.
To truly grasp the depth of their bond, one must delve into the origins of Assata Shakur. Born Joanne Deborah Byron in Queens, New York, in 1947, Assata became a pivotal figure in the Black Panther Party during the tumultuous 1960s civil rights movement. Her early life, marked by instability, found direction through her aunt, Evelyn A. Williams, a civil rights attorney who exposed her to activism. By the mid-1960s, Assata immersed herself in protests against racial injustice, adopting the name Assata Olugbala Shakur – “she who struggles” and “the thankful one” – a rejection of her birthname and an embrace of African heritage.
Her activism intensified when she joined the Black Panther Party in Oakland, organizing free breakfast programs for children. Disillusioned by internal issues, she later aligned with the Black Liberation Army (BLA), a more militant offshoot engaged in armed resistance. It was within these revolutionary circles that Assata met Afeni Shakur, Tupac’s mother and another dedicated Black Panther. Assata’s brother, Mutulu Shakur, married Afeni, making Assata Tupac’s step-aunt, but her role as his godmother carried an even deeper significance in their activist community.
Tupac Amaru Shakur, born in East Harlem in 1971, was named after the Peruvian revolutionary Tupac Amaru II, a powerful symbol of resistance that would echo throughout his life. He was born while his mother, Afeni, faced her own legal battle in the Panther 21 trial, highlighting the systemic persecution the family endured. Assata’s life, however, took a dramatic turn on May 2, 1973, during a traffic stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. An encounter with BLA members escalated into a shootout that killed State Trooper Werner Foerster. Assata was severely wounded, and despite medical evidence suggesting she was shot with her hands raised, making it impossible for her to have fired a weapon, she was convicted in 1977 of first-degree murder.
Sentenced to life imprisonment, Assata maintained her innocence, viewing the case as political persecution. She endured two years in solitary confinement before a daring escape in 1979, orchestrated by BLA members and allies. By 1984, she surfaced in Cuba, where Fidel Castro granted her political asylum, recognizing her as a persecuted revolutionary. There, she worked as an English editor for Radio Havana and raised her daughter. The US government, however, escalated its pursuit, adding her to the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorist list in 2013 with a $2 million bounty, making her the first woman to receive this designation.
For young Tupac, growing up in this environment of revolutionary fervor and state repression, Assata represented more than just family; she embodied resistance, survival, and the profound cost of fighting for justice. Despite her physical absence, her influence on Tupac was immense, manifesting throughout his career. In his music, Tupac frequently referenced Assata and his revolutionary lineage. His 1991 debut album, “2Pacalypse Now,” featured the track “Words of Wisdom,” ending with an outro that named revolutionaries like Mutulu Shakur, Geronimo Pratt, and Assata Shakur as “America’s nightmare.”
Another 1991 track, “Tears of a Clown,” revealed a personal longing for his godmother, with Tupac rapping, “Assata Shakur another auntie I miss her though please thank Mr. Castro for keeping her safe bro.” This line showcased not only political solidarity but also genuine familial affection and gratitude for Cuba’s protection. In interviews from the same year, Tupac spoke openly about his family’s revolutionary heritage and the persecution they faced, stating, “I come from a rich, rich line of Panthers and straight revolutionaries.” He criticized the black community for not adequately supporting revolutionary families, a sense of abandonment that would haunt him. His posthumous poetry collection, “The Rose That Grew from Concrete” (1999), was dedicated to Assata, symbolizing growth amid adversity – a theme that resonated with both their lives.
While Tupac publicly referenced Assata frequently, her comments about him largely came after his death. In a late 1990s interview, republished in 2018, Assata spoke of Tupac with admiration and sadness. She clarified that Tupac was the son of one of the Panther 21 and speculated on government involvement in his troubles, stating, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that they set Tupac up more than once,” referencing his legal issues and the East-West rap rivalry that contributed to his death. She praised his artistry, calling him a “genius” with immense talent, while also addressing his contradictions and the lack of community support that might have protected him. “There was no strong community of African revolutionaries to protect him and help educate him,” she lamented, recognizing his genius but regretting that the revolutionary community couldn’t shield him from the forces that ultimately took his life at just 25 years old.
The parallel narratives of Assata and Tupac – two deaths, two legacies, yet one unbreakable bond – highlight profound questions about justice, resistance, and the targeting of influential Black figures. When Tupac was assassinated in Las Vegas in 1996, the world lost a voice that articulated the rage, pain, and hope of marginalized communities. For Assata, watching from exile, it was the loss of a godson whose revolutionary spirit she had nurtured but couldn’t ultimately protect. Nearly three decades later, her own passing has brought their interconnected stories back into sharp focus.
Reactions to Assata’s death were deeply divided, mirroring the polarization that surrounded Tupac’s life. Progressive voices and activist organizations honored her as a revolutionary hero, with groups like the Democratic Socialists of America vowing to “fight for our freedom” and Black Lives Matter organizers praising her “courage and radical love.” US representatives, including Ayanna Pressley and Summer Lee, shared tributes, emphasizing that Assata “died a free woman,” a powerful statement given the US government’s decades-long pursuit. However, these tributes sparked fierce backlash from conservatives, law enforcement supporters, and New Jersey officials who condemned her as a “convicted cop killer.” The Chicago Teachers Union faced intense criticism for honoring her, highlighting the deep ideological chasm in how her legacy is perceived.
This divide reflects the broader debates about race, justice, and resistance in America, debates that also swirled around Tupac. Both Assata and Tupac challenged systems of power through their words and actions, paying heavy prices – Assata through exile, Tupac through assassination. Their intertwined legacies continue to illuminate the complexities of systemic oppression and the cost of speaking truth to power.
Tupac’s music, especially his early work, directly addressed themes Assata fought for: police brutality, systemic racism, and poverty. Songs like “Brenda’s Got a Baby” and “Keep Ya Head Up” showcased the empathy and social consciousness he inherited from his godmother. In a 1994 interview, Tupac spoke passionately about the conditions facing Black communities, words that could easily have come from Assata herself. He saw himself as doing “sacred work” in communities abandoned by mainstream society, fighting against oppression.
Assata’s 1987 autobiography became a foundational text for Black liberation movements, influencing generations of activists and artists. Her famous words, “It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other,” became a rallying cry for Black Lives Matter protesters decades later. Tupac’s influence on hip-hop and popular culture is immeasurable, with over 75 million records sold worldwide and albums achieving legendary status. Beyond sales, his ability to articulate the raw emotions of marginalized communities made him a prophetic voice for millions.
The intertwined legacies of Assata and Tupac continue to shape conversations about resistance and Black liberation. Both have been studied in academic institutions, viewed as figures whose lives illuminate broader struggles against systemic oppression. Yet, both remain controversial, with supporters seeing them as martyrs for justice and critics as criminals glorifying violence. Understanding this divide requires grappling with the historical context of COINTELPRO, the FBI’s systematic program to disrupt Black activist organizations, a program that targeted Assata and profoundly affected Tupac’s family.
Tupac grew up in the aftermath of this repression: his mother faced trial, his stepfather was imprisoned for helping Assata escape, and his godfather was wrongfully imprisoned for 27 years. This family history profoundly shaped his worldview and music. In a 1992 interview, Tupac articulated his philosophy on wealth inequality, views that directly reflected the revolutionary politics he inherited, stating, “Nobody should be hitting lotto for 36 million and we got people starving in the streets.” These were not the words of someone seeking fame but of someone shaped by revolutionary ideology, feeling a moral obligation to speak against injustice.
The recent tributes to Assata have highlighted this revolutionary lineage, with many connecting her death to Tupac, noting they are now reunited. While this romanticized view is touching, it sometimes obscures the harsh realities both faced. Assata lived 42 years in exile, unable to return to her homeland. Tupac lived only 25 years, his life violently cut short by forces many believe were connected to a larger conspiracy. Assata herself speculated about government involvement in Tupac’s troubles and death, suggesting his political consciousness made him a target, just as her activism had made her one.
Their combined cultural impact continues to reverberate. Tupac’s posthumous honors include induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Assata’s influence, though less formally recognized due to her fugitive status, has been profound in activist circles, with artists referencing her in their work. The debates sparked by Assata’s death reveal how far America still has to go in confronting its history of racial injustice.
Ultimately, both Assata and Tupac paid enormous prices for their principles. Assata spent decades in exile, dying thousands of miles from her birthplace. Tupac was killed at 25, his potential tragically unfulfilled. Their bond – godmother and godson, revolutionary and artist, exile and icon – represents something deeper than individual stories. It symbolizes the ongoing struggle of Black Americans for liberation, the torch passed from one generation to the next, each paying their price, each contributing to a movement that continues despite repression, exile, and death. Their legacies remind us that the fight for justice demands courage, sacrifice, and an unwavering commitment to truth – qualities both possessed in abundance. In that sense, both achieved a kind of immortality, not through universal approval, but through standing for something, fighting for something, and refusing to be silenced.
