STARBURSTER

children’s dreams / al-yarmouk, palestinian refugee camp in damascus, syria 

One our greatest living revolutionaries, Assata Shakur, has transitioned to the ancestors. On September 25, 2025, passed away in Havana, Cuba, where she had lived in exile since at least 1984. Beginning her activism in college, Shakur was a foundational member of both the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation Army, where she honed both her revolutionary theory and practice. Targeted constantly by the state, Assata was arrested in 1973 after she and several other BLA members were attacked by state troopers on the New Jersey Turnpike. She and her comrades were injured in the attack, and a state trooper was killed when BLA members returned fire in self defense. Shakur was wrongfully convicted of murder in 1977, but this did not stop her work. She continued to organize as a political prisoner, and she was broken out of jail in 1979 by fellow BLA members and the May 19 Communist Organization. During her years on the run, she was placed on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, where she remained until her death. In 1984, Cuba granted her formal political asylum and refused to extradite her, despite relentless pressure from the United States, including a $1,000,000 reward. In 1987, she published her seminal work, Assata: An Autobiography. This work is a foundational text for anyone committed to destroying Western Imperialism and colonialism. In it, she wrote the following words, which have become a rally cry echoed throughout worldwide struggles for freedom.

“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.”

“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

We deserve a better death. Our bodies are disfigured and twisted, embroidered with bullets and shrapnel. Our names are pronounced incorrectly on the radio and TV. Our photos, plastered onto the walls of our buildings, fade and grow pale. The inscriptions on our gravestones disappear, covered in the feces of birds and reptiles. No one waters the trees that give shade to our graves. The blazing sun has overwhelmed our rotting bodies.