I Am Human
by Tammica Summers

I am an inmate
The result of a mistake
But I am human first

This is not my fate
The effects make me shake
But it could always be worse

I am real just like you
Even though I wear blue
I have eyes I can see
My soul cries and my spirit is free

I am just as human as you are
It might be a stretch of your imagination
But can you try to reach that far?

I bleed like every human does
And sometimes I cry just because

Some days I have are good
And some days are bad
Some days I wish I could
Have a better life than what I had

I am an inmate
But I am human like you
I am now property of the state
But was once free like you

I am not an animal in the zoo
I am human just like you
When I’m scared I long to be held
And in so many ways I am frail

Man has sentenced me to shame
And put me in this Hell
And branded with this name
That you think you know so well

But do you really know me?
I’ve been conveniently moved from society
Forced into this virtual reality
But until I die I will always be
A human like you — part of humanity

Source: Bound Struggles, Number Seven (Chicago Books to Women in Prison)

There are a number of reasons why the current discourse about privacy and surveillance leaves me cold. I started to write a little about these in the past. I haven’t had time or (maybe more truthfully) the motivation to write more. I don’t think that those who are currently most vocal and public about their anti-surveillance state critiques have much in common with me or my concerns. I’m certain that my views and ideas are meaningless to them. Finally, with some exceptions, I think that many current critics of the surveillance state are uninterested in doing the movement-building work that it would take to change the current state of affairs. So I just keep it moving, doing my own work.

My colleague Grant recently emailed a few audio pieces that he worked on with young men of color. I was particularly struck by Marquise Paino’s audio story titled “Eyes On Me.”

Marquise reminds the listener that young black men in Chicago are constantly and consistently ‘watched’ by the state, by businesses, and by community members. For him, there is no neat distinction between the watchers and the watched. It’s all of a piece. A question to ask Marquise is whether it feels different to be watched by the cops, the storeowners, and the gangs. Is there more or less fear and anger depending on who is doing the watching?

I’d be interested to know how privacy advocates and some civil libertarians might discuss the concept of surveillance with a young man like Marquise. What’s the meaning of bulk data collection by the NSA to a young person who lives under constant scrutiny already? Would Marquise be surprised or disturbed that the cops are looking for ways to more easily access cell phone information? I don’t know the answer to these questions but it would be interesting to know.

This summer I am curating, with my friend Rachel Caidor, an exhibition based on the ‘No Selves To Defend’ anthology. I have also roped my friend Billy Dee into helping us with the design of the exhibition. [It’s a wonder that I still have anyone who is willing to be my friend.]

Yesterday, the three of us visited the Art In These Times space to start envisioning the exhibition. I am always so excited to see blank walls and to imagine the possibilities of what we can create.

The exhibition includes original art by Micah Bazant, Molly Crabapple, Billy Dee, Bianca Diaz, Rachel Galindo, Lex Non Scripta, Caitlin Seidler, and Ariel Springfield. It also includes ephemera and artifacts from my personal collection.

The opening reception for the exhibition is on July 18th from 6 to 9 p.m. I hope to see many of you there. This exhibition is made possible by individual donors who have generously contributed to my organization’s summer fundraiser. I am incredibly grateful for the support.

Billy created two posters for the exhibition and I can’t decide which I like best (I love them both) so I’m sharing them below.

by Billy Dee

by Billy Dee

For the rest of this week, I will feature some of the stories in the new anthology ‘No Selves to Defend.’ I hope that you will buy a copy of the publication as all proceeds will support Marissa Alexander’s legal defense.

We kick off with Joan Little’s case. This short essay was written by Dr. Emily Thuma and the art is by the supremely gifted Micah Bazant.

On August 27, 1974 in Beaufort County, North Carolina, a twenty-year-old Black woman prisoner named Joan Little defended herself from sexual violence at the hands of a white male guard. Little gained control of an ice pick the guard had used to threatened her while she was in her cell, and she used the tool as a weapon to wound him. She then fled the jail. The guard did not survive his stab wounds and Little quickly became the target of a statewide search. One week later, Little surrendered and declared to state authorities and the press that she had acted in self-defense. An all-white grand jury charged her with first-degree murder, which carried the possibility of the death penalty, and she was sent to the women’s prison in Raleigh to await trial.

Joan Little by Micah Bazant

In the following year, a broad base of individuals and organizations from around the country participated in the mass mobilization that became known as the “Free Joan Little Movement.” From Oakland to Detroit to Atlanta, people formed local committees that helped the North Carolina-based Joan Little Defense Fund raise money to pay for Little’s bond (set at $115,000) and legal fees. Many widely known racial and economic justice and feminist organizations threw their support behind Little as well, including the Southern Poverty Law Center, Black Panther Party, Southern Christian Leadership Conference, Women’s International League of Peace and Freedom, and the National Organization for Women. The renowned a cappella group Sweet Honey and the Rock released a song entitled, “Joanne Little: She’s My Sister.” While out on bail before her trial, Little traveled the country and spoke to numerous audiences about her case as well as unjust prison conditions more generally.

With the help of the Center for Constitutional Rights and others, the legal defense team produced documentation that persuaded the court that Little could not receive a fair trial in Beaufort County and it won a venue change to Raleigh. The five-week trial began in July. During the trial, the defense called several Black women to the stand to testify about their own experiences of sexual harassment by white male staff at the Beaufort County jail, demonstrating a chronic pattern of abuse. The jury, made up of both Black and white jurors, deliberated for only seventy-eight minutes before acquitting Little.

While State v. Joan Little is noted for being the first time a woman was acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defense against sexual violence, its wider impact and legacy was its powerful reflection of the interconnections of racism, sexism, and economic inequality. As scholar, activist, and former political prisoner Angela Y. Davis wrote in Ms. magazine in June 1975, “Those of us—women and men—who are Black or people of color must understand the connection between racism and sexism that is so strikingly manifested in her case. Those of us who are White and women must grasp the issue of male supremacy in relationship to the racism and class bias which complicate and exacerbate it.”
 

With only six weeks until Marissa Alexander‘s retrial in Florida, there is an urgent need to raise money for her legal defense. [Update: This afternoon we learned that Marissa’s trial has been postponed until December. More than ever she will need our financial support].

I was motivated to create the ‘No Selves to Defend Anthology‘ as a fundraising tool and also as an educational and consciousness-raising one. The anthology locates Marissa’s case within a historical context that criminalizes and punishes women (particularly of color) for self-defense.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee

The women featured in the publication (besides Marissa) are: Lena Baker, Inez Garcia, Rosa Lee Ingram, Joan Little, Cece McDonald, New Jersey 4, Cassandra Peten, Bernadette Powell, Juanita Thomas, Yvonne Wanrow, and Dessie Woods.

Dessie Woods by Rachel Galindo (No Selves to Defend, 2014)

‘No Selves to Defend’ includes original art by Micah Bazant, Molly Crabapple, Billy Dee, Bianca Diaz, Rachel Galindo, Lex Non Scripta, Caitlin Seidler, and Ariel Springfield; as well as writing by William C. Anderson, Sam Hsieh, Victoria Law, Andy Smith, Mychal Denzel Smith, Emily Thuma, Lewis Wallace, Rachel Domain-White and me.

The 50 page anthology is printed on 80# gloss text paper with a laminated cover. Only 150 copies were printed (thanks to generous support from Kiese Laymon, Ariel Springfield, and Mychal Denzel Smith) and 125 copies are available to purchase. Once they sell out, there won’t be a second printing. We will however eventually make the publication available online to download so that others can engage with the content and use it in their organizing work. This is a limited edition publication.

‘No Selves to Defend’ can be purchased at the Free Marissa online store for $50 plus $2.90 shipping & handling. All proceeds support Marissa’s legal defense.

Boundless gratitude to everyone who contributed to this project. It took a village to make it happen on short notice.

I hope that you enjoy the anthology. You can listen to me discuss its genesis and content on the Matthew Filopowicz Show below. GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

I stood on a soapbox Saturday. I mean a real one.

Me on a soapbox (photo by Sarah Jane Rhee, 6/7/14)

On an overcast afternoon, on a concrete island at the intersection of Ashland, Milwaukee and Division, I joined a couple dozen people (mostly young) who were reading/performing poetry in opposition to state violence.

I was invited to say a few words, so I did. I shared words written by Langston Hughes and AI. I added a few of my own too.

On Friday, Damo was laid to rest. I planned to attend the funeral but in the end I was unable due to a previous commitment. It’s just as well. I hate funerals. I despise them especially when the person being buried is in his early 20s.

So I stood on a real soapbox and in memory of Damo & others who are victims of state violence, I shared two poems. Here are a few lines from one by Langston Hughes:

Three kicks between the legs
That kill the kids
I’d make tomorrow.

I’ll admit to actively suppressing any thoughts of a young man being tased (twice) and hitting his head so hard that he was basically brain dead when he arrived at the hospital. How does this happen? Then I remember the disposability and un-humanness of black and brown people. I know how this happens. I am a witness but I’d rather not be.

Ethan spoke before me. No, that’s not actually true, Ethan bled before me. I watched with others transfixed by his words and his pain. I hoped that it was catharsis towards healing. But I don’t know how young black men can heal in the midst of continuing, continual, unrelenting violence. Is this possible?

The title of the gathering organized by members of the Chicago Revolutionary Poets Brigade was ‘No Knock’ An Artistic Speak-Out Against the ‘American Police State.’ The title is inspired by Gil Scott Heron’s poem “No Knock.”

No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton
Bullet holes all over the place
No knocked on my brother Michael Harris
And jammed a shotgun against his skull

It is as it ever was. No knocked on Damo who is now six feet under ground.

Passersby stopped to listen as various people read poems about Guantanamo, police violence, prisons, surveillance, and more. Audre was right: “Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought.” There is magic in hearing voices speaking out for justice over the din of a bustling city. You had to be there to understand what I mean. Gathering as a collective to recite poetry can’t end state violence but it does keep our spirits up so that we can demand and fight for more justice. It does help to “give name to the nameless so that it can be thought.” And now more than ever we need the words and we need to be able to think through that which cannot be thought. These are revolutionary acts in our time.

Over the next few weeks, I will be working with others to strategize and organize around the epidemic of police violence experienced by our young people of color in Chicago. I don’t know what will come of our discussions but I am sure that nothing will change unless we change it.

I stood on a soapbox Saturday. I mean a real one. I read some poems including “Endangered Species” by AI.

At some point, we will meet
at the tip of the bullet,
the blade, or the whip
as it draws blood,
but only one of us will change,
only one of us will slip
past the captain and crew of this ship
and the other submit to the chains
of a nation
that delivered rhetoric
in exchange for its promises.

I hope that you find your own soap box. I mean a real one and read some poems, calling out the cops…

Why I Cry
by Sharee M (Free Write Jail Arts Program)

I cry because so many thoughts
go through my mind.
I cry when I feel that I have been mistreated
I cry so that someone could come and comfort me
I cry so that things could go my way
I cry when I feel that everything’s over
I cry when I think about what I should have done
instead of doing time
I cry for a second chance
so that I could be something
I cry when I think about
when would I see my family again
I cry because I have not found myself
I cry for the family who lost a loved one
I cry for not going with my first mind, the right one
I cry because bricks surround me
I cry because I am in a box
I cry because I am not free

(Source: Big Dream I’m Chasing, Free Write Jail Arts Anthology Vol 6)