This is the testimony of Assata Shakur, formerly JoAnne Chesimard, who was arrested on the evening of May 2, 1973, along with Sundiata Acoli and Zayd Malik Shakur (who was killed by the New Jersey state police). Assata Shakur, who is now in exile, in Cuba, was a member of the Black Panther Party and of the Black Liberation Army. Here she gives testimony regarding her treatment after being captured by New Jersey state troopers. [Source: Still Black, Still Strong: Survivors of the War against Black Revolutionaries. Edited by Jim Fletcher, Tanaquil Jones and Sylvere Latringer (2003)]

Prisoner in the United States (This is only part of the interview, part 2 will be published on Monday)

Assata Shakur: On the night of May 2, I was shot twice by the New Jersey State Police. I was kept on the floor, kicked, pulled, dragged along by my hair. Finally, I was put into an ambulance, but the police would not let the ambulance leave. They kept asking the ambulance attendant: “Is she dead yet? Is she dead yet?” Finally, when it was clear that I wasn’t going to die in the next five or ten minutes, they took me to the hospital. The police were jumping on me, beating me, choking me, doing everything that they could possibly do as soon as the doctors or the nurses would go outside. I was half dead – hospital authorities had brought in a priest to give me the last rites – but the police would not stop torturing me. That went on until the next morning, when I was taken to the intensive care unit. They had to calm down a little while I was there. Then they moved me to another room, which was the Johnson Suite, and they closed off the exit from the hallway. So they could virtually control all traffic in and out. It was just open season on me for about three or four days. They’d turned up the air conditioning so that I was freezing to death. My lungs were threatening to collapse. They were doing everything so that I would get pneumonia.

Q: Did the medical staff participate or acquiesce to this treatment while you were under their care?

AS: Some of them did. The first night there was a doctor who was just as bad as the state troopers. He said: “Why did you shoot the trooper?” – He didn’t know if I had done it or not, but he just jumped on me. Some of the nurses were very supportive; they could really see the viciousness of the police. One of them gave me a call button, so that I could call whenever the state troopers came in my bed. That way I was able to avoid being further beaten up. They had my legs cuffed to the bed, even though I was half dead and my leg was swollen. Some of the nurses protested the way they had my foot cuffed. It was really bleeding and sticking in the flesh.

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Another antique prison postcard from my collection…

“I should write something to mark the beginning of the George Zimmerman trial” is the thought rattling through my mind incessantly over the past couple of days. But I fear that I have run out of words… I’ve written about both Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin many times on this blog. No more words are forthcoming. I’ve been doing my best to ignore Sybrina Fulton’s daily tweets about her son this week. Today, she wrote: “You don’t have to know me to know my pain, use my pain & my lost to stand up for something.” It pushed me over the edge and I felt compelled to call forth Trayvon’s spirit.

“the mysterious connection
between whom we murder
and whom we mourn… – Audre Lorde (Dear Joe)”

I’ve been preoccupied with thoughts about his soul but also our country’s collective one. Does Trayvon’s soul rest easy? Or is it caught in the space “between whom we murder and whom we mourn” like thousands of other black people who have been tragically killed over the years in this country? Audre Lorde has written that: “Our dead line our dreams…” Unfortunately, too often black children are more likely to embody this country’s fears and nightmares.

Across time and space, my mind travels to Baton Rouge, Louisiana in December 1912. Simon Cadors, a black man, is convicted of killing a rich white planter. He’s sentenced to hang. As he awaits his appeal, he is kidnapped from his jail cell by a white mob and lynched. His body is found hanging from a telegraph pole on Christmas eve. Around his neck is a placard that reads: “The inevitable penalty.” It’s a warning to every black person in Louisiana; it’s southern ‘justice.’

A hundred years later, in my mind’s eye I see Trayvon. He’s lying on the cold concrete. As I get closer, I notice a placard hanging from his neck that reads: “The inevitable penalty.” It’s a warning to every black person in Florida; it’s southern ‘justice.’

There is a continuity between Simon Cadors and Trayvon Martin. Both exist in the space “between whom we murder and whom we mourn.” Despair and hope are once again at war within me. Audre whispers in my ear: “Despair is a tool for your enemies.” I decide to search for signs of hope. I find it once again in the voice of our youth:

I tell ’em listen
I don’t fit your description
I don’t think that I embody this picture that you all are depicting

Lamar Jorden is a Chicago poet, writer and rapper. He has been part of the Louder than a Bomb (LTAB) poetry festival and appears on this year’s LTAB Mixtape. His song “Listen” is an exhortation for his peers to define themselves and to reject the negative stereotypes that society imposes on them. Jorden has taken on Sybrina’s Fulton’s call to use our pain and to stand up for something. He is also concerned with questions that Audre asked in 1977 (many years before he was born): “In what way can we cease to contribute to our own oppression? What hidden assumptions of the enemy have we eaten and made our own?” These are questions worth wrestling with as we work to build the world that we want to live in; a world free of oppression where true justice is possible.

I featured a poem titled “Chicago (Keef)” by Kevin Coval last year. It is from his chapbook “More Shit Chief Keef Don’t Like.” Today, I’m featuring another poem from the collection. It’s called “We Real” and is inspired by one of my favorite poets (of all time) Gwendolyn Brooks.

WE REAL
The Glory Boys on house arrest

we real. we
steel. we
still here. we
no fear. we
know school lame. we
dope game. we
know gangs. we
Jeff Forte kids. we
jail birds. we
broke, bitch. we
capitalists. we
jupiter gassed. we
murdered fast. we
unseen we
wanting we
something we
more than one thing. we
eastside. we
southside. we
westside. we
on the block, we
high noon. you ravinia picnic and air condition. we
fire hydrant & fire, cracker. we
hot hell in June. you nap noon. you spoon. we
rap. we
die, soon

[This is a work-in-progress. I am puzzling through my thoughts on these matters. Feel free to leave your comments and ideas]

Some black folks in my life have no patience for some white people’s new found interest/discovery of Cointelpro and particularly of their (now incessant) invocation of the FBI’s surveillance of Martin Luther King Jr. The interest seems to them instrumental and transactional. It’s as if folks who have had little concern about black people’s daily experiences of state violence are now demanding our support in safeguarding their rights. There has been no prior relationship or trust-building so some black folks are feeling used and exploited. It brings to mind the lyric: “Will you still love me, tomorrow?” This sentiment is understandable.

As the revelations about NSA surveillance roil the political world, media outlets & others are suddenly very interested in Americans’ views on matters of privacy, civil liberties, and individual rights. A poll was released a few days ago. It apparently found that “blacks were more likely than whites and hispanics to consider the patriot act a necessary tool [that helps the government find terrorists] (58% to 42% and 40% respectively). On my Twitter timeline, several people mused about why this would be the case. After all, black people are the disproportionate targets of government surveillance at all levels (city, county, state, and federal). We’ve always been under the gaze of the state and we know that our rights are routinely violable. Moreover, we are used to these abuses being ignored by the majority of our fellow citizens. Shouldn’t black people then be the most opposed to violations of civil liberties and to laws that encroach on those liberties?

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I came of age in New York City during the height of the crack cocaine era. I don’t think that young people living in the city today can fully comprehend what this was like. One thing to say is that the media was guilty of reporting countless sensational stories about crime and violence during that time. Many of these stories included a myriad references to “crack babies.” Turns out that there was no actual epidemic of “crack babies.” It served as another excuse to wage war on black women and our bodies in particular…

The New York Times reported recently on the “epidemic that was not:”

This week’s Retro Report video on “crack babies” (infants born to addicted mothers) lays out how limited scientific studies in the 1980s led to predictions that a generation of children would be damaged for life. Those predictions turned out to be wrong. This supposed epidemic — one television reporter talks of a 500 percent increase in damaged babies — was kicked off by a study of just 23 infants that the lead researcher now says was blown out of proportion. And the shocking symptoms — like tremors and low birth weight — are not particular to cocaine-exposed babies, pediatric researchers say; they can be seen in many premature newborns.

The worrisome extrapolations made by researchers — including the one who first published disturbing findings about prenatal cocaine use — were only part of the problem. Major newspapers and magazines, including Rolling Stone, Newsweek, The Washington Post and The New York Times, ran articles and columns that went beyond the research. Network TV stars of that era, including Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings and Dan Rather, also bear responsibility for broadcasting uncritical reports.

Included in their report is a very well done video. You can watch it here.

My colleague and ally, Brian Galaviz, posted some words on Facebook a couple of weeks ago. They are below. He also shared a letter written by some students at the school where he works. I asked for permission to re-publish that letter. The students and their teacher granted my request and I hope that you will take the time to read and think about what they have to say about how the media’s coverage of violence impacts their lives.

Reflecting on being part of healing after Chicago lost another warrior, the word that comes to mind is Grace. It is my favorite Christian word, though I am not. Watching staff and students deal with pain in a way to flip violence. Students using his life and transformative process to continue their trajectory for self/community-realization.

Rudy Lozano Leadership Academy – IDPL is a beautiful organism, and though we lost an Angel, we fight on in his spirit and light.

One way students responded to their friend being murdered was by calling out the Tribune for dehumanizing both our lost loved one and the young man accused of the murder. I am still struggling with sending love to the person who kills and the victim. But I am trying in struggle with students and staff. This is what they wrote:

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I read this blog post yesterday (it was published in the Washington Post):

Americans are familiar with stories of dissidents fleeing repressive regimes such as those in China or Iran and seeking asylum in the United States. Snowden is in the opposite position. He’s an American leaving the land of his birth because he fears persecution.

Sigh… Americans fleeing U.S. government repression for other countries is not new. Think Paul and Eslanda Robeson. Think of Robert Williams fleeing to Cuba to escape trumped up kidnapping charges or Assata Shakur currently exiled in Cuba…

The U.S. government has always targeted dissenters. Dozens of political prisoners languish in cages across the country. This should be well-known to most Americans. It isn’t but it should be.

The current case of Edward Snowden seems to have revived (for at least a couple of days) a conversation about dissent, ‘criminality,’ and political imprisonment. It’s a good time to revisit some history…

On January 27, 1966, an American political prisoner stood in a courtroom and delivered a speech titled “We Accuse” His name was Bill Epton. I have written about Epton on this blog here and here. He should be better known to more people.

Below are some words from “We Accuse.” I encourage you to read the whole speech; it is worth it.

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Fugitive slave arrested…and freed

“This March 17, 1858, warrant—from the only known Federal fugitive slave case tried in California—directed the arrest of a fugitive slave named Archy. His owner, Mississippian C. A. Stovall, claimed to be visiting California when Archy became a fugitive. Stovall demanded that Archy be returned to him. Archie was tried in California and Federal courts and eventually freed.”

Jerry rode his bike on a sidewalk. He was arrested. At the police station, an officer said that Jerry kicked him in the shin. He was sent to jail. At Jerry’s hearing, the judge ordered a $20,000 bond. He has no money and could not post $2,000 bail.

So the community rallied in record time to raise the funds to bail him out of jail. Since the funds were not immediately available, Ethan, co-founder and facilitator of Circles and Ciphers, offered to use his personal credit card to post the bond.

At 10 am this morning, Ethan arrived at Cook County Jail and paid $2,000 to free Jerry. He stood in line with dozens of other people waiting for the release of their friends and loved ones. Minutes turned into hours. People who were waiting began to talk about being disrespected and feeling dispirited. There was radio silence; no information about when anyone would be released. The system dehumanizes.

Seven hours later Jerry walked out of jail and Ethan was there to meet him. He waited those long hours for Jerry’s release. Standing with the others who were anxiously and apprehensively waiting the (perhaps temporary) return of their missing…

I’ve been really sick for days and decided to leave my house because I was going stir-crazy. I returned to hear Jerry’s voice on my answering machine and for the first time in days, I felt the knot in my stomach begin to loosen just a little.

Jerry’s next court date is June 24th. He is like countless young men in Chicago ensnared in the web of a corrupt criminal legal system intent on devouring him. The system is voracious and insatiable.

Jerry is unlike countless young black men in Chicago because he had a community who could and did rally to his support. A community that refused to allow the system to feed on his body until he was fully consumed.

As Jerry sat in jail for days, he contemplated his “choices” — plead guilty to a crime that he didn’t commit or sit in jail until his next court date nearly three weeks away. Jerry would have pleaded guilty had he not been informed yesterday that funds had been raised to post bond. He said that he didn’t think that he would have lasted much longer in jail.

So for now, the system has not succeeded in abducting another young black man. Jerry will survive to fight another day against the bogus charges he faces. And I can only say thank you to each person who made this outcome possible. As I sit here tonight to write these words, I am also shedding a few tears for the thousands of Jerrys sitting in Cook County Jail facing a similar ‘choice.’ They’ve been accused and are waiting for their cases to be heard. They are behind bars in a jail that is a living hell. They are mostly black and brown bodies who don’t have a community and who must face the beast alone.

I breathe deeply and recommit to resisting the injustice of this criminal legal system. I vow to continue to fight for all of the Jerrys and the Jennys in this city and I hope that you will too. Thank you and peace to you all.