Last evening I was bustling around, doing some chore that
pregnant mothers of five do, when the phone began ringing and
ringing (let the machine get it), they kept calling back,
"Marpessa, get Channel 3!" OK. Again "Are you watching Channel
3?" hold on, call waiting, "Sista, Mumia is on Channel 3!".
Mumia?! I commandeered (literally) the box to see that this was
"Entertainment Tonight"! just in time to see Gary Bell telling
his well rehearsed lie for the thousandth time, "Yes, he said to
me I shot the m.f. and I hope the m.f. dies." This cop who
participated in the attempted murder of Mumia. This cop who is
pushing for Mumia to be executed this summer. The same F.O.P.
with five members now under federal indictment with at least a
dozen to go, of whom the past president was recently convicted in
Federal Court in an at least $75,000 kickback scheme. Segway to
the widow, Maureen Faulkner, "This has been going on for 13 long
years. I want to get on with my life." Segway to 13 year old
footage of Mumia being led to court. Now to a bookstore, stocked
with copies of "Live From Death Row" and a bewildered looking
clerk, some more nonsense about how Mumia should not be able to
publish a book (although Stacey Koons, LAPD cop and
convicted criminal, netted over 4 million dollars from his book).
Gary Bell again calling for a boycott of celebs who support
Mumia. Zoom in on photo of Maureen and Daniel Faulkner. Mary Hart
and whoever that guy is sitting next to her look sadly at one
another and shake their heads, content that they presented their
deeply moving one-sided boatload of bullshit and dreaming of an
Emmy.
The question we should be asking is why this smear campaign
has escalated to national proportions... The recent CBS similarly
one-sided presentation, Entertainment Tonight, what's next? The
cops are scared to death that Mumia's growing support will lead
to him receiving a new trial and they will be EXPOSED! It's not
just "radical leftists" raising the demand anymore! It's actors,
singers, celebrated authors, a Black police organization,
lawyers, the list is endless, the truth is OUT! Mumia was
RAILROADED! Mumia, who was unequivocally denied his right to
self-representation and even removed from the courtroom, yet
Colin Fergusion, gleefully granted that right as it was apparent
that this man was insane as they quip "Well it's his
Constitutional right." How law-abiding they all are. Please. In
the midst of all of this activity, Mumia's lawyer is preparing to
file his final appeal. The tension is mounting, the people are
restless, it's time to get ON THE MOVE and FIGHT BACK!
WHY DON'T THEY WANT YOU TO READ THIS BOOK?
"A rare and courageous voice ..." Alice Walker
-------------------------------------------
Excerpts from "Live From Death Row" by Mumia Abu-Jamal
"Philly Daze: An Impressionistic Memoir"
"If Wallace would dare to run for president in Philadelphia,
we, four black North Philly teens, would dare to protest - in his
white honky face, if need be. So we did, Eddie, Alvin, Dave, and
I. We began by boarding the Broad Street subway and riding to the
end. Four Afros amid a sea of blonds, brunettes, and redheads,
entering the citadel of urban white racist sentiment to confront
the Alabaman.
We must've been insane. We strolled into the stadium, four
lanky dark string beans in a pot full of white, steaming limas.
The band played "Dixie." We shouted, "Black power, Ungowa,
blackpower!" They shouted, "Wallace for president! White power!"
and "Send those niggers back to Africa!" We shouted, "Black
power, Ungowa!" (Don't ask what "Ungowa" means. We didn't know.
All we knew was that it had a helluva ring to it.) "Black power!"
They hissed and booed. We stood up in our seats and proudly gave
the black power salute. In answer, we received dubious gifts of
spittle from those seated above. Patriots tore American flags
from their standards and hurled the bare sticks at us. Wallace,
wrapped in roars of approval, waxed eloquent. "When I become
president, these dirty, unwashed radicals will have to move to
the Soviet Union! You know, all throughout this campaign these
radicals have been demonstrating against George Corley Wallce.
Well, I hope they have the guts to lay down in front of my car.
I'll drive right over 'em!" The crowd went wild.
Helmeted cops came and told us we must leave. We protested
but were escorted out (perhaps a little relieved). Outside,
Eddie, Alvin, Dave, and I saw a few other blacks from Temple
University and a group of young whites, also thrown out of the
rally. We gathered at the bus station to get on the "C" for North
Philly. But before we could board, we were attacked by several
white men. One of them had a lead and leather slapjack. Outarmed
and outnumbered, we fought back, but four teens were no match for
eight to ten grown men.
I was grabbed by two of them, one kicking my skull while the
other kicked me in the balls. Then I looked up and saw the
two-toned, gold-trimmed pant leg of a Philly cop. Without
thinking, and reacting from years of brainwashing, I yelled,
"Help, police!" The cop saw me on the ground being beaten to a
pulp, marched over briskly - and kicked me in the face. I have
been thankful to that faceless cop ever since, for he kicked me
straight into the Black Panther Party."
"Defense captain Reg narrows his eyes in a paternal smile.
"Hey, lieutenant - it's too hot to work, come on and let's get a
taste." The two leave the dim Panther storefront and cross
Columbia Avenue to Webb's Bar." ... Mumia, his ears throbbin'
from James Brown ("Say it Loud, I'm black and I'm proud"), and
wanting a breath of fresh air, sticks his head out the front door
- and sees two white men dressed in army jackets kicking in the
front door of the Panther office across the street. The buzz from
the Bitter Dog evaporates. "Reg! Yo, Reg! Somebody breakin ina
office!" The young lieutenant turns back to the street and
focuses on a .38 special close enough to touch. "Freeze nigger!
If you fuckin' blink, I'll blow your black goddamn head off your
shoulders!
Red strobes sweep the summer night. Mumia freezes, and the
Bitter Dog transforms itself into cold sweat. The man holding the
gun smiles - sort of. His teeth are bared, but his eyes like blue
glaciers. His face and neck glow in a red flash. "This is it,"
the young Panther lieutenant thinks. The .38 is so close that he
can smell gun oil. Across the street, white men are throwing
files and papers into the street."
"There I was in the 70's, a bored, slightly petit bourgeois,
burnt-out ex-Black Panther who distrusted organizations and still
simmered in a stew of generational rebellion. I felt all dressed
up with no place to go. The Panthers, to whom I had loaned my
life, were sputtering in an internecine, bicoastal, and bloody
feud. East Coast against the West Coast: those aligned with the
then minister of information Eldridge Cleaver on the East against
those siding with once minister of defense Huey P. Newton on the
West. Cleaver was an idol to me; Newton, whom I had once served
as a bodyguard, a hero. The prospect of us fighting one another
sickened me. "I didn't join the BPP to get in a goddamn gang
war!" I thought angrily to myself. "Shit! I could've stayed in
North Philly for this dumb shit!"
"By 1974 the state's militia had slaughtered more than
thirty militants and jailed many more; had seeded branch offices
with informers and agents provocateurs; had tapped phones,
covered mail, destroyed party property. Then there was an on-TV
feud between Eldridge and Huey (set up by an obliging white
newsman) that had resulted in two deaths. Blood for blood. East
for West. Panthers croaking Panthers. I knew both men.
Frustrated, angry, I drifted away from a party that had drifted
away from its moorings in the people. Bitterly, I told myself
that I would never join another organization. I would support,
send money, write agitprop. But join? Nothin' happening. No suh!
Unh unh! Not me! Then I met MOVE."
"Being news director of WHAT-AM meant doing the morning
shift, training new talent, organizing features for the
newscasts, and hosting a weekend show. I reveled in it and worked
with youthful enthusiasm and energy. In 1975, the Reverend Jesse
Jackson brought his show to town, and black Christian Philly
erupted in a storm of support for the "country preacher."
Philadelphia PUSH (People United to Serve/Save Humanity)
hosted a national convention at the downtown Sheraton Hotel, and
hundreds lined up to get in and hear Jackson. Not only would the
event be simulcast over a network of black stations all across
America. And hosting it would be - Mumia Abu-Jamal! ... All went
well as I interwove commentary and interviews, gospel singers and
live audiences, with the words of Jesse himself. I was as high as
a Georgia pine. The second day I arrived before airtime to get
set up and found a small picket line in front of the Sheraton.
They wore blue denim. Their hair was long, nappy, and uncombed.
They were MOVE.
Delbert Africa was on the bullhorn giving Jesse hell. MOVE
folks carried signs that read "THIS DUMB ASS NIGGA IS BEGGING
FAVORS FROM THE SAME SYSTEM THAT OPPRESSES HIM!" Always hungry
for a sound bite, I unslung my trusty tape recorder and
approached Delbert, "If Jesse Jackson has gotta solution, why
ain't he givin' it to everybody instead a selling it at $25 a
seat? What about poor folks from North Philly, why they gotta
spend they last dolla, if they got it, to hear this nigga? John
Africa teaches us that the truth is free, like the air we
breathe. It ain't to be sold." .... I found the Reverend
surrounded by mostly black plainclothes cops who were working for
him as bodyguards.
I found him, as always, game for an interview, and asked him
what he thought of the demonstration out front. The Reverend
looked at me like I was speaking Javanese and wrinkled his
handsome features into a sneer, "I have an agenda for black
people in America, young man," he said. "An A-GEN-DA! Who cares
about a bunch of dirty, unwashed niggas who don't comb their
hair?" Like a fool, I'd turned my Sony off. I turned it on and
asked for more. This time Jesse answered, "No comment," and the
police (in and out of uniform) around the room smiled."
-----------------------------------
Now that little taste has to let you know this book is live,
live and direct! This book covers a wide range of Mumia's
reporting on various topics throughout the nation, his
experiences on death row, and his usual biting, profound
political commentary. Mumia is NOT getting rich off this book as
the proceeds are paying his legal expenses in his righteous
struggle to secure a new trial! Get "Live >From Death Row" ...
you WON'T be sorry! And DON'T delay!
For more information on supporting our brother's righteous
campaign and to order "Live From Death Row" if it is not
avabilable in your area contact:
International Concerned Friends & Family of Mumia Abu-Jamal P.O.
Box 19709, Philadelphia, PA 19143, 215-476-8812 phone & fax
Equal Justice USA, A Project of the Quixote Center
P.O. Box 5206, Hyattsville, MD 20782, 301-699-0042 phone
301-864-2182 fax
Free Mumia Abu-Jamal Coalition, P.O. Box 650, New York, NY 10009,
212-330-8029
Committee to Save Mumia Abu-Jamal, P.O. Box 163, Amsterdam Ave.
#115, New York, NY 10023-5001
Partisan Defense Committee, P.O. Box 99, Canal St. Station, New
York, NY 10013, 212-406-4252
--------
Submitted by: Sis. Marpessa.
WE GOTTA DO THIS Y'ALL!
