AGAINST ALL ODDS:

MY TRANSITION FROM A YOUNG STREET THUG
TO A SOGIALLY CONSCIOUS, POLITICIZED PRISONER

by: Brian Lee Rowe
(A.K.A. Uhuru Baraka Rowe)
DEDICATIONS

I dedicate this pamphlet to those in my family vho
passed avay during the course of my incarceration:

Robert Lee Rowe; Sr. (March 6, 1943-Novenber 20, 2012)
My father who couldn't escape : his alcohol addiction but
possessed a certain strength and determination that allowed
him to turn nothing into something and worked hard just
so his kids could have a roof over our heads, food on the
mlemflchhmmhw.smsfillmkjmtlm
you, so whenever I want to see you I'll just look in the mirror

Daryl Peyton Rowe (June 20, 1968~ December 9, 2011)
¥ brother vho aluays lived life to the fullest and was
vays the life of the party. I looked up to you Bro. I
remember the many nights we spent chasing "skirts" together
and partying like there was no tomorrow. Life will never be
the same without you, but I will definitely keep your name
slive, even when others don't. .

Leonardo "Leo™ Robinson (Died April of 2008) My mild-
nannered and bright- nephew. I knew there was something
different about you the first time I seen you. You had the
potential to be one of the great ones in our family. Sorry
we didn't have time to bond because of my incarceration,
but we'll have plenty of time to bond in the afterlife. khy
the good ones alvays die so young?

Cousar, III and Tameisha Alford (Died July 18, 1995)
My two bright and beautiful counsins. I resent the fact that
W never got as close to each other as we could have because
of religious differences between our families. After all the
time that has passed since you've been gone my heart still
cries for the both of you.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION. .
CHAPTER 1 HOW I
CHAPTER 2 IN TOO DEEP...
CHAPTER 3 THE POINT OF N
CHAPTER 4 MY TRANSITION.
INTRODUCTION

1 vrite this panphlet to both inspire and warn the younge
generation of black men and women, that if we do ner bioung'
knouledgeable concerning the grand scheme of this imperialis
vhite suprenacist system we call the United States of Amariss
vhose main goal i to oppress and amnihilate any pevson of
color (blacks, latinos, asians, native anericans) thay we
will be dooned as a people and as a nation. We mist tacace
intellegent, disciplined nen and women capable of creatiog
great change within ourselves and our communities. 1t an do
not becons the solution to what's plaguing our commmd e
rather than the probem this generation will be viewed oo a
failure by the generation that succeeds us. Our fanilieg and
comunities are being devasted by the vast nunber of olack
men and women, many of whon are fathers and mothere, being
sent avay to prison for decades while their children ame eft
to the influence of the "streats".

According to The Sentencing Project the number
Of inmates in state and federal prisons has imeresec
seven-fold from less than 200,000 in 1970 ta"s
1,613,556 by 2003. An additional 767,620 ave held
10 Todal jalls, for a tora) of 3.2 nitintte,n of
2008, 1 of every 134 Americans was incarcerased in
Prison or jail. One in ten black males aged 3529
was in prison or jail in 2009 as well 8§ in 35
Hispanic males compared to 1 in 64 white maies in
the same age group, Adult black males have s 321
chance of serving time in prison at some point.in
their lives and Hispanic males have a 17% chanca.
compared to only a 6% chance for white males. Bigck
women represent to fastest growing segment of the
prison population. As of 2009, there sere 201,300
vomen in state and federal prison or local jalsy.
Each day in America, 4,302 children sre arrostes.
locked up at such a'rate that a Black boy born in
2001 has & 1 in 3 chance, and a Black pisl a ) in
17 chance, of going to prison in his of her 1ife.
tine. For'decades 1t hab been bnone’ thie cins
youths are more at risk of going astray than others
But a recent groundbreaking report by the Children s
Defense Fund (COF), entitisd memcioh: /g, uldren’
to Prison Pipeline," found that, because of festerr
ing social and economic disadvantages that erser

1
meny times at birth, some black adolescents are r
only at-risk- but destined- to end up in prison
die'a violent, most likely gun-related, death. %
cen look at children from a very young age and
based on any number of factors, predict with alam
ing accuracy which ones will likely end up incarcs
ated,", CDF President Marian Wright Elderman say:
Edélman says that the fate of a child qan be "phe
dicted’ ‘early in life by assessing factors from
poverty, abuse and lack of health/mental coverag:
poor schools, dangerous communities and 1ittle
no quality early-childhood education."The cradle-
to-prison pipeline is a man-made disaster," Edels
says, adding that many children "already in the
pipeline to prison before taking a single step o
uttering a word, and many youths in juvenile just:
facilites never were in the pipeline to college <
success” To prove her point, Edelman cites figure
that ;. 1 in 3 Black men in their 20's is. under
correctional supervision or control. At midyear
2006, about 579,000 Black males were serving sents
ces in state or federal prison, while only 48,00(
Black males earned a Bachelor's degree that year.
"What should we expect when states spend nearly
three times as much per prisomer as per public
school student," Edelman asked. Indeed, prisons &
the new plantationms.

In an attempt to shed light on my having faller
victim to cradle-to-prison pipeline and my tran-
sition from a street thug to a socially conscious
politicized prisoner, I've chosen to take whoever rend
this pamphlet on a brief journey from oy point of
origin as a young child growing up in the tough a
gritty streets on the South Side of Richmond, V.A
in the late 80's to early 90's to where I am’ at
present-serving a 93 year prison sentence handed
down by a racist {ud%e for m{ involvement in a
robbery that result in the shooting deaths of two
people. It is hoped that through my story of hope
lessness, tradegy and despair to a liberated mind
I can inspire and encourage the next gemeration
and the generation now in existence to educate
themselves concerning the plight and condition of

our people and in the process become the new man
and wonmen capable of resisting and overconing
systemic racism and oppression in all its forms
and designs. We, the New Afrikan (Black) Nation,
must become the vangard (front line defense) of
our communities.

CHAPTER 1 HOW IT ALL STARTED

My 1ife as a young child reflected that of most
black youth growing up within the poor working-
class throngs of society. As far back as I cosld
remember I was always a rebel- a anti- authoritarian.
My mother and father would tell me not to do some-
thing and I would do it anyway just to prove to
myself that I had the heart to do it and could
never be controlled. I was so eager to get out into
the vorld and take my rightful place in society.
When I was 13 years old, I would break into pesple
cars and rob them for their money and other valua.
bles. In an attempt to justify what I was doing,
my rationale was this: How dare these people have
these nice cars and fancy cloths and I barely have
cloths to wear or food in my stomach. I was the
product of a working-class family, but because there
were seven kids living under one roof, money was
alvays tight. Either we had food in hrehigeramr
and no lights or vice versa. I can remember plenty
of days eating 2 nice meal in the dark under the
candle light. Or the days we had to use a pay
phone around the corner because the house phone
was turned off. Occasionally when I would break
into cars I would find guns. Lots of guns! It got
to the point where I was finding and stealing g
many guns I accumulated a small arsenal which I
kept stashed under a house we stayed in on Winber
Drive. This was a quiet, middle-class section of
South Side where there wasn't too much happening.
Nice cars and even nicer houses. If somebody was
blindfolded and dropped off on Winber Drive, upon
taking their blindfold off, one would think they
were in Beverly Hills somewhere. Of course we could
never afford tobuy a nice house. We always had to
rent. But us kids, we didn't know the difference.

Ve were just glad we didn't have to Live in the projects.
3

As bad as I was, I could never bring myself
to shoot the guns that I had stashed under The
house. In my young mind, I believed what I would
see in cartoons, that if I shot them, I would get
blown back a couple of city blocks by the recoil.
So having no use for them at the time, I would giw
them away to the older drugs dealers that use to
hang out”on the side of Jack Rabbits (store) around
the corner. I idolized these brothers. They had
the dope cars, cloths and jevelry. And they ha
all the women in the neighborhood. I was trying t
gain their regpect and acceptance by giving them
guns. It wasn't long before they let me hang out
on their front porch with them or stand on, the
side of the store with them while they 50ld drugs.
Instead of wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer, T
wanted to be just like them- a street hustler and
a thug, The badest mutherfucker walking the planel
This was the beginning of my path to no return.
Growing up, I was the youngest out of seven
kids. So naturally I was spoiled.If my parents
weren't villing to get me something that I wanted
I went and stole it. My mother worked night shifts
as a nurse and my father worked during the day as
a forklift operator. He never came home straight
from work. He'd hang out at various corner stores
getting drunk. I often would run across him at
Jack Rabbits when I went there to play video
games. He would be leaning up against the wall
uith one of his feat propped up against the vall
with a bottle of Wild Irish Rose in his hand like
2 0.G. and a Pimp-all mixed into one. My brothers
were all out-and-about doing whatever it was the;
were in to. They would never let me hang out with
them. So I hung out with my three sisters. Where
ever they went I went. They all had boyfriends
living on the other end of Souh Side in the Oakgrow
section. We had lived in this neighborhood prior
to moving on Winber Drive. Oakgrove was the complet
opposite from the neighborhood we had moved to.
Gekgrove had run-down-houses, trash floating sroun
in the streets, strey dogs running around, the
smell of urine and the housing projects were just

a short walking distance down the street. 'There were
many times when my sisters and I would walk from
Winber Drive all the way to Oakgrove so they could
visit their boyfriends. I would always wonder why
their men didn't drive to pick them up. Especially
my older sister's boyfriend being that she had
just given birth to a baby which she had to push
ina Stroller during our long Lrek across South
Side. I secretly thought that these men were no
good for my sisters, and plus my feet use to hurt
rom all that walking!

A couple of years later when I was around 14
ygars of sge we moved further up Hull Strset on

inrod Road. This was a very diverse neighborhood
There were Chineae, Whites, Blacks, and Hispanic
But it was still the working middle-class nonethe
less. There was a big red brick church right across
the street from our house which I use to break-in
on the regular and steal electronics. Or sometimes
I would just simply break in and vandalize because
I was bored and didn't have anything else better

to do. One time when thechurch people was havin
their service I took a small knife and punched holes
in all their tires. It was a predominantly white
church so I found pleasure in watching them through
my bedroom window as they came out of service and
witness what I had done. The look on their faces
gave me pure pleasure.

Around this time all but one of my brothers
had moved out and found their own place. The brother
that remained had just gotten out of prison for a
robbery he tried to pull on some white dude when
we were still living on Winber Drive. He came home
a completely different type of person- withdrawn,
angry, lost in pensive reflection. One day when
I was just trying to have some fun with him he got
up and swung at me with the intention of trying to
knock me out. From that moment on I knew it was
best that I should him alone- my own brother. Two
of my sisters remained and they experienced the
brunt of all my picking. I use to set little traps
like laying tacks and small nails on the floor so

they could step on them or I would sheot water
at them from my water gun after they had just
gotten their hair done or while :ha{ were laying
in the bed l:ying to go to sieep. When I wasn't
terrorizing ny sisters I would ride around the
neighborhoad on my bicycle fo,see uhat” type of
destruction I could cause. One day I met Up with
two white boys down the street the same age as
me. e became.best friends. We would' steal cigars
from the cotner store and sneak behind one, of the
blindspots at the church across’the street and
smoke. This was the first time I had ever smoked
tobacco. But my two white friends, I could tell
they had done this before. They were professional
They taught me how to blow. smoke out of my mouth
and, then inhale it back in through my nose. They
weré. just as bad as I was. They would talk back
to their mothér and father and even curse at thes
As bad as T thought I was. I would never talk back
to my parents or curse them to their face, I knes
better. Both my mother and father had hard hands
and wouldn't hesitate to use them. One day when
I got locked-up at school for trying to break int
a car while I was skipping school my mother nit s
with a hard right across my face and I say
for two days. Even to this day after all the figh
I've been in since I've been in prison that punch
from my mother is the hardest punch I have ever
felt in my life. As much as I wanted to changes
that so-called "street life" would not stop calli
Instead of skipping classes in school I started
skipping the whole day. I would get off the school
bus and go right to the train tracks behind the
school where I would smoke weed and shoot guns.
This was High School and I didn't want no parts
of it. The group of kids that I hung out with at
school all brought guns to schools. When we weren
skipping, we would sit in the back of the class an
show our guns off to each other. I use to get in
s0 much trouble at school that it seemed like th
police was bringing me home almost every day. My
mother got so fed up with me that she had me com
itted to Westbrook Hospital- a place for trouble
youth. Instead of seeing it as punishment- I lov

it. Most of the dudes that were in there I knew
from either school or from the streets. And plus
the food was awesome! Fried chicken, bacon and
eggs, hot dogs with chili and cheese . Whatever
food you could find in a five-star resturant, they
had it. Plus the section for the girls was right
across the hall where we could talk to each other.
On occasion, they would allow the girls over to our side
when they showed movies. Of course there was a lot
of touching and smooching going on. I stayed there
for about Sight wecks until the insurance ran out.
I felt kind of conflicted because when it was time
for me to go home a part of me wanted to stay. But
the other part of me was tired of having to go to
all the group therapy sessions whereve had to
talk about our problems. There were white doctors
(shrinks) from affluent neighborhoods with their
fancy suits and nice cars. And then there was us-
a bunch of blacks and poors whites whom they con-
sidered a lost cause because we were black and
poor and not because of any underlying emotional
or psychological issues. And on top of that -1
wasn't learning a damn thing but how to sit back
and have a good time and have a free ride off of
other peoples’ expense. When the day came for me
to leave, I kissed the female who had become my
girlfriend while I was there, shook hands with
my homiessand it was back to the streets.to pick
up right where I left off. We moved again shortly
after I came home. This time to a predominantly
white neighborhood around the corner onClesrfield
Street. I could feel the racism when I come down
the block, especially from the old white couple
that lived across the street If was common to
see_them peeping through their window to see what
us “niggers® were up to whenever we made too muxch
of a commotion outside. I felt like a fish out
of water in this neighborhood. So T would often
walk to other parts of the city to see what I
could get into. It got to the point where, instead
of breaking into people cars to still their poss-
essions, I would still the whole car and go joy
riding. I thought I was the shit riding around
in other peoples' cars. I could take a flat-head

me and my life and the direction I was headed in
My mother use to always say, "You reap what you

sow." I didn't realize at the time hoy right she
vas.

CHAPTER 2 IN TOO DEEP

Eventually the brother that.did time in
Prison had moved out to live with a girl he had

et ahile he vas working at Dairy Queen. They

to a couple of white girls that I had met out
in Henrico Gounty when I vas running the sireets
There was this other girl too who I met at a
Kingdom Hall which is a church-like place where
Jehovah's Witness go to worship. She was fine,to
Dark-skinned, slim, kind of nerdy. This was the
frst girl I'ever fell head-over-heals for. I s
she had my nose wide open. We use to sit o the
phone and’ talk about getting married and having
kids when we got older. But in the back of my eir
T knew ve would never work. an were too differen
I was into the streets and she was into school
gnd building a future for herself. Me, I didn't
know if I would survive the day. on top of it al
noL,Sven love could derail me from the path that

I vas out- joyriding in a stolen car when we got'

Pulled over by the police. We both jumped. eup- an
coniq™ cousin got away. I got caught. The polic
gould never outrun me. I was still in decent sha

High School football, But this day I was high fro

smoking weed and drinking beer. I ran just_gne
8 J
city block and gave up. This chubby white cop
tackled me to the ground like he was a NFL line-
backer. Because I was a juvenile I simply got re-
leased again to my mother like so many times before.
By this point I had grown too big for my mother or
father to beat me. My mother's weapon by this point
was to look so disgusted and disappointed in me
that I literelly would feel sorry for hurting her.
This arrest slowed me down a bit and eventually I
went into Job Corps. I went to a campus way out

in Coeburn, Virginia in the South Western part of
Virginia. Klan Town! The staff that worked there
made it clear to us black folks to never leave off
campus and venture too far into the surrounding
neighborhoods. As hatd as I was trying to be in
the streets, I imagined that I would be no match
for some racist Klan member trying to lynch me by
hanging me from some tree. But I would fight to
the death, I thought to myself. Job Corps was
Jjust like all the other institutioms I had been

to before. The food was good, there were drugs,
alcohol, porn movies. Oh, and there were girls.
Lots of girls! I was attending school to get a
degree in Welding. Life was good for me. I finally
felt like I was getting my life on track and for
once I was doing something to make my mother proud
of me. But as alvays I found a way to fuck it up.
I got  myself into a drug debt with some dudes
from out D.C. and they told me that if I didn't
pey by a certain time I was going to get my ass
kicked. There was other dudes there from Richmond
but they weren't the type to have my back if some-
thing went down. So I felt compelled to bresk into
the canteen that was there to steal some boxes of
cigarettes to pay my drug debt. I ended up getting
caught as alvays. The staff called my mother and
told them to come and get me because I was bein
expelled. My mother drove all the way from Rich-
mond to the Flatwoods Job Corps Center in Coeburn
to get me. The strange thing was that she didn't
even look mad or disappointed. By this time I
figured she had gotten use to all my mishaps with
the law. She had lost faith in me and any hope that
she had that I would eventually turn my life around
vas gone.

9
During the five months that I spent in Coebu
Job Corps my brother Daryl had moved back home,
and with him came the beer. I had slowed down on
my drinking by this point. But Daryl was like o
father- the day wasn't right if they weren't ine.
toxicated in some type of way. So looking up to
my brother I started back drinking. I was only
17 years old. I could drink a whole 40 ounce of
01d English B0O in ten to twenty minutes. After
we got drunk, we'd call our cousin to come

and pick us up so we can go out riding, He had a
brand new candy apple red Ford Probe with the
booming system and a bad ass wife. I wanted what
he had. So I went and got me a job at Dairy Quee:
flipping burgers until I saved up enough money t
buy my own car. I paid $800 for a 1985 Ford Escor
Wagon that had silver five-star rims. It was no
Ford Probe but it was mine and I didn't have to
Jump out and run whenever the cops pulled up be-
hind me. It was a four speed manual shift which
1 didn't even know how to drive. After my father
taught me how to drive it I was gone in the wind.
Me and my partners would ride'every wher
Beach, North Carolina; we even'drove to Tennessee
one time. It wasn't long though before my car be.
came a tool whereby I could commit crime more
efficiently. Instead of robbing and stealing and
having to run away on foot I could now drive away
in my car. By this time I was deep in the stick-
up game. We would drive out to all the counties
end rob them county boys for their gold chains,
rings and what little cash they had in their
pockets. It was during this time I met this girl
¥ho turned my world upside down. She was differer
fron the other girl I had fell in love with, maini
becuase she always gave me some excuse not to ha
sex with me. But this girl, we would make love on
the regular. She would get up in the morning to.
cook me breakfast. Up until this point I had neve
known love like this before. It was almost like
we were married. After a while, I ended up moving
in with her. Every chance we got we would have se
We couldn't keep our hands off each other. She wa
@ good girl- faithful, loyal, passionate, congidera

10
and extremely experienced in the art of love-making.
She :ausht me many things about making love that
even I didn't know. She was three years younger
than me but I could tell that she was way more
mature than I was. Our relationship was new, ex-
citing and refreshing and a strange thing started
to happen to me. Instead of feeling anger and
rage I begin to feel joyful and happy. I would
sit on her front porch and notice the beauty in
the vay leaves would fall from the tree or theway
the floweks would move to and fro as if dancing
to the tune of the wind. I started to feel alive
for the first time in my life. Not only was we in
love butve were infatuated with each other: As much
as I wanted it to last I knew deep down inside
that such love is not meant to last. Plus there
was danger lurking nearby that would come and
snatch me by the collar and throw me into the
pits of hell.

CHAPTER 3 THE POINT OF NO RETURN

My drug use increased a few weeks after I
met my new love, Instead of just smoking weed,
I was now sniffing heroin and drinking hard
wine. I went home to my mother's house so high
one day I started hallucinating. My father took
me to the Hospital where I stay over night under
observation. About a week later my mother convinced
me that I needed help and so I ended up going to
Central State Hospital, a hospital for people
with severe psychological and emotional problems,
and where people go who have been found not guilty
by reason of insanity by the courts. This.place
wasn't like Westbrook Hospital for boys and girls
with minor problems. This was a hardcore aduit
psychological institution. The people confined
here were schizophrenic, delusional, had multi-
pel personality disordets and vere bipolar. Now
considered myslef crazy but I wasn't THIS kind
of crazy. These people were walking around talk-
ing to theirselves, drooling from the mouth,
completely withdrawn from reality and zapped-
out on hardcore psych meds.

11
After about three weeks of putting up with
this madness I called home and begged my mother
to come and get me out of this helfhnlu. About a
veek later she came and got me out. There vas a
condition I had to agree to, “though, and that con
dition was that I had to aglee to gs to Rubicon
which is a drug and alcohol tressmbor facility.

I happily agreed. Anywhere had to better than thi
mental fuci}ily, which was nothing more than a
Prison for crazy people. When I gat to Rumsoor an
Saw how lax thesecurity was I knew that I

{ing from the city. The walls was dirty sed tbn
building itself looked like if you biey an i’y
yould fall down. Upon close observation T csply
inll the patients from the staff. om of the st uin
checked me at the door had on ragedy cloths, her
oyes had dark circles as if she hadn't slepi fe

one from the top window yell at me, "He{, Where
are you going,''. I ran as hard as 1 could unei)
ny body Coulda't run mo more. I went and got my
thr and picked up my comrades and I was back mh
the Streets. As much as my mother tried, shcr vas
nothing she could have done or said that could
have convinced me to straighten my 1ife up. I vas
focused on one thing- destruction. Either some-
body else's destruction or my own. Ineteeq of
glving away my the guns that I found to. the older
hustlers on the block I started carrying them. Guns
drugs, alcohol, and a bunch of teigger ~happy young

12
black boys. It was all a bad combination.

Eventually I quit the job I had flipping
burgers at Dairy Queen. I got tired of slaving
over a hot stove for minimum wage. Even though it
felt good getting a check with my name on it, the
money wasn't enough for thework I had to do to get
it. After three months after I quit my job my car
broke down. Out of a car and no money in my pocket,
I went back to what I was good at- robbing. By
this time I had met this dude who was as cold-
hearted as I was. He was much older than I was.
He showed me and my homeboys how to rob stores,
banks and other commercial businesses. So we
graduated from pulling small time robberies like
breaking into other people cars and steeling their
money to pulling big time robberies.

e first big time robbery I puiled felt

like I was doing something I was born to do. It
felt so natural and easy. The money that came From
it gave me an even bigger high than what I was
getting smoking weed. It was some restaurant out
in the county. We marched in four deep and pulled
out our weapons and said, "Stick up. Everyome down
on the floor." There was about ten people on the
inside. After we robbed everyone for their monmey
we started to run for the front door until I heard
this voice that told me to turn around and shoot.
I turned around and aimed my pistol at the clerk
and then I squeezed the trigger until all the
bullets were gone. I didn't even wait to see the
body drop. When we got back to our getaway van
one of my homeboys who witnessed the whole thing
started crying to my surprise! He was one of the
uys we a1l considered to be the hardest out of
us all. It became dwias to me that even though he
liked to carry guns he hadn't shot anybody before
or seen someone else get shot. Even I was a little
shaken up. This was the first time I had shot
somebody. While my comrades were crying and over-
come with fear, I felt good about what I had done,
and T relished in the moment because all who knew
me would know that I wouldn't hesitate to kill
if it came down to it.

The next day everyone was giving much res
and admiration because of what I did, which,
turn, fed my ego and lust for more destruction.

13

The dream that I had when I wes younger of being
one of the meanest, cold-hearted mutherfucker to
ever walk the planet had finally become my reality
In an instant, I went from being a small time car
thief to a cold-blooded murder. I now had blood
on my hands and I had come to the point of no re-
turn.

Around this time the marriage between my
mother and father was coming to an end. Actually
it ended many years ago but they tried to work it
out for the sake of us kids. My father was having
an affair with another woman who stayed in the
apartments beneath us and my mother got to the
point where she was tired of every thing- tired
of being married to a chronic alcoholic; tired of
the us kids driving her crazy; tired of working hard
but never seeming able to make ends meet; just
sick and tired of being sick and tired. My father
moved out, and upon loosing the apartment we staye
in because my mother couldn't afford to pay the
rent by herself, we moved in with my brother 1
and his "wife" down on Joplin Street up. the hil
from the Hillside Court housing projects. Every.
thing my mother and I owned ere either in the
‘back of her car or in storage. Witnessing first
hand how my mother had wrked hard all those years
50 ug kids could enjoy a certain measure of confor
and witnessing how much she invested in her marri
age trying to make it work, to see it all come
crumbling down, I felt tremendous sorrow for my
mother. Instead of being there for her like a son
should in her time of need, I was still hanging i
the streets and chasing behind my girlfriend. A1l
this took place at the end of 1994 end by this
time I had pulled countless robberies. Its guite
possible that I robbed every business on. Belt
Boulevard and Jefferson Davis Highway. When my
old Ford Escort Wagon broke down I knew I had
to get some more money so I could buy me snother
car.

Through one of my. homeboys I met, this dude
who was just like m @ cold-hearted, rebellious,

14
homeless teenager who didn't give a fuck about
anything or anybody- not even himself. The first
tine I looked into his eyes it was as I was Star-
into the eyes: of Lucifer. I could tell that he
was full of rage and was ready to unleash his pain
at the flip of a switch. All the other dudes was
scarred of him because they thought he was crazy.
I embraced him like a brother. We hung out all the
time together. If you seen one of us, the other
one was surely some place nearby. The relation-
ship I wish I had with my real brothers, I found
in him. There were many nights we were layed-up
in the City Motel with some girls we had picked
up at a club or off the streets. By this time the
relationship I had with my girlfriend was all but
over. She was a good girl but she was in love with
a bad boy. She tried to get me to stop living
this so-called street life. I could tell that she
really cared for me every time I looked in her
eyes and the way she tried to hold on to me when
I would leave out the front door to go run the
street- but it was never meant to work. We were
from two different worlds, she and I. She was an
honor student and a cheerleader in highschool with
a promising future shead of her. Me, I was a high-
school drop-out, a drug addict and alcoholic, my
spirit tormented by evil things I had done, and
my future looked bleak. Either I was going to
end up dead on the street or sent to prison for
the rest of my life.

She held on tight one fateful night as I
wes leaving out the front door. In fact, she begg-
ed me to stay with her. It was as if she could
see into the future and knew something bad was
about to happen. She'd heard of the rumors of
all the things I was doln§ in the streets. Maybe
it was because of the guilt she was feeling from
enjoying all the money I would give her that kept
her from asking. The look in her eyes as I pull-
ed avay tore my soul apart. This was my queen, my
love, the girl who I wanted to marry when we got
a little older and got out momey right. I couldn't
look soft, though. My comrade was watching from
the car. I had to be tough. I had to be a man. I
walked away from the sweetest, most innocent thing
I had ever known.

15
So there we were- me and my comrade and some
other dude he brought with him from the North §ic
of Richmond. I didn't know him nor was I trying
to know him. Whenever I looked at him he would

look down towards the ground to avoid eye contact
Something seemed fishy about him. I kuew I codd't s
him. I 'had to keep my eyes on him. My comede

started having second thoughts. "Let's chill
for a while," hé said. "We're too hot." But I
vasn't trying here what he was saying even though
I knew deep done inside he was telling the trutp.
They looked up to me. I was theit leader. I could
have stopped our late-night mission, I should haw
known better, but I had money and blood on my mind
There was no room for weak shit. I looked at my
conrade while he was driving and for the first ¥im
I could see fear in his eyes. Underneath his toug
exterior, I could see his vulnerability. He was
driving much slower than he use to as if he w
buying time so that someone would come rescue us
from our imminent demise. But nobody rescued
s and suddenly we found ourselves standing out-
side the store- ready to make our move, At the
last minute my conlh ‘s friend got cold feet: "I*
not cit out for this," he confesses. So my comrad
chastise hin severely beforé sending him back to
the car. "Are you ready," I ask my comrade. He
looks at me with a cold stare- the fear ‘and vulne:
ability no longer there. "Let's do this,” he
commended with a low, but determined tone. “This
is a stick-up, put all the money on the counter,
T exclaimed with a loud, commanding voice. In an
instent I blanked-out and when I regained my wits
there were two deads bodies on the floor. Me and
my comrade ran the hell up out of there as quick
as ve could. On our ride back to Gilpin Court hous
ing projects on the North Side we were all quiet.
The only noise being made was the music coming.
from the radio. Each one of us lost in our own thought
reflecting on the horror e had just committed. As
I layed in the bed that night, looking out the
window at the rain beating down against the groun
suddenly I felt filthy and dirty, as if I hag been

ut

16
rolling around in a underground sever. The smell
of blood and gunpowder comted the inside of my
nose which caused me to feel as if I had to vomit.
My cloths smelled of beer, cigarette smoke, and
sweat. In the quietness of my mind I hear the
liken of my mother's voice calling out to me
saying, “"Brian, come home to me." I closed my
eyes to clear my mind, but I suceeded only in
passing out from all the beer I had drunk and the
weed I had smoked earlier that morning.

The next day, I went and leased a used 1994
blue Honda Accord with the money I had taken from
the robbery. I put down $800 cash money for it.
The car dealer looked as if he was a crack addict.
His cloths were dirty and his skin was greasy.
When I pulled the money out of my pocket for the
car his eyes damn near popped out of his head. He
handed me the keys to the car and I was on my vay.
Though the Honda was used, it was in fair condition
and a big improvement from the old, beat-up Ford
Escort Wagon I had previously. My comrade and I
took his friend down to the Hillside projects so
he could pick up his little son from his baby's
mother house. The two of them drove in my comrade's
car and I drove in mine. My comrade and I sat out-
side while his friend ran in to get his son, which
was a bad idea because Hillside Court during this
time in the lute 80's and early 90's was a war-
zone. There was a murder committed here almost
daily. Though I was intoxicated, I kept my eyes
open wide as I tightly gripped my .357 revolver
I had sitting on my lap. We waited outside for
what seemed like an hour. Something didn't seem
right. “Why is it taking him so long to run in
and get his son,” I thought to myself. I felt
anger, rage and paranoia starting to build up in-
side of me. “I don't even know this dude. Why am
I putting my life in danger for him," I thought to
myself, I take a few puffs from ablunt I had sitt-
in my ashtray since that morning. Suddenly the
anger and rage subsides but the paranio rmmained.
Finally he comes out the apartment with his son
and makes his vay back to the car; but not before
he turns around and gives his baby'a mother a
kiss and a delicate smack on the ass. I envied
him at that moment because I wantedto be with my

17

girl. 1 yelled to my comrade that I had to make

a run and 5o we parted ways. What I really wanted
to do was go and check on my girlfriend to see if
I could seve our relationship. Though I would neve
say it our loud, I loved this girl more then I
loved the streets.. There were time when I secretly
wished I was with her enjoying the tender affect-
ions of her kisses rather than driving around pull
ing robberies. I pulled up to her front door and
to my surprise she came runming out to me as if
she hadn't seen me in a hundred years. We spent

a couple hours talking about our future together
and about the cause of all that was going on in
our relationship, Which we both agreed vas my
thug-life personk and my addiction to alcohol and
drugs. I was only 17 years old and I was a full
blown alcoholic. I have come to the conclusion tha
my father taught me three things in 1ife and that
is: 1) how o work hard, 2)how to drive a four
speed stick shift, and 3) how to get drunk and
have a good time. His drink of choice was Wild
Irish Rose. When I was growing up I would always
£ind his wine.stash that he would hide around the
house or out in the garage. I would take a sip or
two just so I could experience what he was feeling
One Eime I ended up drinking a quarter of a bottle
I found under his matress and ended up getting so
intoxicated that I ran around scting life s fool
that whole day. Of course, acting like a fool for
me was normal so no one knew the difference. M
father would come home so drunk he couldn't tell
one son or daughter from the other. There were mem
days where he would call me Daryl or Lisa (my old-
est sister). Us kids would often find him to be
quite comical when he was in his drunken state.
Even our mother found him to be humorous at times.
However, when my father was sober, he wasn't very
pleasant to be around. When he wasn't intoxicated
he was a vicious, angry and bitter man who ruled
with an iron fist. I vaguely remember one day when
T tried wnldeartedly to engage hin in some father.son
conversation while he was working on the family
car, he turned around a gave me a hard punch acros:

18
my face, and told me to get away from him. There
were times when I had to. literally tip-toe

across the floor of the house just tu keep from
provoking him to inflict one of his rage-filled
beatings upon me. As bad as a father he was to me
I never could bring myself to hate him. Even as a
young child I understood that he was suffering
from some type of deep-seated emotional issues as
a result of some childhood trauma he experienced
and the only way he could cope with it was by gett-
ing drunk. I felt nothing but pity and love for
him even though I knew he was incapable of loving
me back. When I found out he died November 20,
2012, I felt a tremendous amount of guilt because
I menaged to shed only two tears.

My girlfriend and I were engaged in a long,
passionate kiss on the front porch of her house
when my comrade and his friend pulled up in his
car, We had bought new sound systems for our cars
earlier thet day and we took the time to hook
them up in the front yard of my girlfriends house
before we took to the road. We both agreed that
it would be best to get out of town for awhile
until the heat blows over from the last robbery
we pulled. My girlfriend came to the door and
told me that my mother was on the phone and so I
went in to talk to her. She said she was afraid
for me hanging out in the streets all day and
that she wanted me to come home for awhile. I
told her that I would be home in thirty minutes.

My mother was seperated from my father during
this time, and being the youngest out of seven
children, all of whom had moved out on their own,
I was the only thing my mother had left- besides
my brother whom she was staying with. As bad of
a child I was, I hated to disappoint my mother.
So when there were opportunities I could cause

her some comfort and peace of mind, I jumped at
i,

My girlfried intercepted me at the front
to give me a kiss goodbye for the night. I loved
the way her lips felt on mime. They felt like
heaven and made it seem as if time stood still.

19
We held hands for a moment talking about what
¥e would do the next day. With all the ship't
had gotten myself into I knew that out time ro-
gether was limited. We kissed one last time and
when my hand left hers I knew it was the lass sie
T would feel the tenderness of those hands sgasn.
On my way back to the car, out of no whese,
about ten police cars surrounded me, my comeads
and his friend. One police officer fan up behind
me and pressed his 10mm Semi-Automatic pistol te
the back of my head and told me if I moved one
inch he would blow my head off. This fat black cop
came from out of no where, grabbed me by the colly
of my shirt and threv me down to the ground with
such force that I was nearly knocked unconscious.
The white cop was looking at the black cop like
he had gone mad. This situation reminded me of son
thing I read years later in a book called "Soleda
Brother" written by the late-great George Lestes
Jackson; a brother who had become politicized in
the California prison system, became a Black Panthe
revolutionary prison activist and author, Jackson seg.
assassinated in the prison yard of San Quentin in
an alleged escape attempt August 21, 1971, In
Soledad Brother Jackson stated "The black cop coul
be a large factor in ptavlntln: our genocide. But
no help can be expected from this quarter. The sam
stupidity and desperation that brought him to the
gates prevents from interceding. The job, the
means too much to him. Often he feels compelled |
prove himself, prove that he is loyal to the forc
Prove that he’is not prejudiced in favor of us,
Tove that he is honest. His honesty prevents him
zom dealing in contraband as every white pig doe
The same fear will cause him to show more sesl in
the "club therapy" sessions [police beatin;
gven the whites manage. If the victim is black, h
he is going to get so mad that white pigs [police
will have to stand back and let him swing. If thej
dont have murder planned for that session, they
will have to pull that nigger off you." From the
look in this black cop's eyes I could tell that he
vanted to kill me just to appease his white wounie

20
art. I still remember the look of jubilation as
B siapped the cufs on me and put me in the back
of the white cop's police car.

So there we were- the three of us- me, my
comrade, and his friend, headed down to the police

recinct. It was around 12 o'clock in the morning.

e were taken t back room where all three of
us were seperated. Seperation is a tactic often
used by the police when there are multiple
suspects to inspire disunity and suspicion. It is
often called divide-and-conquer. The police will
often tell each suspect that the other is already
cooperating with the investigation, which is almost
aluays a lie, with intent of gettifg that suspect
to confess. After the investigation was over I
vas labeled a leader of our group and it was re-
vealed that my comrades friend, Antonio Crews,
called Crime Stoppers while he was in his baby's
mother apartment and tipped them off to the robbery
and murder ve had committed. He even provided them
with my girlfriend's address so the police would
know where to come and arrest us . In the end, my
comrade and I were charged with two counts of
capital murder, robbery and three gun charges.
Crews testified against my comrade in exchange for
having his murder charges non-processed and would
spend only a year in prison. My comrade was con-
victed by and jury and sentenced to life. To avoid
Crews coming to testify against me at my trial, I
plead guilty to two murder chages, robbery and
gun charges and sentenced to 93 years in  the
penitentiary. The whole time my comrade and I was
sitting outside in our cars down Hillside Court
waiting for Crews to come out with his son he was
on the telephone with the police setting us up
for the fall. Knowing this left a bitter taste in
my mouth for many years.

I uas down the Richmond City Jail, this tine in
1995, locked-up with hardened criminals. I spent
my first day trying to get adjusted to this new en-
vironment. The time I spent a Westbrook and Cen-
tral State prepared me for the jail. It is all a
form of control. I started reading the bible and

21
praying like most prisoners do hoping that God
Yould Gome and rescus’ me. From my situation and
glve me another chance. But God never cam an I kv
I had to make the best out of a bad situatic
All T could do was think about my mother ‘and the
pain and disappointment that I had brought tpon
her. Even in Jail, facing the very real possibili
of spending the rest of my life behing bars, I
st1ih Nas"s rebels This one dude came in the dorn
making plenty of noise early in the morning while
other inmates were trying to sleep. About 320 in-
mates jumped on him. So, trying to make a name
for myself, I jumped on’him too.We beat this guy
to a pulp. The jail guards came and dragged him
offthe dorm. Then they came back to find out who
the inmates were that was involved in the beating
Nobody said a thing. During the nine months I
spent down the City Jail I became good friends
with this older brother named Shandu. He was much
bigger and a_couple of years older than myself.
By the time I came dowh the jail he had already
built a reputation as being one of those dudes
other inmates didn't want no problems with. When
he walked around the dorm, other inmates made sure
to move out of his way. He would t up the in-
mates who were from New York and take their comm-
issary. Whenever his girlfriend didn't come to
visit him as promised, he would get mad and walk
sound the dorm and knock-out other inmates with
one punch just because he was pissed-off. All the
inmates on”the dorm was scarred of him. I was the
only one brave enough and smart enough to make his
oy friend. In the summer time it got so hot on the
dorm that I could literally see steam coming off ¢
my body. I made quite many friends on the dorm. I
was vell known because of my cdse being repeatedly
advertised on the news. I would play cards all day
or do pullups and pushups g0 1 could get myself in
to shape. I was only 145 pounds soaking wet. Or I
would lay in my bed and read the Bible, which is
whet a lot of inmates do,hoping ‘and praying that 1
would be able to survive this environment. Or T
would sit back and watch Shandu terrorize the othe
iomates on the dorm. I was amazed at how much fear

22
he put into the hearts of the other inmates. He

was big and menacing and knew how to use his hands
in a Fight. But this fear that the other inmates
had of him would  prove to be his down-fall
in the years to come. I looked up to him, sort of
11ke'a big brother and he embraced me Just the. seme.
And a lot of other inmates gave me respect just
because of this. They knew that if they had a pro-
blem with me then they would have to deal with him
too. So I got away with doing a alot of shit that
I knew I wbuld not have gotten awey with if me and
Shandu were not cool.

Later that year in September of 1995tk Wmecamt
for me to get transferred out from the jail into
the prison system where all the hard-nosed convicts
vere at. A place vhere there were immares who med
already been in prisoh twenty or thirty years. I
had already heard about the stories about what goes
on in the penitentiary- the rapes, the stabbings,
the murders.  No other inmate will openly admit this
but when I was on that bus headed for the penitent-
iary, I-was scarred and I could feel my heart-
beating a humdred miles a second. I had made my
mind up that if another inmate tried anything with
me, I was going to kill'em without any hesitation.

When I entered the prison system this seemed
familiar territory to me. I had been in other in-
stitutions before. All institutions have one Fund-
amental function and purpose and that is contain-
ment, Keeping the social misfits of society From
speading to the more affluent, mostly white middle
and upper-class neighborhoods. This is one of the
reasons section 8 housing projects are never built
in the suburban or rural areas. They are almost
always built in urban inner-city neighborhoods
populated by poor non-white minorities.

At the Brunswick Correctional Center in 1996
I ran across some revolutionary minded brothers.
Mentally, these Lrothers were sharp. I would sit
and listen to them talk about racial pride, black
pover, politics, and how to overcome the obpress-
on of the black man by a white-supremacist polit-
ical/educational/economical/cultural system.

23
1 was in my late teens and I heard never heard
about the things-these brothers: vere talking about.
These brothers were disciplined, militant, snd when
they walked, they walked with authority, pride and
purpese . But there was.a darkside of the penitent-
iary, that sector that would lure-the weaker immates
that did not.already have the proper guidanmce. There
were open acts of homosexua ity. I witnessed many
younger- and .somethimes even older- inmates come
in and get turned-out. The homosexuals would look
at us younger brothers coming into’ the prison syst-
em as potential victims. Many of these brothers in
the "punk''game were weak-rindedor was already on the
"down low" before they even came to prison. I wit-
nessed how some of these dudes lay in the bed with
an ther man and have sex and then go over to the
visitation room and kiss their wives or girlfriend
in the mouth. It was all sickening to me and I new
that this was a world I wanted no parts of. .
This older brother name Fred gave me a book
to read called "Black on Black Violence- The Psych-
odynamics of Black Self-Annihilation in Service of
White Domination" written by the great revolution-
ary black author/psxchologht Amos Wilson. This
book stated that "The black on Black violent crim-
inal hates in other Blacks those characteristics
he hates most in himself. His expressed contempt
for attacks on other Blacks are the means by which
he refrains from recognizing and expressing his
self-concept. By externalizing his self-contempt
he stays his own hand from attacking himself. He
commits homicide to keep from committing suicide.
His homicidal mania, violent rages, are curious
and perverted forms of self-preservation. He is
compelled, therefore, to externalize his self-con-
tempt, to blame, berate, humiliate others. This,
however, throws him in a toil of a vicious circle.
The more he despises others the less he is aware of
his self-contempt- and the self-contempt grows more
violent and merciless and the more hopeless he be-
comes. To strike out at others is then a matter of
self-preservation. Having accepted the notion pro-
mulgated by his White oppressors- that he will never

24
measure up to their...standard, never be as good
as they- he vindictively asserts that they will
never be as 'bad' as he, Thus, he [inds near zot-
ic delight in demonstrating himself to be the 'bad-
dest' who ever walked the earth. In this game he
had a better than a sporting chance to win.In this
game he makes the rules. The essence of the Black
on Black criminal is self-hatred or self-alienation.
These can occur as the result of the self having
been made to apprear to be hateful, ugly, degrad-
ing, refected associated yith pain, monexistent
or devoid of meaning, and inherently inferior. Such
appearances and associations are the fruits of
White American narcissistic racial projections
against the Afriacan American community". Wilson
states further; "As the controller of information,
the 'validator' of truth, ministers of education
and instruction, role model, chief reinforcer, as
the Final Word and ultimate authority, it is the
White American community that must bear the re-
sponsibility for injecting as the central motivat-
ing factor self-hatred, or more accurately, self-
alienation into the heart of the Black on Black
criminal and the minds of the rest of the maladju-
sted African Community.The Black on Black Crimin-
al is what he is because he has been treated crim-
inal at some crucial point in his life, and/or
treated to a history or model of criminality. He
is within a context that evokes or instigates
criminal behavior not inhibited or redirected by
effective opposing or alternative moral, intellect-
ual, socioeconomic, cultural and valuation struct-
The Black on Black criminal is violent be
he has been violated, or perceives himself
as such. He is vindictive. He wants to 'pay the
world back' for some insult which may have result-
ed in his having been conceived and born; an in-
sult which occurred to him in the womb; an insult
for which occurred centuries before he or his par-
ents were born- a history of unrequited grievances.

The reason for my being a rebel all became clear

to me. Everytime 1 squeezed the trigger of
T was trying kill that part of myself which E'nas

25
taught to hate: my thick nose and lips, my brown
skin complexion, my kinky hair. Aftér all the
years I spent in school, this was the first book
Iiread front to back. I'had never read anything
Like this before. It was revolutionary and it made
me think about my 1life and all the things I had
done. I realized that I was a pawn in a game where
I was programmed to destroy mysélt and my own
people. I learnt mére in'the 9 days it teok me

to read this book than thé entire 19 years I had
been in eéxistence. Public schools- or what pass as
as in the urban minority communites- are not
designed to liberate , the minds of black children;

they are not designed to teach us about our true
African heritage that pre-dates the trans-Atlantic
slave trade, and that we, the black Africans,were
the original people on this planet, and the fact
that we descended from Kings and Queens; they

are not designed to teach us hov to be entreprenuers-
ouners of businesses and land. All they succeeded
in doing was teaching us how to stay in our place,
to accept being a dominated, oppressed, lower-class
people and how to remain 20th Century slaves in
service to a white-supremacist capitalistic system.
The more I read about my culture and politics in
eneral I started thinking different. I started
%e:ling empowered. Instead of walking with my head
down, I started walking with my heed pointed to
the sky, with my back straight, shoulders pulled
back. I started walking with purpose. I began to
have pride and began to see it as a privilege to
be an African. Instead of feeling ashamed when-
ever I came in contact with white people, I start-'
ed looking white people in the eye instead of hold-
ing my head down as if I was still a slave; because
I was equipped with the knowledge that I descended -
from a people who had existed on this planet long
before the white man came into existence. When the
white man was still dwelling in the caves of the
Caucus Mountains, Afrikans had flourishing yingdons
Like Timbuktu (in present day Mali), Nubig (am
acient kingdom in the Nile River Valley of South
Egypt and North Sudan), Cush (Kush) n ancient
Kingdom of Nubia in North Sudan which flourished
from the 11th century B.C. to the 4th century A.D.)

26
and the famous Ancient Egyptians. I'm talking
about the original black Egyptians like Cleopatra
who was an Egyptian Queen back in 51 B.C.,
Nefertiti who was an Egytpain Queen back in the 14th
Gentury, and Akhenaton, also known as Amephotep
the 4th, who was Egyptian king back in 13757 B.C.-
not the'white, pale-skinned Egyptians we see on
the television played by white actors who try to
brainwash us into believing the Ancient Egyptians
were white. When the Greeks first traveled to
Africa 2,500 years ago, the Egyptian civilization
was already ancient. The Great Pyramid was over
3,00 years old and the sphinx was even older.
Writing, science, medicine and religion were al-
ready a part of the civilization and had reached
their zenith. The Greeks came to Africa as students
to sit at the feet of the Ancient Egyptians and
to discover what Africans already knew. In any
student/teacher relationship the teacher can only
teach as much as the student is capable of under-
standing. Egyptians, like other Africans, under-
Stood that [ife existed beyond the grave. Ancest-
ral worship is a way of acknowledging the lives
of the people who have come before you, and their
ability to offer guidance and direction to the
living. Temples were designed as places where the
ancestors could be honored and holidays (Holy

's) were the days designated to do so. The
Egypiians had hundreds of temples and hundreds of
Holy Days to worship their ancestors. The Greeks
thought  the Africans had a preoccupation with
death. The act of ancestral worship becam e known
as necromancy, or communication with the dead.
The root word necro means dead. Another word for
necromancy means magic- that Old Black Magic which
was practiced in ancient Africa. When the Greeks
returned to Europe, they took their distorted be-
liefs with them and the word negro evolved out
of this great misunderstanding. Less than 300
years after the first Greeks came to Egypt as
students, their descendents returned as conquerors.
They distoyed the cities, temples and libraries
of Egyptians and claimed African knowledge as

27
as their own. Not only was the African legacy
stolen, but the whelesale theft of Africas people
soon followed. With the birth of the slave trade,
it-bacame necessary to dehumanize Africans and
devalue their historical worth as a peopla in'
order to ensure their value as slaves. So there
you ' have it, the negro- a of dead people
with a dead history-and no:hope ‘for' resurrection
as long as:they remainded ignorant of their of
their past. This was a ctriple deatho the deach
of the mind, -body, and spirit of the African
peoplet ! . .

For a while it felt good to learn something
Deys something that ‘boosted my self-esteem and
self-vorth. But my transition From fhat strest
thug I tried so herd to be on the streets was far
from-complete. Wheh I first cahmé to'prison the
inmates were segregated along goosraphical Iines
The Norfolk inmates stayed to themsélves. The D.G.
inmates stayed to themselves. The inmates from
Northern Virginia stayed to themsélves.'And of
olrse us Richmond inmates- we were a whole differ-
ent ‘story. Each group wanted'to prove that their
city went the hardest and thiscreatdd a lot of
tension. In the early 90"s Richmord was the
murder capital of the whole United States. This
Little, tiny ¢ity averaged 150 murders a year.
Righmond" itself was'devided alotig’geogiaphical
lines. Thére were'a“lot 'of terf wars'going on be-
tween South Side, North Side;West End, and East
End which was inspired, in large patt, by the
rise of'thé crack epidempic which swept across
gvery hood, ghetto, project in the nation during
the late-80's and”early 90's. In the prison system,
inmates from'Richmond was the most feared due in
large part to our potential for viol&néé and:the
fact’ that we out-humbered inmates from other areas
Eive-to-one.’Whenever a fight jumped"off that in-
volved an indate from Richmond, we would all get
ifivolved: There were no’such thing as fair fights
as”far as we W contérned. Ahd dam near all of
Us were serving’50, 60, 70, and life term prisbn
sentences; We were young, wild, angry, and hope-

28
less with nothing tc lose . One day while I was
laying in my bed vatching the news, 1 learned
that a riot had jumped off at the Greensville
Correctional Center between inmates from Richmond
and D.C., and that Shandu, the older brother who

I looked up to as my big brother while I was at
the city jail, was stabbed to death on the recre-
stion yard. It felt like someone had hit me in
the stomach with a beg of bricks. I hed developed
a certain love for this brother and he was wall
known by most of the inmates from the South Side
of Richmond. Soon the word spread about his death
and we wanted to do senething about it. When we
learned that inmates from D.C. were bragging about
his death, we knew what we had to do. About twen-
ty of us young brothers from Richmond approached
a group of D.C. inmates as they were coming from
the cafeteria and started a fight. We outnumber-
ed them 2-to-1. They didn't have a chance. Even
though none of them were stabbed or killed, we
Put a real beating on them that day. One of the
prison guards came and snatched me and two of my
comrades up, put us in cuffs, and locked us in a
cage with five other inmates’ from D.C. who were
not cuffed. We later learned that those five

D.C. inmates had homemade knives on them and dido't
even use them. To this day I believe the
prison guards wers trying to set us up to get
stabbed or possibly killed. We all ended up spend-
ing six months in solitary confinement- locked

in a single cell twenty-four hours a day. If it
wasn't for my radio, I probably would have lost
my mind. When I finally got relased back to gen-
eral population, the older brothers who had in-
spired me to start reading, were very disappoint-
ed with me, They didn't condome any type of black
on black violence. But I wasn't ready to be a
disciplined soldier in the struggle just yet. In
the three years 1 spent at Brunswick, I accumul-
ated nearly fifteen irfractions (writeups) for
disobeying prison rules and regulations, I was

80 out of control, that when the newly built super
max prison, Sussex One State Prison, was opened
in 1998, 1 was among the first group of inmates
to be transferred there.

29

Sussex One State Prison represented a new
form of control. It was built to house the so-
called "worst of the worst." We were locked-down
in our cells most of the time and only came out
when it was time to eat or when we were allowed
to go outside, which was once évery three or four
days. Control movement, was, enforced to the 'max’
We vere forced to stand by’ the wall whenever we
came out our cell tp eat and we had to walk in
a single file line along the designated yellow
lines  painted  on the ground. The guards here
yere alloved to possess shotguns loaded with both
lethal and non-lethal ammunition. Whenever there
was a fight or if inmates refused to walk along
the yellow lines on_the ground, the guards, both
black and white, would point the shotguns and
shoot indiscriminately. On a number of occasions
I witnessed inmates get their eyes shot out
by bouncipg rubber pellets. Any inmate who was
nor fast enough tq run back in his cell or duck
behind a wall when the pigs 'started’ shooting
would potentially get shot. This s torture and in-
nymane treatment at its best. Whenever T stepped out
my cell I always stayed near my cell deor so I
could quickly duck back inside if the trigger-
happy guards started shooting. B

After a year had gone by after first arriving
at this so-called super-max, I proached by
this inmate from Compton, California not much
older than myself at the time. He told ‘me that
he was visiting his €amily in'vVirginie uhen he
got caught-up,in a dryg bust. He told me he'd
been watching me' for a while and that he liked the .
way T conducted myself in a mi}itant fashion, He
told me that he was g Blood gangmember and that
he wanted me to be a'part of it. I already had
previous dealings with this "organization" prior
to my coming to prison, but didn't have a whole
lot of knowledge. concerning its history. At first
I declined his offer because I already conmsidered
myself to be a so-called gangster. But the more
me and this brother talked, and the more he told
me about the history of the Bloods, the more I
became interested. As far back as I could remem-

ber, I alvays wanted to be gangster. So here was

30
my chance to be a "real" ome. So I got "made”
and became a Blood in the summer of 1998 and was
iven the name B-Love, short for Blood Love. WHat
i didn't know was that I officially entered into
a life-style that could cause me to get more time
added onto my sentence, or worse, get me killed.
This life-style put me directly in the middle of
2 conflict between us inmates who claimed Blood
(there were about 5 of us) and those inmates who
claimed Crip (there were about 4 of them). There
were a lot of blind spots on Sussex One if you
knew where to look. If an inmate got caught in
one of those blind spots and another inmate wan-
ted to do something to another inmate, that in-
mate could easily get stabbed without anyone
knowing who did it. Such a place was the steps
(staircase) leading from the first floor of the
building to the second floor. One day after we
were on our way back to the dorm after eating lunch,
I, along with two other Bloods,got into a conflict
with two Crips on the staircase. All of us Bloods
were in good shape. We exercised faithfully in
the dorm every morning. The Crips didn't have a
chay During the midst of the fight, one of the
Crips pulled out a razor-blade and slashed the
Blood that was standing beside me on his forearm.
I gave hin one good punch to the side of his head
nafing him drop his blade to the ground. I reached
down, picked the blade up, and was about to slash
hin uith it when e heard the prison guards run-
ning down the steps from the third floor. We all
ran back to our dorms as fast as we could to
avoid being placed on solitary confinement. The
Blood that got cut ended up going to the hospit-
al to get stitches for the cut on his forearm.
When I got back to my cell, that same dirty feel-
ing that came over me after the double murders
suddenly came back. After all the Stuff I had
seen, done, and experienced in my life, I felt
tired and exhausted; and for the first time, I

felt willing to embrace this new path that would
soon be placed before me.

31
CHAPTER 4 MY TRANSITION

My cellmate at the time was an much older
brother from New York. At the time, he had lready
be locked-up for almost twenty years. He wa,
fully dedicated member of the Nation of Islas He
had a habit of alvays trying to push his religion
on me- giving me literature and books to read about
the Nation. He was extremely hard on me, trying to get
me to change my juvenile, self-destructive tengen-
cies. Naturally, there were some friction betuaen
us. He was an older, seasoned convict who had nemn
around many years in the prison system. I was a.
young, headstrong, immature, and inexperienced
teenager who saw no "light" at the end of the tun-
nel. He had a well-known reputation for getting
into Fights with the prison guards. He even stabb-
ed a prison guard on one occasion. So he was always
paranoid that the guards would run up in the cel
on him. So, from sun up until sun down, he would
sit by the cell door on his footlocker with a
prison-made kiife in his hand. I was kind of in-
timidated by him so I went and bought me o knife.
I wouldn't allow myself to go to sleep until he
was already sleep. We got into many verbal con-
frontations because he would always suggest how I
should conduct myself in prison. My mentality was
that I didn't come all the way to prison to have
some washed-up convict tell what to do.- The truth
is, the more ~ time I spent around this brother,
the more all the things he was telling me started
making sense. I could-tell that underneath his
tough exterior, he really had a certain degree of
love and concern for me. He was an extremely
militant brother to the 10th power. He always
kept his clothes ironed and his boots cleaned and
polished. He alvays kept his pants pulled-up and
shirt tucked in his pants- even in the cell. When
we left the cell, he always stood with his back
against the wall,his head and eyes moving from
side to side,always on the watch for the unexpect-
ed. It n't long before I stopped looking at him
s a potential enemy and started looking up to him
as my mentor. He taught me how ta do my time under

32
the "convict code," He impressed upon me the im-
portance of hever laughing and joking with the
guards; to always show and give respect to a fellow
convict, and to always utilize every moment to
broaden and exvand my consciousness. Most import-
antly, hestressed the importance of staying alive,
physically and mentally, in this graveyard known
as prison. He had a wealth of books and literature
that T could choose from. The only books I seen
in my home when I was growing up were religious
books and books that I had brought home from school
that were filled with empty knowledge. Out of all
the time I spent in school I never read ome book.
During the course of my reading and studying, I
became filled with the knewled?s of my culture
and the history of the people from which I decend-
ed from. I learned about the civil rights and
black power struggles of the 60's and 70's here
in the U.S. I learned about revolutionaries like
Karl Marx, V.I. Lenin, Frantz Fanon :, and Che'
Guerrero. I learned about militant black organiz-
ations like the Black Panther Party for Self-
Defense, the Black Liberation Army, the Deacons
for Defense and the Student Non-violent Coordinat-
ing Committee, to name just a few. I read about
militant white Anti»:lcist, anti-imperialist or-
ganizations like Students for a Democratic Society,
and its offshoot, the Weather Underground, the
John Brown Anti-Klan Committee, and the George
Jackson Brigade, to name just a few. I learned
about the New Afrikan Independence Movement. Slow-
ly, but surely, I stopped seeing every Black per-
son that I came across as my potential enemy and
I started to love, value and respect myself as a
person. I started to realize that all the social
and economic ills which plague every non-white
and poor white communites was the direct result
of a male-dominated, vhi:e—!uzremuclst, capital-
istic system whose only goal is to accumulate
as much capital as possible off the labor of the
global proletariat (working-class poor).

My Collmate (my mentor) was transtarred in
the summer of 2000 and not too long after that I

33
was transferred to Nottoway Correctional Center.
I had managed to stay out of trouble long enough
For my security points to drop. Pven though NoEto-
way was a medium security prison, it was ran as
if it was a super-max. The guards were allowed to
use dogs to escort us prisoners to and from the
cafeteria. I lucked up and got me a job working
in the kitchen. I had the chance to sain. eome Sf
the weight I lost when I went to Sussex One. I
would sneak and eat entire watermelons, baskets of
grapes, and huge bowls of rice and beans. I managed
Fo get up to 200 pounds. There was a boxin progren
called the "smoker" where inmates where aifone
to get in a boxing ring, gloves and all, and fight
for three rounds. Five rounds if it was a main
event. The fight was streamed live over the prison
channel. The one fight I fought T one by a split
decision. It wasn't really about winning for me.
It was about seeing how much shape I was in and
to see if all the training I was doing made any
difference.lt reminded me of the days when I was
barely a teenager when I was training at the Million
Dollar Boxing Club on Hull Street in the South
Side of Richmond. Even when I was young I was in
shape. That was something my father passed on to
me in my genes. I remeber the first day I vas
sparring at the boxing club, all of theclub's train-
ers were standing back watching me as if they
thought I was the second coming of Mike Tyson. My
mother and father couldn't afford to pay the si-
mision fee. So I had to stop going. Sometimes I
sit and wonder what would have come from if if I'd
stayed, trained, and became a professional boxer.
One of the reasons most minorites don't succeed in
life is because we don't have equality of opport-
unity, or the same opportunities that most whites
have because of '“hite priviledge". White America,
its race-, class-based caste system actively
strives to keep all minority commnuties in a state
of poverty, ingonorance and despair becuase it
knows that'if the minority communites were fre
exercise its right to self-determination, thos
persons who exist in such communities would rise
up to become just as brilliant as any other white

to

34
ce,

person in all fields of human endeavor.

After about three years of being.on Nottoway,
I made a conscious, but hard, decision to cut my
gang ties. It was a hard decision because I devel-
oped a deey ed love and respect for a lot of
IK e brothers and for what the organization or-
iginally stood for. In order for me to walk away
£rom it all, I knew that I was putting my life
in danger. In the gang world, the motto is "blood
in, blood out.” I made an agreement with the
older brothers who made up the "committee" to simply
tjump me out." And so, on that fateful day, I let
flve Bloods beat me down in the cell while I was
holding my hands behind my back. This was the price
I had to pay for the life I chose. After the
beating was over, we all shook hands and I walked
suay ron that 1ife vowing never to go back into
t.

Over the years of my incarceration I've con-
tinued to make countless mistake that would put
both my freedom and life in jeopardy. I continued

to use and sell drugs and commit petty crimes.
once read in a newssaper apcicie Dhat’the Vicginia

prison system ip the safest prison system in the
nited States. However, for those not familiar with
life on the inside of the ganitentiary during the
early 90's, it was a slaughterhouse. Around every
corner lurked the possibility that an inmate could
get stabbed, killed, robbed and even raped. I once
intervened in a sitiation where four inmates from
Norfolk were trying to rape this one inmate from
Newport News who I was close friends with. This
friend of mine was one of the guys that was con-
sidered to be a "pretty boy". He acted kind of
feminine at times and spent a lot of time in the
mirror brushing his hair. He was quiet, unassuming,
stayed to himself, and didn't possess the heart
or know-how to stand up for himself. For all of
the above reasons, the much more aggressive inmates
saw him as a target. Myself, I was bullied in
Highschool, so0 as I got older I developed a natural
reaction to aid and assist a vulnerable person
being exploited, mistreated, or being taken ad-
vantage of. So, on this occasion when I witnessed

35
phe four inmates from Norfolk-trying to entise
him to come into.their cell to force him to per-
form sexual favors on them, the humenity in me forced
me to jump up between he and them and I told thes
that if they wanted to do something to hin they
would. have to go through me first. They looked
at me as if I was crazy and backed away not want-
ing a fight.

On the streets, during a conflict, people will
often run for a gun to resolve.a conflict. But
there are no guns in prison, so I had to learn how
to.be skilled in the art of close hand-to-hand
combat. Since I've been.in prison I've been in
many. £ights (some I've won and some I've lost).
I've been in rigts where twenty.or more were in.
volved in group fights. I've been robbed of my
Possessions and I have myself robbed other {nmates
when T was trying to make a name for myself. T
once was slashed with-a razor during a conflict
with another inmate when I tried to cut the lime
for the telephone. That one I deserved. Prison
during the 90's were called gladiator schools and
we hag to become warriors; cold-hearted monsters
even in order to survive. That's one of the many
contradictions of during time: society lock us
away because we're monsters. Then we have to become
even more cold-hearted of a monster in order to
survive inside of this "concrete jungle" and then
we end up going home in worst of a condition than
before we came in.

About a year after I cut my gang ties and was
half way down the road te-redemption, my cellmate
and T were placed on isolation solitary confine-
ment) based on a tip the prison guards received
from a‘'confidential informant saying my cellmate
and I were planning to escape. Of course this
accusation wvas bogus. By that time I had made so
many enemies, it was hard for me to pinpoint who
this confidential informant.was. It is often said
that people fear what they don't understand and
hate what they can't conquer. Becuasc I am a no-
monsense type of brother who carrias myself with
extreme discipline and Did very 1ittle talking,
there were quite a few inmates who was intimidated

36"
by me and wanted me out of the way. Flbrifiating

a story about an escape plan and 'leaking" it to
the prison guards was one way to do it. My cell-
mate and I end up spendirg’ six months in solit-
ary confinement. Though the guards and informants
thought this ordeal would “"break me" or kmock me
off balance, I simply utilized the time on isola-
ation to read, study and meditate. When I finally
went back to ge lru{ population, I was more de-
termined than ever to transform my criminal men-
tality into a black revolutionary menlalit{.

During the years 1've spent studying the law
and vorking on my criminal case)in os attempt to
liberate my body from this physical conifinement
through America's criminal injustice system, I
have become highly skilled at practicing law. For
those inmates ’ult coming into the prison system
who don't have the benefit of a lawyer, I'd
help them draft petitions and motions and file
them in the courts- free of charge. I have become
what is often termed a "jailhouse lawyer." Help-
ing dther inmates to challenge their criminal or
civil case in a court of law is an act of resist-
ance. It is my goal to enroll in law school to
earn a law degree upon my eventual release from
prison. I desire to create some sort of non-profit
legal organization dedicated to assisting in-
carcerated indigent inmates with drafting motions,
petitions, and lawsuits in the courts. This too
will be an act of resistance.

1 look back over my life from the time I
Picked up my first gun before I was even a teen-
ager to where I am at present- choosing to be an

gent of life to my people imstead of %eing an
gent of death, it amazes me how far I've come.
And this transition all started when I read my
first book. In an article I Found amongst my
mounds of paperwork (author unknown) entitlad
"Black People Don't Read" it states that "white
corporate America continue to reap profits from
Blacks without the effort of physical slavery.
Look at the current method of containment that
we use on ourselves: IGNORANCE, GREED, and SELF-

37
LOHNESS .

. "Our IGNORANCE is the primary weapon of cop-
tainment. A man once said, 'The best way to hide
pomething from Black People is to

pooks readily available at Bordars. parins &
ebles, and Amazon.com, not to mentisn nes own
Black Bookstores ‘that’ provide solid blueprints

£o reach economic equality (ehick should have
been our fight all along), but few of us reaq con~
sistently, If at all.

UGREED is another weapon of containment. Blacks,
Since the abolition of slavery, have hag large
Spent 5oL Toney at their disposal. Last yess we
opent 10 billion dollars during Christmas’ ant"cf

toras their target market  for any business yes:
ture they care to dream up, no ter how out-
landish, "we will buy into it. Bein, primarily a
consumer people, we function totally by greed. we
continually want more, with little thought of
aving or investing. We would rather buy some new
sneaker than invest in starting a busimsy Some
Of us even neglect our children to have ihe latest
TOMMY or FUBU, and we still think that having a
Mercedes and a big house give us 'status: or that
we have achieved our DREAM. We are faolol The
bast majority of our people are still in poverty
because our greed holds us back from collectively
making better communites. With the help of B.E.T.,
fie rest of our Black media that often broad-

Lo show off to each other while corporate Whites
build solid communites with the profit feon their
businesses that they market to ub:

"SELFISHNESS s ingrained in our minds through
Siavery, is one of the major ways they wil) Lou
tinue to contain us. One of our own, W.E8, Dubcrs

38
d

said that there is an innate division in our
culture. A 'Talented Tenth' he called it. He was
correct in his deduction that there are segments
of our culture that has achieved some 'form' of
success, Huweser, that segnent missed the fullness of his work.
We didn't read that the 'Talented Tenth' was then
responsible to aid the Non-Talented Ninety Percent
in achieving a better Lif ad, that seg-
ment has created another class, a Buppie class
that looks down on our people or aids them in a
condescending manner. We will never achieve what
they (corporate Whites) have. Our selfishness
does not allow us to be able to work together on
any project or endeavor of substance. When we do
get together, our selfishuess lets our egos get
n the way of our goal and our so-called help
organization seem to only want to promote their
name without making any real change in our comm-
unities. We are content to sit in conferences
and conventions in their (corporate Whites) hotels,
and talk about what we will do while we award
plaques to the best speakers, not the best doers.
Is there no end to our selfishness? We steadfast-
1y refuse to see that Together Each One Achieves
More (TEAM). We do not understand that we are no
better than each other because of what we own,
as a matter of fact, most of these Buppies are
but one or two paychecks away from poverty. ALl
of which is under the control of their (corpor-
ate Whites) pens in their offices and rooms. Yes,
they will continue to contain us as long as we
refuse to read, continue to buy anything we want,
and keep thinking we are 'helpini' our communi-
ties by paying dues to organizations which do
little other than hold lavish conventions in
their (corporate Whites) hotels. By the way, we
don't have to vorry sboyt any on of us reading
this letter, remember, 'We don't READ!'"

While I agree with the author of this article
that most Black people don't read, and when we
do it's often street novels, car/hip hop
magazines, smut novels or books containing other
useless information, the author failed expound

39
on the reason why we don't read, or why we lack
the desire or skills to unite around a common
cause or agenda. It is common knowledge that
during chattel slavery enslaved Africans were for-
bidden to learn how to read and write, because
their slavemasters were extremely fearful that
these skills would facilitate a rebellion or re-
volution amongst the slave-class which would have
the potential to bring an end to ‘the plantation
slavery system and its profits. The slave-masters
new that the mind is the most potent weapon in
existence. The politicized/revolutionary mind is
the most darigerous ‘weapon in existence. Once we
were able to attain a-tertain degree of knowledge,
the’ slave mastersof old--and even the white' suprem-
acists and corporate elites today- knew that we
would began to question the quality of inform-
ation that we allow to enter our minds that will
not assist us in in overconing opprasaion, and
consequently, we wou in to engage in revolution-
any pomics., uhich iflff;plied correctly, will
compel us to rise up,.confront, and overthrow
Slobal white supremsly and ‘imperialism.

Every- since the advent of slavery 'of blacks
hére in America, white supremacist and their
capitalist elite, has devised a "devide and cori-
quer” scheme to keep Blacks (and poor Whites) de-
vided to keep thiem from uniting to overthrow
class-based exploitation and oppression.: The devis-
ion between blacks themselves'ias first'inspired
by Willie Lynch back’ in the early 1700's, Be.
a_gathering of plantation owners'in Virgini,
1712, Lynch proposed not only instigating sharp
division between Blacks and Whites, but among
the Black slaves as well, by playing on the minor
differences between them to create fear and dis-
trust. Lynch stated to the plantation owners:

‘Gentlemen, 1 greet you here on the banks of
the James River in'the year:of our Lord 1712.
First, I shall thank you, the gentlemen of the
Colony of Virginia® for bringing me here. I am
here to help you solve some of your problems with
slaves. Your invitatiow reached me on my modest

plantation in the West Indies where I have ex-

40
perimented with some of the newest and still
oldest methods For control of slaves. Ancient
Rome would envy us if my program was implement-
ed. As our boat sailed south of the James River,
named for our illustrious King, whose version
of the Bible we cherish, I saw enough to know
that yourt problem is not unique. While Rome
used cords of wood as crosses for standing human
bodies along its old highway in great numbers,
you are here using the tree and the rope on oce-
asion.

"I clught the whiff of a dead slave hanging
from a tree a couple of miles back. You are no
only loosing valuable stock by hangings, you are
having uprisings, slaves are running away. Your
crops are sometimes left in the Fields too long
for maximun profit, you suffer occasional fires,
your animals are killed. Gentlemen, you know
What your problems are; I do not need to elabor-
ate. I am not here to enumerate your problems,
however, I am here to introduce you to methods
of solving them.

"In my bag here, I have outlined a number of
DIFFERENCES among the slaves and I take their

differences and make them bigger. I use FEAR,
DISTRUST, and ENVY for control purposes. These
methods have worked on my modest plantation in

the West Indies and it will work throughout the
the South. Take this simple little list of diff-
erences and think about them. On top of my list
ig "AGE," but it is there because it starts with
en "A"; the second is "COLOR" of "SHADE," there
is INTELLIGENCE, SIZE, SEX, STATUS ON PLANTATION,
ATTITUDE OF OWNERS, WHETHER THE SLAVES LIVE IN
THE VALLEY, ON THE HILL, EAST, WEST, NORTH ox
SOUTH, HAVE FINE FAIR or COURSE HAIR, or is TALL
or SHORT. Now that you have a list of differen-
ces, 1 shall give you an outline of ACTION- but
before that I shall assure you that distrust is
stronger than trust, and envy is stronger than
adulation, respect or admiration.

"The Black slave after receiving this in-
doctrination shall carry on and will become self-
refueling and self-generating for hundreds of

41
years, maybe thousands.

"Don't forget you must pitch the OLD BLACK

MALE verses the YOUNG BLACK MALE, and the YOUNG

MALE verses the OLD BLACK MALE. You musr
use the DARK SKIN SLAVE verses the LIGHT SKIN
SLAVE and the LIGHT SKIN SLAVE verser the DARK
SKIN SLAVE. You must use the FENALE werico the
UALE and the MALE verses the FEMALE. You muer
also have your white servants and overseer dis-
trust all Blacks, but it is necesary that your
slaves trust and’depend on us. They mugs love,
Tespget, and trust ONLY US.

"Gentlemen, these kits are your keys to
Sontrol. Use them. Have your wives and ohildren
yse them. Never miss an opportunity- if usey
intensively for one year, the slaves the, elves -
will remain perpetually’distrustful. Thauy you,
gentlemen."”

$ince 1712, these methods of dividing Blacks -
can Slearly be seen in operation ‘today, aud phc
effects 'still remain with ug- the anger, rage,
distrust, envy, fear and the complete lack oe
love we have for ourself and each other. Today,

bsed to drive a wedge between all non-white. and
even poor whites, to further global whire.

supremacist, imperialist and ca
Jesterdays chattel slaves have becons today

{onalities and
Jesterday's plantation owners/slave masters here
become today's ruling capitalist elite.

According to the Black Liberation Army .
Political Dictionary, the Proletarist represents
the majority of the working massess or wvage
derners. They must sell their labop pover in order-
to urvive. They represent the lowest level of i
Lhe unemployed, lowest vages, leas beriéfics Lid
Fights and usually have littie or no Ppower or
control over their working conditions. ménagenent,
and planning. It is this class that hae the most
creased technology,
Of using mechanical or
0 routine repetitive work

42
re

nd

automatically instead of employing human hands
and minds) and cyber-nation because they are
being driven out of their jobs into the ranks
of the unemployed. Karl Marx classified them as
the most potentially revolutionary cless because
of their sheer numbers as well as their social
consciousness and needs which is directly tied
to the whole process of production. Then there
are the lumpen proletariat which represente the
under-class, unemployed, marginally employed anc
those who live outside of the law, i.e. criminal
element. This class also include the aged and
infirmed. The diabled are also part of this
class becausc they are marginally employed,
therefor not a secure part of the productive
process. Those on welfare, social security are
also members of this clae:
The working-class poor must resist all
race-based, counter-productive divide-anc-control
tactics. White people in gemeral, and the White
Left in particular, who are actively working to
confront and destroy racism within themselves
and the entire white community, must join hands
in solidarity with the Black, Brown, Red and
Yellow peoples of the planet in a Unified Front-
on a clear cut radical and progressive political
program to combat global racism, colonialism,
inperialism, fascism, and government policies
here in the'U.S. that overvhelmingly favor super
rich corporate elites while at the same time
punishing working-class people. As our beloved
conrade, George Lester Jackson, stated: "There
nmust be & collective redirection of the old
guard- the factory and union agitator- with the
campus acitivist who can counter the ill-effects
of fascism at its training site, and the lumpen
proletariat intellectuals who possess revolution-
ary scientific socialist attitulles to deal with
magsess of street people living outside the
system. They must work toward developing the
unity of the pamphlet and the silenced pistol,
Black, Brown, [Red], and White [people] are all
victims together. At the end of this massive,

43
collective struggle, we will uncover our new
man, the unpredictable culmination of the
Zg'olutionary process. He will be better equipp-
ed to yage the real struggle, the permanens
struggle after the revolutionary pro
one Of new relationships between men
In My Eye.

It is in the spirit of the revolutionary
Piberation struggles of all oppressed peoples
to eradicate exploitation and’ oppression and

but gave then crume
taolly without a pot to piss in’mor a windes en
throv it out- that I write this book. Lo agy ny
yision, my voice, my ideas to the bij dven
@ Just, equal, free, socialist seciety For all.,

ALL POVER TO ALL PEOPLE WHO OPPOSE RACISM, COL-
ONIALISM, IMPERIALISM, FASCISM, MONOPLY CAPITAL-
ISM, WILLIE LYNCH-STYLE DIVIDE-AND-CONQUER

TACTICS AND THE PRISON INDUSTRIAL SLAVS COMPLEX!

Brian Lee Rowe #1131545
(A.K.A. Uhuru Baraka Rowe)
Buckingham Correctional Center
P.0. Box 430
Dillwyn, Virginia 23936

44
FROM UNITY
TO

COLLECTIVE
LIBERATION

An Essay by
Brian L. Rowe
Sauth Chicago ABC

Zine Distro
Q P.O. Box 721

Homewood, IL 80430