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Books by Kalamu ya
Salaam
The Magic of JuJu: An Appreciation of the Black Arts
Movement /
360:
A Revolution of Black Poets
Everywhere Is Someplace Else: A Literary Anthology
/
From A Bend in the River: 100 New Orleans Poets
Our Music Is No Accident /
What Is Life: Reclaiming the Black Blues Self
My Story My Song (CD)
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4 Movements / 12
Moments
In the Life of an Ex-Slave—Long Live Assata!
Short Story
by
Kalamu ya
Salaam
1.1
I'm not afraid to
die but I am afraid I'm going to die. Afraid that,
outside of a grave, there will not be one square inch of
earth on which I can reside; afraid that my enemies will
not allow me to breathe unless concrete and steel coffin
me; afraid that this sweet island, which has been my
sanctuary, will be curdled into a tropical casket.
1.2
For we who have
been political prisoners, long term incarceration in
modern Amerika is a certain death—it is not like South
Africa's Robben Island where a number of movement men
came out stronger, and it is certainly not the same as
for those who go in unconscious and fly out as dragons
both their wings and their fierceness engendered by the
education and self-education that one can extract from
the school of captivity. No, I am thinking about those
of us whom they want not merely to confine and control,
but those of us whose spirits they want to thoroughly
crush; we are never released from prison unscathed—if we
escape that is different, but if they release us, our
freedom inevitably means the authorities have
successfully, in some nefarious way or another,
reprogrammed us to accept the world as they have
constructed society or to either self-destruct in fits
of rage or in spasms of insanity.
I know what I am
saying. I know
Huey Newton was never the same after
prison. I know many of my comrades who remained there
for ten, for twelve, for twenty years, I know if and
when they are released they are deranged even if they
really believe they are still ready for the revolution.
I would never publicly give the government the
satisfaction of recognizing such effectiveness, but I
know there is no life after prison for people like me.
The mind games, the chemicals they feed us in substances
they claim is food, the constant dehumanization of strip
searches: fingers forced into your everywhere, beneath
each fold of flesh, piercing each cavity. And not just
the dignity stripping of naked meat inspection, but also
the simultaneous twisting of the ephemeral web that is
one's consciousness, one's sense of self. Literally who
we are becomes different after we have been
systematically and scientifically fucked with by experts
at mind games.
1.3
So you see, it was either escape,
which I did, or die.
I am a runaway
slave in an era when the descendants of slaves are well
paid in the employ of both consuming and perpetuating
big house fantasies. An era where living on the edge
seems totally nonsensical, totally unnecessary to those
reared on television and cyberspace, corrupted by
creature comforts as seemingly innocuous as fast food
hamburgers and video games, sports events and
evangelical churches.
The mantle of
conformity fits us so snugly that those of us who choose
naked resistance rather than wear the weave of
exploitation, we appear to be no more relevant than
homeless bag people existing on the fringe of society,
scavenging to survive as we mutter incoherent inanities
about how bad the good life is.
Indeed, the
guardians of good times tell everyone that not only are
we maroons crazy, but worse, because we refuse to join
the parade of collaborators with the status quo, we are
painted as failures who are afraid to grasp the success
that is available to any and all of us who would pledge
allegiance to taking advantage of others.
And where can I run
to now that capitalism is global and the liberated zones
are nearly all paved over and billboarded? If Cuba goes
under where will I be able to stand tall? What other
country would endure the economic whippings administered
to anyone who shelters me? What other nation would (or
could afford to) refuse the bounty the government of my
tormentors offer for my head, my body?
1.4
Though I rose from
the dead once before, I do not believe in miracles. I do
not believe if they entrap me this time that I will be
able to live within the grip of their murderous
clutches.
My strong instinct
for survival, so strong at times that I have done what
the normal person can not even imagine, indeed, I have
done what I could not imagine, I have done whatever was
necessary—and you know that necessity is unsentimental
and often very, very ugly, if not sometimes downright
amoral. My strong instinct for survival will not allow
me to be locked down by them and turned into a person
who accepts the status quo, or worse, a person who
insanely (and ineffectively) rages against the dark of
24-7-365 nightmares.
After all is said
and done, I am a human being who loves life, the beauty
of quiet moments, the joy of conversation and sincere
touch, the exhilaration of sweating as I labor, as I
make love, as I exercise. My instinct for survival is no
impulse merely to breathe, my instinct is to live, to
love life freely and to be free to love life, and I will
never accept slavery no matter how comfortable.
* *
* *
2.1
she followed instructions. got out
with her hands up. and then the world exploded. she was
on the ground, bullets in her. and she did not really
know what happened.
a person caught up
in the chaos is the most unreliable witness there is.
perhaps if she had
been the bullet, she might have seen the whole scene
more clearly, or if she were the gun, she would have
known who the targets and who was calling the shots. or
if she had been the finger on the trigger she might have
known the time table, the sequence of events, but she
was only the target, and before she was struck had no
warning that the bullet was coming, after all, as the
medical experts testified at her trial, given her wounds
there was no doubt her hands were up in the gesture of
surrender, she was following instructions.
she was not the
bullet. so at that moment she did not know it had
entered her torso, missed vital organs, and ended up
lodged near her neck, leaving a mess of rented flesh in
its wake, thin streams of thick blood seeping from the
open door of the entry point.
nor did she know
that the first bullet had a companion who followed
closely on its heels like a younger sibling trailing an
idolized big brother.
the impact of the
first slug spun her around like a rapist sadistically
intent on anal penetration.
the second bullet
burrowed into her back.
immediately
afterward, in the distance she could hear noises and
voices. and thankfully so, for although the voices
sounded muffled like that time as a child she had an ear
infection and her mother poured some heated liquid in
her ear and then plugged it with cotton and all day she
kept losing her balance and asking people "what did you
say?" she was thankful because at this moment it was
strangely comforting, reassuring even, to hear the words
"she ain't dead yet" and to know that the "she" who was
alive was her.
2.2
life is full of
choices, most of them are minor, trivial details and
inconsequential chains of events, but kernelled in the
ordinary are those little nodes on which turn one's
whole existence. why would an assata surrender? perhaps
she did not see herself surrendering. perhaps this was
just a momentary hassle, a stop and delay tactic.
perhaps her gesture was meant to be a diversion. who
knows. life is like that. sometimes we ourselves don't
know what we are doing even though the doing will have
profound and far reaching consequences. who knows. how
can anyone know the future?
2.3
the discovery of
the future is always an evaluation of the past. we only
learn what the future means once it is over, once we
have experienced it, once it has become history. and by
then it is too late to change anything. we can never
fully know anything, least of all exactly what we did
and why. our ability to sense reality is too limited to
take in everything. we can only ever grasp a small part
of the totality of our existence. the trooper with the
gun drawn, barking orders, at that moment what was
assata thinking?
2.4
have you ever faced
a gun beaded on you, an enemy hollering at you? do you
know what you would do if you were shot and on the
ground, or in the hospital chained to a gurney, or even
in a courtroom and lie after lie after lie after lie was
going on record against you, and the judge threatens to
throw you out of the courtroom if you don't be quiet,
and every fiber of your being is quivering with the urge
to resist, even though enchained, even though guards are
over you, and what do you do?
assata was removed
from the courtroom and her comrade too. they were
shunted into a side room while the trial proceeded and
during that isolation they made love.
your enemies are
kangarooing you to an almost certain death sentence or
at least life imprisonment and you make the decision. to
make love. think about choosing love as an act of
resistance at that moment. then think about the bravery
to make love.
you are a prisoner.
on trial. armed agents are standing just outside the
door. most of us would never even have thought of making
love. and very few, very, very few of us would have had
the bravery to bare our nakedness knowing that at any
moment the guards could have busted us in the middle of
getting it on.
oh, the adrenaline
rush, to steal the sweetness of sex under such
conditions. now if there was ever a definition of
revolutionary fucking, that was it.
2.5
but every act has
its consequence. every movement carries us somewhere
else then where we were when we started. and sometimes
we think we are ready to travel, but we really don't
have a clue as to the magnitude of the trip we
blissfully, or blithely, or unknowingly started on.
did
assata know that she would become pregnant?
how many times did they do it in
the dock?
and now it is
decades later and kakuya, a girlchild, has grown up
without the emotional anchor of a father's familiar
words, without the rudder of a mother's daily teachings.
a daughter has been reared by extended family. did
assata reckon on that? of course not. sometimes we throw
our rage at the state without a thought of where we will
be thirty years later, who we will become, how our
actions will affect those not yet born.
* *
* *
3.1
I am a warrior and
I tell you I hate war. There have been so many times
when I have had to go one on one with despair, and it
was not always a given that I would win. Sometimes I
battle day after day, other times, rare times, I have
whole weeks, occasionally a month or two, when I am good
to go, well, at least I am ok with being on the
periphery of normalcy. My daily diet is the stress of
uncertainty.
I know life back in
the world is different from when I went underground. I
know my people seem freer and hence less
consciousness—the intoxication of options, the addiction
of material acquisitions, the disorientation of
commodification. People even come to Cuba for a
vacation. A photograph with me becomes a trophy. It is
hard not to be bitter.
3.2
The struggle has
become so convoluted, so complex. I can understand the
seduction of comfort corruption . . . even these words seem
like so much political rhetoric.
When I was locked
down, I kept myself defiantly alive, poised to escape.
Now that I have escaped, I find that I am still in
captivity, a qualitatively different captivity, a
captivity where my range of motion is, of course, much,
much wider, my ability to speak out significantly
broader, and certainly my opportunities to love life
infinitely greater, but I can not fool myself . . . as long
as those who measure life by counting possessions and
grading bottom lines are in charge of most of the earth,
I remain either in captivity or on the run, never
surrendering, constantly resisting, measuring how alive
I am by how long, how well I am able to fight until
death. What a hard way to live… but this is my life. My.
Life.
* *
* *
4.1
the embargo is
real. some times sanitary items are non-existent. there
is nothing romantic about resistance. nothing romantic
about the grind of constant vigilance, ceaseless
struggle. romance is idealism. resistance is realism.
if you read about
the struggle many years after, when victories are
celebrated in textbooks, when most of the ugliness is
erased, when the human costs are barely reckoned or
recognized, if you only read about struggle then you can
think of its beauty. but the runaway often literally
stinks; they do not have the daily luxury of bubble
baths or clean fluffy towels after a long, hot shower.
the vegetarianism of a subsistence diet of beans and
rice, or beans and tortillas is not a trendy choice.
very few relationships last a life time in the field, or
perhaps, that is the more brutal truth, such
relationships only last the shortness of life in the
field—life on the run is seldom very, very long and
elderly runaways are rare.
people
nostalgically talk about the good old days when the
political struggle was on fire in the united states, but
how many people are rushing to cuba to volunteer to live
in exile with assata? we all like to dream, to fantasize
about being heroes and to romanticize those individuals
whom we consider our heroes. but, oh, the reality of
being a runaway is a state embraced by only a very
strong few, only a few, very, very few… while the rest
of us rationalize about choosing to remain cocooned in
the materialism of our relatively comfortable captivity.
Source:
WordUp
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Assata: An Autobiography
By Assata Shakur
This black activist's
memoir is like a freeze frame of the late 1960s and early 1970s.
Though the polemical rhetoric is dated, the book is an otherwise
compelling tale of the impact of white racism on a sensitive and
powerful young black woman. Born Joanne Chesimard, she took an
African name to confirm her commitment to black liberation,
joined militant organizations, and was ultimately convicted of
the murder of a New Jersey highway patrol officer in 1977. Her
descriptions of life in prison and the vagaries of the court
system are especially wrenching. Living now in Cuba as an
escaped felon, she continues her utopian plea for revolution.
Recommended for large libraries and specialists.—Anthony O. Edmonds, Ball State Univ., Muncie, Ind.,
Library Journal |
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Assata Olugbala Shakur ["Assata
Olugbala Shakur" means "she who struggles—love for the people—the thankful
one" in
Arabic] (born July 16, 1947 as JoAnne Deborah Byron),
married name Chesimard is an
African-American activist and escaped convict who was a member of the
Black Panther Party (BPP) and
Black Liberation Army (BLA). Between 1971 and 1973, Shakur was accused
of several crimes, of which she would never be charged, and made the subject
of a multi-state manhunt.
In May 1973, Shakur was involved in a
shootout on the
New Jersey Turnpike, during which New Jersey State Trooper Werner
Foerster and BLA member Zayd Malik Shakur were killed and Shakur and Trooper
James Harper were wounded. Between 1973 and 1977, Shakur was indicted in
relation to six other alleged criminal incidents—charged with murder,
attempted murder, armed robbery, bank robbery, and kidnapping—resulting in
three acquittals and three dismissals. In 1977, she was convicted of the
first-degree murder of Foerster and of seven other felonies related to
the shootout.
Shakur was then incarcerated in several
prisons, where her treatment drew criticism from some human rights groups.
She escaped from prison in 1979 and has been living in
Cuba in
political asylum since 1984. Since May 2, 2005, the
Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) has classified her as a "domestic
terrorist" and offered a $1 million reward for assistance in her
capture. Attempts to
extradite her have resulted in letters to the
Pope and a
Congressional resolution. Shakur is the step-aunt of the deceased hip
hop artist
Tupac Shakur (the sister of his stepfather,
Mutulu Shakur). Her life has been portrayed in literature, film, and
song.
Shakur was born in
Jamaica, Queens, New York City on July 16, 1947, where she lived for
three years with her parents and grandparents, Lula and Frank Hill. After
her parents divorced in 1950, she spent most of her childhood in
Wilmington, North Carolina with her grandmother until her family
relocated to Queens when she was a teenager. For a time, she ran away from
home and lived with strangers until she was taken in by her aunt, Evelyn
Williams, later her lawyer. She dropped out of high school, but later—with
her aunt's help—earned a
general equivalency diploma (GED). She attended
Borough of Manhattan Community College and then the
City College of New York (CCNY) in the mid 1960s, where she was involved
in many political activities, protests, and sit-ins.
Shakur was arrested for the first time
in 1967 (along with 100 other Manhattan Community College students) on
charges of
trespassing, after the students chained and locked the entrance to a
college building, protesting a curriculum deficient in
Black Studies and a lack of black faculty. She married Louis Chesimard,
a fellow student-activist at CCNY, in April 1967 and divorced him in
December 1970. Shakur devotes only one paragraph of her autobiography to her
marriage, attributing its termination to disagreements related to
gender roles.
After graduation from CCNY at the age
of 23, Shakur became involved in the Black Panther Party (BPP), eventually
becoming a leading member of the
Harlem branch. Prior to joining the BPP, Shakur had met several of its
members on a 1970 trip to
Oakland, California. One of Shakur's main activities with the Panthers
was coordinating a school breakfast program; however, she soon left the
Party complaining about the macho behavior of male members of these
organizations, but did not go as far as other female Panthers like Regina
Jennings who left the organization over sexual harassment. Instead, Shakur's
main criticism of the Black Panther Party was its alleged lack of focus on
black history:
|
The basic problem stemmed from the fact that
the BPP had no systematic approach to political education. They
were reading the
Red Book but didn't know who
Harriet Tubman,
Marcus Garvey, and
Nat Turner were. They talked about intercommunalism but
still really believed that the
Civil War was fought to free the slaves. A whole lot of them
barely understood any kind of history, Black, African or
otherwise. [...] That was the main reason many Party members, in
my opinion, underestimated the need to unite with other Black
organizations and to struggle around various community issues. |
That same year she changed her name to
Assata Shakur and joined the Black Liberation Army (BLA), “a
politico-military organization, whose primary objective (was) to fight for
the independence and self-determination of Afrikan people in the United
States.” In 1971, Shakur joined the
Republic of New Afrika, an organization formed to create an independent
black majority nation composed of
South Carolina,
Georgia,
Alabama,
Mississippi and
Louisiana. . . .
On November 2, 1979 she escaped the
Clinton Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey, when three
members of the Black Liberation Army visiting her drew concealed .45-caliber
pistols, seized two guards as hostages and commandeered a prison van. The
van escaped through an unfenced section of the prison into the parking lot
of a state school for the handicapped, 1.5 miles (2 km) away, where a
blue-and-white Lincoln and a blue
Mercury Comet were waiting. No one, including the guards-turned-hostages
left in the parking lot, was injured during the prison break. Her brother,
Mutulu Shakur,
Silvia Baraldini, former Panther Sekou Odinga, and
Marilyn Buck were charged with assisting in her escape; Ronald Boyd Hill
was also held on charges related to the escape. In part for his role in the
event, Mutulu was named on July 23, 1982 as the
380th addition to the FBI's Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list, where he
remained for the next four years until his capture in 1986. State correction
officials disclosed in November 1979 that they had not run
identity checks on Shakur's visitors and that the three men and one
woman who assisted in her escape had presented false identification to enter
the prison's visitor room, before which they were not searched. Mutulu
Shakur and
Marilyn Buck were later convicted in 1998 of several robberies as well
as the prison escape. . . .
Shakur fled to
Cuba by 1984; in that year she was granted
political asylum in that country. The Cuban government pays
approximately $13 a day toward her living expenses. In 1985 she was reunited
with her daughter, Kakuya, who had previously been raised by Shakur's mother
in New York. She published
Assata: An Autobiography which was written in Cuba, in 1987.
Her autobiography has been cited in relation to
critical legal studies and
critical race theory. The book does not give a detailed account of the
events on the New Jersey Turnpike, except saying that the jury "Convicted a
woman with her hands up!" The book was published by Lawrence Hill & Company
in the United States and Canada but the
copyright is held by Zed Books Ltd. of London due to so-called
Son of Sam laws, which restrict who can receive profits from a book. In
the six months prior to the publications of the book, Evelyn Williams,
Shakur's aunt and attorney, made several trips to Cuba and served as a
go-between with Hill. Shakur's autobiography is one of only two by a female
Black Panther, along with
Elaine Brown's
A Taste of Power.
In 1993, she published a second book,
Still Black Still Strong, with
Dhoruba bin Wahad and
Mumia Abu-Jamal. Shakur's writings have been widely circulated on the
Internet. For example, the largely Internet-based "Hands Off Assata!"
campaign is coordinated by Chicago-area Black Radical Congress activists. As
early as 1998, Shakur has referred to herself as a "20th
century escaped slave." In the same
open letter, Shakur calls Cuba "One of the Largest, Most Resistant and
Most Courageous
Palenques (Maroon
Camps) that has ever existed on the Face of this Planet." Shakur is also
known to have worked as an English-language editor for
Radio Havana Cuba.—Wikipedia
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Eyes of the Rainbow
Like most poor people in
the United States, I have no voice. The Black press and the
progressive media, as well as Black civil rights organizations,
have historically played an essential role in the struggle for
social justice. We should continue and expand that tradition. We
should create media outlets that help to educate our people and
our children, and not annihilate their minds. I am only one
woman. I own no TV stations or radio stations or newspapers. But
I believe that people need to be educated as to what is going on
and to understand the connection between the news media and the
instruments of repression in America. All I have are my voice,
my spirit and the will to tell the truth. But I sincerely ask
those of you in the Black media, those of you in the progressive
media and those of you who believe in truth and freedom to
publish my story.—Assata Shakur
A song for Assata /
Common—A Song for Assata Shakur /
Eyes of the
Rainbow: Assata Shakur Documentary |
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References
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Video: "South Side Story"
—Ta-Nehisi
Coates author of
The Beautiful Struggle: A Father, Two Sons, and an Unlikely Road to
Manhood
discusses Michelle Obama with Paul Coates an outspoken publisher
and former Black Panther—his father.
“American Girl" (Ta Nehesi Coates)
When Michelle Obama told a
Milwaukee campaign rally last February, "For the first time in
my adult life, I am proud of my country," critics derided her as
another Angry Black Woman. But the only truly radical
proposition put forth by Obama, born and raised in Chicago's
storied South Side, is the idea of a black community fully
vested in the country at large, and proud of the American dream. * * *
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Ella
Baker and the Black Freedom Movement
A Radical
Democratic Vision
By Barbara Ransby
One of
the most important African American leaders
of the twentieth century and perhaps the
most influential woman in the civil rights
movement, Ella Baker (1903-1986) was an
activist whose remarkable career spanned
fifty years and touched thousands of lives.
A gifted grassroots organizer, Baker shunned
the spotlight in favor of vital
behind-the-scenes work that helped power the
black freedom struggle. She was a national
officer and key figure in the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored
People, one of the founders of the Southern
Christian Leadership Conference, and a prime
mover in the creation of the Student
Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. |
|
Baker made a place for herself in
predominantly male political circles that included W. E.
B. Du Bois, Thurgood Marshall, and Martin Luther King
Jr., all the while maintaining relationships with a
vibrant group of women, students, and activists both
black and white.
In this deeply researched
biography, Barbara Ransby chronicles Baker's
long and rich political career as an
organizer, an intellectual, and a teacher,
from her early experiences in depression-era
Harlem to the civil rights movement of the
1950s and 1960s. Ransby shows Baker to be a
complex figure whose radical, democratic
worldview, commitment to empowering the
black poor, and emphasis on group-centered,
grassroots leadership set her apart from
most of her political contemporaries. Beyond
documenting an extraordinary life, the book
paints a vivid picture of the African
American fight for justice and its
intersections with other progressive
struggles worldwide across the twentieth
century.
UNC Press
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Who Was Ella Baker—Ella Baker
began her involvement with the NAACP in 1940. She worked as a field
secretary and then served as director of branches from 1943 until 1946.
Inspired by the historic bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955, Baker
co-founded the organization In Friendship to raise money to fight against
Jim Crow Laws in the deep South. In 1957, Baker moved to Atlanta to help
organize Martin Luther King's new organization, the Southern Christian
Leadership Conference (SCLC). She also ran a voter registration campaign
called the Crusade for Citizenship.
 |
On February 1, 1960, a
group of black college students from North Carolina A&T
University refused to leave a Woolworth's lunch counter in
Greensboro, North Carolina where they had been denied service.
Baker left the SCLC after the Greensboro sit-ins. She wanted to
assist the new student activists because she viewed
young, emerging activists as a resource and an asset to the
movement. Miss Baker organized a meeting at Shaw University
for the student leaders of the sit-ins in April 1960. From that
meeting, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)
was born.
Adopting the Gandhian
theory of nonviolent direct action, SNCC members joined with
activists from the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) to
organize in the 1961 Freedom Rides. In 1964 SNCC helped create
Freedom Summer, an effort to focus national attention on
Mississippi's racism and to register black voters. . . . |
With Ella Baker's guidance and
encouragement, SNCC became one of the foremost advocates for human rights in
the country. Ella Baker once said, "This may only be a dream of mine, but I
think it can be made real." Her audacity to
dream big is a cornerstone of our philosophy. Her influence was
reflected in the nickname she acquired: "Fundi," a Swahili word meaning a
person who teaches a craft to the
next generation. Baker continued to be a respected and influential
leader in the fight for human and civil rights until her death on December
13, 1986, her 83rd birthday.—EllaBakerCenter
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Shadowboxing
Representations of Black Feminist Politics
By Joy James
James rejects the
liberalism of conventional black feminism for a radical agenda,
which, in the tradition of black feminists Ella Baker and Ida B.
Wells, targets capitalism and the state as perpetuators of race,
class, and gender oppression. Their legacy of radicalism and
activism is juxtaposed to the black feminist praxis and thought
of Angela Davis, Assata Shakur, and Elaine Brown. This book
successfully demonstrates that black feminism is authentically
rooted in the black community. Especially enlightening is
James's discussion on "distinctions between black men
championing black females as patriarchal protectors and black
men championing feminism to challenge sexism." An
interdisciplinary and well-analyzed representation of radical
black women fighting for rights and visibility. Recommended for
women's studies, African American studies, or political
collections.—Library Journal |
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Let Freedom Ring: A Collection of
Documents
from the Movements to Free U.S.
Political Prisoners
By Adolfo Perez Esquivel and Matt Meyer
Within every society there are people
who, at great personal risk and
sacrifice, stand up and fight for the
most marginalized among us. We call
these people of courage, spirit and
love, our heroes and heroines. This book
is the story of the ones in our midst.
It is the story of the best we are.—Asha
Bandele, poet and author of The
Prisoner's Wife
As a convicted felon, I have been
prevented from visiting many people in
prison today. But none of us should be
stopped from the vital work of prison
abolition and freeing the many who the
U.S. holds for political reasons. Let
Freedom Ring helps make their voices
heard, and presents strategies to help
win their release.—Daniel
Berrigan SJ, former Plowshares political
prisoner and member of the FBI Top Ten
Wanted List.
Contributors include
Mumia Abu-Jamal, Dan Berger,
Dhoruba Bin-Wahad, Bob Lederer,
Terry Bisson, Laura Whitehorn,
Safiya Bukhari,
The San Francisco 8,
Angela Davis, Bo Brown, Bill Dunne,
Jalil Muntaqim, Susie Day,
Luis Nieves Falcon,
Ninotchka Rosca, Meg Starr,
Assata Shakur,
Jill Soffiyah Elijah, Jan Susler,
Chrystos, Jose Lopez,
Leonard Peltier,
Marilyn Buck, and many more. |
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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If you like this page consider making a donation
* * * * *
Negro Digest /
Black World
Browse all issues
1950
1960
1965
1970
1975
1980
1985
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____ 2005
Enjoy!
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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ChickenBones Store
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posted 5 December 2010
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