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When Niki Adams, Legal Action for Women London, and I visited Mumia
Abu-Jamal in prison a couple of months ago, we knew him only by
reputation: an ex-Black Panther who had remained a movement fighter
despite being made a political prisoner in 1981 and being on death row
since 1983. We couldn't treat it as a personal visit by bringing him any
material gifts: food treats, books, videos, photographs, after-shave
lotion - we weren't allowed to bring him anything. A small but
infuriating restriction.
There was a glass barrier between us and him, but it couldn't hide a
handsome and together person with a big smile. It was clear even before we
talked that he had kept himself together. And we did talk, with never a
lapse for want of something to say. The three hours we had was much too
short. Besides, they give you notice about a half before the visit is up,
and you fight the desperation of your impending departure, trying to keep
it visit time rather than wasting thirty minutes in a long goodbye.
Mumia is full of energy. I just can't imagine how he has managed this.
First the physical factors. The food is bad, and gets less all the time.
After all, these private prisons have to produce a profit. He's had some
health problems but has used mainly alternative herbs, etc., rather than
allowing the state to impose their medicine and drugs on his person.
He is allowed two hours a day out of his cell and into a small area where
he can exercise and move. The problem is, he has made himself a
'jailhouse lawyer'. That is, he is one of those inside who study how the
law actually works. Other prisoners have only these two hours with him to
get his help on their cases. He tried to do both, and has managed to stay
fit despite 22 hours in a cell and two hours for what is in essence a
legal clinic. If refusing to be defeated by persecution is his full-time
job, this is his second.
He seemed up to date politically, both about what's in the news and what's
happening behind the news. How has he done that? Allowed seven books at a
time, he has an ordered archive of excerpts from publications that have
passed through his cell. He remains a working but unwaged journalist for
the movement - one of the few - recording weekly Dispatches From Death
Row, radio commentaries, with Noelle Hanrahan, for Prison Radio, which
goes out on 100 stations, as well as writing for other publications. This
is his third 'career'. (We loved his support statement to the Strike in
2004, and want more this year!) The other woman in his political life is
Pam Africa from MOVE, who, rain or shine, in or out of political fashion,
remains dedicated to justice for Mumia. We were struck with the way he
lets you know about injustices he suffers. Matter of fact, even angry, but
not wasting too much energy or emotion on what is not immediately fixable
and can distract you from getting on with living your life. For example,
we asked him about his family and visiting, and learnt that there are real
problems. First, of course, he's a Philadelphian imprisoned five hours
from his home, in the middle of nowhere. There's a grandchild he's never
held. We're hoping Legal Action for Women in the US can be useful on
problems with visits. (Mumia also hates to talk about health problems. The
homeopath from the Global Women's Strike has been working with others to
deal with these.)
He was eager to know what we thought about things he'd written about women
in the Panthers, and listened when we were somewhat critical. The man is
open to what others think. I don't know how he manages that openness
considering that those of us outside who have far more opportunities to
exchange ideas and impressions are likely to be far more fixed, far less
flexible. He knew of and thought highly of the writings of CLR James (my
late husband) and he commented that he agreed entirely with Nello's
rejection of the left assuming it's a vanguard.
When we finally left at the very last possible minute, we were so sorry to
go. There was much more to say, much more to learn about him, about those
of us who are imprisoned in the belly of the monster. We made plans to
work together so we can better incorporate the working class inside into
all we say and do. After all, more and more of us are in one jail or
another, from Iraq to Pennsylvania. To demand that Mumia finally have a
chance to tell his as yet untold story at a new trial is one with
demanding justice everywhere and anywhere.
© Selma James |
