#prisonstruggle — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #prisonstruggle, aggregated by home.social.
-
Attica was built to break men brutally, particularly Black men. Orisanmi Burton’s book, Tip of The Spear, draws a direct line from the “European trade in enslaved Africans,” to the bowels of D block Yard in Attica, during contemporary times where the cruelty is still ongoing and fresh. Humanhood required a response to this brand of oppression. “ATTICA! ATTICA!” The world came to shout.
Tip of The Spear speaks in the narrative voice of those men in Attica who refused to be vanquished. One of those voices is mine, although echoed from afar in time. The “Long Attica Revolt” sits inside a timeless context of human suffering and revolution. It “speaks to the very essence of this psychological war,” Burton wrote. Tip of The Spear captures this war of ideologies fought on the base level of society, where the bottom is filled with beaten Black flesh, gray ash, and rusty red coagulated blood. Over 40 years after the Attica uprising, Burton wrote my life on the pages of his work with their pain. This book review is my lineage, link and lock to the legacy of resistance! ATTICA! ATTICA!
Attica is a “site of war,” writes Burton. Attica was one of America’s last strongholds for patriarchal pride and white supremacy to operate with complete immunity to the law. After the Jim Crow era, Attica was the criminal justice system end game for Black men who resisted neo-slavery as a substitute for their civil liberties.
The societal structure for Jim Crow didn’t crumble. Instead, it evolved to criminalize being Black and poor. Then came mass incarceration. It began during the 1970s when former President Nixon declared a war on drugs and crime, thus Black people. Christian Parenti’s Lockdown America exposes former President Nixon as a racist when he, “invoked the specter of street crime, political chaos and narcotics abuse––much of which was thinly veiled code for “the race problem.” The political and social climate was akin to the social lynching Hilter launched on the Jewish people during the Holocaust through concentration camps.
Attica as a physical structure was designed to contain a human body in a cage. Each cell was meant to break the man inside those bodies it imprisoned. Finally, the overall desired effect was to breed what was left inside the body into a beast of burden. This process was all the more brutal when the bodies were Black. Burton calls this process of making a man into an object, “thing-a-fication.”
The prison’s organic culture of normalized cruelty against its influx of Black men as a result of Nixon’s war on crime and drug policies, produced prisoners like George L. Jackson. He was a revolutionary and theorist who was murdered in August 1971 by prison guards at San Quentin prison. Burton offers Jackson’s insight as to how Black people were to survive in prison under such conditions. “The Black commune is capable of nurturing a revolutionary culture and alternate modes of collective life.” Burton, George Jackson, and I don’t glorify the violence of the uprising on either side. Rather, we are romanticizing the humanity involved that came with struggling to survive the massacre.
No one heals in a steel cage. Instead you survive, and become further broken inside of it. Or, you harden from building yourself up against the bars. “It’s the other kind of killing, the kind that assails the body but truly targets the personality, spirit,” Burton reports. I agree because I was “one of those boys.” Burton wrote that people never came back the same.
In 1994, I was 16 years old, incarcerated, and sentenced to one to three years for drug possession. While detained on Rikers Island, I mentally and emotionally snapped after being locked in solitary confinement and repeatedly sexually assaulted by the Emergency Service Unit (ESU), while there.
“They herded us in like animals and forced us to lie on top of each other while guards made cruel and racist remarks like ‘Put that dick in him n**ger.’ Prisoners who refused were beaten mercilessly,” reported Black Panther Albert Woodfox. It’s the same way they did it to me. Except we were made to stand up naked and heel to toe.
From Rikers Island, I was shipped to an adult male prison, where I was supposed to be rehabilitated. No such thing happened. Instead, I was further animalized and released back into society, an 18-year-old wounded animal. A year later in 1997, I became a 19-year-old killer and was sentenced to 25 to life. Next stop for me was Attica.
Within the 30-foot-high gray walls of Attica Correctional Facility, brown and orange bricks stand sturdy, stacked and stained with human blood. Inside these draconian cell blocks, close and far-off screams shattered the mandate for silence while you suffer slow. Seeing the photos of Attica in Burton’s book transported me back to the first night I arrived there.
In 1998, the bright white lights of the newly renovated hospital were a fake out for what laid down the hall. The heat came rushing at me from the hallway and yelled! “WELCOME TO HELL ASSHOLE!” Upon stepping out the hospital corridor, any hope I had of leaving Attica alive evaded me.
The ideology of Attica has always been one of human torture. White guards habitually raped, murdered and brutalized Black flesh to emphasize terror and maintain control directly over the prison population. Burton elaborates that, “The White man’s ongoing effort to maintain racial and gender dominance helps explain why the political repression of Black men often takes explicitly sexualized forms.” Tip of The Spear collapses how we think about time, space, and the sequence of events that connect them. Instead it offers a narrative of a timeless suffering and struggle that roars in a single voice of resistance against an on going oppression. ATTICA! ATTICA!
One of those voices was mine. After numerous racist and sexual remarks about my anatomy during strip frisks, I rebelled.
“HEY FUCK FACE. ON THE NOISE OR ELSE I’M GOING TO TAKE ARTHUR’S DICK AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR THROAT,” yelled a guard to another prisoner being strip-frisked in the booth next to me.
Another time a different guard said to me during a strip frisk. “Arthur not for nothing, but if another Attica happens, just don’t fuck me up the ass with that n**ger stick huh.” Then he spit some tobacco off to the side and threw my underwear at me.
That’s where I drew the line. There would be no next time. I decided to wage my own personal war for dignity and respect. “They will never count me among the broken men,” George Jackson wrote. I would fall into the ranks of my revolutionary forefather and resist the strip frisk.
In November of 2002, I refused to be strip frisked after a visit with two women friends of mine. I said “No!” when I was ordered to remove my clothing in the small secluded booth. This activated the actors of the carceral state to beat me up, forcibly rip the clothing from my body, and probe my body cavities for contraband. No contraband was ever found. Yet, I laid there beneath the soles of their steel toe boots, a Black massive heap of hurting flesh. I recovered my pride as a man, because I took a stand.
“I became a man in Attica.” Despite its horrific history, “it’s where I grew up.” In 2015, that’s what I told journalist Alexander Nazaryan from Newsweek about my 13 years at Attica. It’s where I refused to be any longer what Burton refers to as “one of those boys that something happened too.” ATTICA! ATTICA!
In 2010, I left Attica hard as the rock I carried in my soul (see below), and wounded. Upon entering Coxsackie Correctional Facility, I found that the tension of Attica had tapered off somewhat. Things looked different, but inwardly felt the same. Despite the “Programming Pacification,” Burton explains, the atrocities didn’t stop. The oppression just changed appearance to the same effect. “The war was not over. . . it had only transformed in sophisticated ways,” Burton wrote.
Burton has convincingly proven that what happened at Attica in 1971 and the events leading up to its eruption wasn’t just a shameful episode in time. “State actors waged an imperialist war, a war of capture and conquest that had the production of slaves as its unspoken object,” Burton wrote about the premise of systematically putting Black men in prison. Attica also represents a deeply encoded strand of resistance within our DNA to oppression. I encourage everyone intent on taking a stand for what Burton calls “humanhood” to read this book.
Oppression and revolution go hand and hand. Burton’s work gives us a deeper and more profound look at, not just what happened at Attica, but also why Nelson Rockefeller, the Governor during the Attica uprising, described the state’s massacre of Black men in prison as a “really beautiful operation.” Eventually, if left unchecked the white patriarch imperialist will come to operate on you and your loved ones next. “Everybody is a n**ger,” if you’re not aligned with the white man, explained one survivor of Attica.
“Revolution must be a love inspired act.” That’s how George Jackson put it. That’s how it went down in the Attica uprising. Today I’m evolving the resistance, by the wisdom of Black lesbian feminist Audre Lorde. “You can’t use the master tools to tear down the master’s house.” Lorde also theorized “Black life as warfare,” writes Burton, who continues to make a brilliant use of Lorde’s “The Erotic” as proof that George Jackson’s theory of Black communal life laced with love is a reality.
Those men survived the Attica massacre because they practiced feminism, mutual aid, social care, and brotherly love. Albeit unconsciously, Burton’s interview with an Attica uprising survivor reports that “he witnessed someone spontaneously break into tears because he could not remember ever being so close to other people.” Decades later when I was in Attica I felt the same with my brothers in arms. Little did those brothers back then in the uprising, or I decades later would know, but we were being forged by feminism.
In 2020, the finer points of George Jackson’s and Aurde Lorde’s words would find me and force me to finesse my resistance with feminism. That same year Covid clapped the world. I led my prison community at Fishkill Correctional Facility as their Inmate Liaison Chairman through the pandemic while still resisting the carceral state without a single violent act. I employed love universally across the board to every human being on the compound. This is what Burton calls, “Humanhood.” This is how we all survived the COVID-19 crisis.
It’s also how I further resisted the state by beginning a movement with an art exhibit called “She Told Me To Save The Flower.” It’s my plea to use feminism as a way to heal in the carceral state as opposed to brutal cruelty. The global community heard my call and clicked up to crash the carceral state.
The Long Attica Revolt still resides with us today, although it has significantly evolved. New “technologies are also facilitating new forms of surveillance and control,” Burton asserts, and I agree. This book review has been censored by this same technology––JPay. Since you are reading this, we have successfully resisted the carceral state once again. Unfortunately, it’s not enough. The Tip of The Spear still needs sharpening by our strongest hearts and most brilliant minds. For every cry of oppression, there will always be someone resisting and shouting. . . ATTICA! ATTICA!
Corey Devon Arthur is an incarcerated writer and artist who is part of the Empowerment Avenue Collective, with his work published in venues including, The Marshall Project, Writing Class Radio, The Drift, and Apogee. He exhibited his art at 2 galleries in Brooklyn, New York in early 2023. You can check out more of his work at dinartexpression on Instagram, and on Medium.
From: Study and Struggle
https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/post/2024/08/30/corey-devon-arthur-always-attica/
#attica #feminism #georgeJackson #northAmerica #prisonStruggle
-
Black August study, fast, train, fight: Nurturing Militancy and Preparing for the Day of Action.
Black August holds a profound significance for abolitionist prisoners, as it serves as a time to honor the resistance of our fallen comrades and reflect on the ongoing struggle against the carceral system. During this month, we not only deepen our political education but also prepare ourselves militantly, inspired by the spirit of George L. Jackson, for a day when conditions may require militant actions. As members of Jailhouse Lawyers Speak [the more militant segment of our membership], we understand the importance of utilizing Black August as a catalyst for growth, education, and collective preparation.
Within the confines of U.S.A prison system, nurturing militancy becomes a pivotal aspect of our resistance. Black August provides a space for abolitionist prisoners to foster a mindset of militant preparedness, drawing inspiration from past resistance campaigns. We recognize that the struggle against the carceral system may demand actions beyond peaceful advocacy. Therefore, during this month, we engage in rigorous physical and mental training, fortifying ourselves for a day when conditions may necessitate militant resistance.
Through physical fitness routines, martial arts training, and mental conditioning, we prepare ourselves to confront the oppressive forces that seek to silence our voices. Embracing the spirit of George L. Jackson, we study his writings, such as “Soledad Brother” and “Blood in my Eyes” which not only provide us with insights into the prison-industrial slave complex but also pushes us to challenge the status quo through bold and militant actions. We understand that true liberation may require us to transcend the limitations imposed upon us and be ready to seize opportunities for radical change.
Black August serves as a potent reminder that our struggle extends beyond the confines of prison walls. It is an opportunity for abolitionist organizers to recognize the need for militant preparation and to stand in solidarity with individuals who are actively engaging in this process.
During this month, we actively seek to build bridges of solidarity and create networks that transcend the razor wires. By connecting with organizations and individuals outside the prison walls, we amplify our collective voices and join the global struggle against the carceral system.
We encourage organizers to continue centering the experiences and lessons from people like George L. Jackson. Organizers can help build a movement that understands the importance of militant preparedness as a means to challenge oppressive structures and pave the way for transformative change.
Long Live The Spirit of George L. Jackson…
Big Sike,
Jailhouse Lawyers Speak
** Big Sike is a JLS member currently confined is FBOP
#abolitionist #BlackAugust #georgeJackson #JailhouseLawyersSpeak #militancy #northAmerica #prisonStruggle
-
This is second Black August words for Sun…
The significance and important part of Black August is that those who have joined in, with what it’s commemorations are inspired by, and identify with the deep sense of commitment and sacrifices made by this specific group of brothers, (Black men) who had grown up out of the degradations of California’s racist prison system and proclaimed their humanity in extraordinary form; to the extent that they declared and took their freedom or death in furtherance of Black people’s historical struggle plus the attempted liberation of themselves and other comrades/prisoners to further the political demands being made on Amerika by Blacks across the country and inside its prison walls. Thing is, this sort of thing builds pride in our history as a people, commemorations, builds traditions which builds cultural (group) identification and awareness of common destinies. All of our COMMON DESTINIES…
We celebrate these brothers and others of our peoples who have likewise sacrificed lives and brought progress which made this month of August worthy of standards to be emulated.
TAKE A STANCE, MAKE A DIFFERENCE MEASURED BY YOUR OWN STANDARDS ACCORDING TO THE TIMES OF TODAY. WE HAVE NO TIME NOR BROTHERS AND SISTERS TO WASTE… OUR STRUGGLES CONTINUE…
The following incidents are part of the origins of Black August’s commemorations:
On August 7th, 1971 young 16 year old Jonathan Jackson stepped into one of America’s court rooms, short trench coat with guns of liberation hidden; as he approached his position he announced “all right gentlemen I’m taking over now” and took control of the court with intent to liberate prisoners of San Quentin there going to trial. They eventually took hostages of judge and jury to further demand that other San Quentin prisoners (freedom fighters) be released including Jonathan’s brother George Jackson. Jonathon died that day August 7th, under a hail of bullets (from San Quentin’s guards and other law agencies) along with other freedom fighters; William Christmas, James McClain; one survived, Ruchell Magee, [who was eventually paroled and died]; of the hostages, the judge died; a district attorney and three female jurors survived their wounds, and the highest tribute to events of that day was given by George Jackson, Jonathon’s brother in his published book “Soledad Brothers” last pages of his letter to Joan, quoted as follows
Dear Joan
WE reckon all time in the future from the day of the man child’s death.
Man-Child, Blackman Child with submachine gun in hand, he was free for a while, I guess that is more than most of us can expect. I want people to wonder at what forces created him, terrible, vindictive, cold, calm man-child, courage in one hand, the machine gun in the other, scourge of the unrighteous “an ox for the people to ride”!
Go over all the letters I’ve sent you, any reference to Georgia (their mother) being less than a perfect revolutionary’s mama must be removed. Do it now! I want no possibility of anymore misunderstanding her as i did. She didn’t cry a tear. She is, as I am, very proud. She read two things into his rage, love and loyalty…
I cant go any further, it would just be a love story about the baddest brother this world has had the privilege to meet, and it’s just not popular or safe to say I love him. Cold and Calm, “all right gentleman, I’m takin over now” Revolution…!
(note that last sentence was George quoting Jonathan’s statement to the court on August 7th.)
On August 21st, 1971 Jonathon’s brother comrade George Jackson; having a righteous love for the People and perfect hate for the enemies of the People chose August 21st’s confrontation with the guards of San Quentin’s adjustment center to exact retribution plus to fulfill his destiny of liberation/freedom or death.
The exact unfolding of events on that day is not public knowledge : what is known is after an attempted search of George returning from a visit, an unidentifiable gun emerged, source unknown but the gun became the object of confrontation between the guards and George, who gained its possession, subdued the guards then demanded that the doors of prisoners locked in the adjustment center be opened. The aftermath of that was that two avowed white racist prisoners were killed along with three guards; before George was gunned down by San Quentin’s gun tower guards as he and Larry Spain made their way out of the adjustment center towards the North double walls of San Quentin (an unlikely route for escape attempt as the prevailing claims has it). Larry Spain was also out on the path and captured. He later won freedom and release from prison.
Black August resistance and commemoration encompasses much more as other contributions will be put forward.
CANT STOP – WONT STOP
DOC
** Doc at the time of this communication in late July 2024 was housed at FBOP USP Hazelton.
Commemorating Our New Afrikan Revolutionaries:
The FLEA Days in Black August is important as we recognize and commemorate the revolutionaries who have made the ultimate sacrifice in the liberation struggle. Within the framework of Black August, there are four significant days known as FLEA days in Weusi Agosti: the 1st, 7th, 13th, and 21st. These days hold special significance as we honor our fallen.
On the first FLEA day, August 1st, 1978, we remember the assassination and medical neglect of Khatari Gaulden. His untimely death serves as a stark reminder of the injustices faced by revolutionaries and the price they pay for their unwavering commitment.
The second FLEA day, August 7th, commemorates the Marin Court Rebellion of 1970. It is a day to reflect on the lives lost, including Jonathan Jackson, James McClain, and William Christmas. Their courageous actions during the rebellion exemplify the spirit of resistance and the lengths individuals will go to challenge oppressive systems.
Moving to the third FLEA day, August 13th, we honor the memory of W.L. Nolen, Alvin Miller, and Cleveland Edwards. These individuals were assassinated by prison guards on January 13, 1970. Their lives serve as a testament to the brutal repression faced by those who dare to fight back against white supremacy and speak truth to power.
Lastly, on the fourth FLEA day, August 21st, we pay tribute to George Jackson, who was assassinated by prison guards in 1971. His unwavering dedication to the cause of liberation and his powerful writings continue to inspire generations of activists.
These FLEA days hold immense significance within the Black August observance. They remind us of the sacrifices made by our revolutionaries and serve as a call to action to continue their legacy. As we participate in Black August, we honor their memory and reaffirm our commitment to the struggle for justice, equality, and liberation.
In conclusion, the FLEA days in Weusi Agosti are an integral part of the Black August. They provide us with opportunities to reflect, commemorate, and draw inspiration from the lives of our fallen comrades. As we engage in the fasting, abstinence, educational pursuits, and symbolic gestures of Black August, let us also remember and honor our fallen during Black August Memorial- BAM. Through our collective efforts, we strive to build a world that recognizes and upholds the ideals for which they fought and sacrificed.
New Afrikan Political Prisoner,
Sundiata Jawanza
Black August mutual aid goes 100% directly towards people inside that need commissary, law books and phone time. This mutual aid will be distributed through the Jailhouse Lawyers Speak national network.
https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/post/2024/08/03/jailhouse-lawyers-speak-salute-black-august/
#BlackAugust #blackLiberation #georgeJackson #JailhouseLawyersSpeak #northAmerica #prisonStruggle
-
Ruchell Cinque Magee Released From Prison After 67 Years of Being Caged
#RuchellCinqueMagee #RuchellMagee #PrisonStruggle #MarinCountyCourthouse #GeorgeJackson