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Media, Revolution, and the Black Panther Party --An interview with Kiilu Nyasha

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I initiated a correspondence with George Jackson in early 1971, and months later, got a one-hour visit in the holding cell of San Quentin. I’ve met no one before or since more dedicated to revolutionary change....George was one of the three “Soledad Brothers,” whose story began on January 13, 1970 when a tower guard at Soledad State Prison shot and killed three Black captives on the yard, leaving them unattended to bleed to death.

Reviewing Mumia Abu-Jamal's new book on Jailhouse Lawyers

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Media, Revolution, and the Legacy of the Black Panther Party

--An interview with Kiilu Nyasha

 

By Hans Bennett

BlackCommentator.com, April 2, 2009

 

Kiilu Nyasha is a San Francisco-based journalist and former member of the Black Panther Party (BPP). Kiilu hosts a weekly TV program, "Freedom Is A Constant Struggle," on SF Live (Comcast 76 and AT&T 99), which can be viewed live at www.accessf.org every Friday at 7:30 pm (PST), and rebroadcast Saturdays at 3:30 p.m., and Mondays, 6:30 p.m.. She writes for several publications, including the SF Bay View Newspaper and BlackCommentator.com. Also an accomplished radio programmer, she has worked for KPFA (Berkeley), SF Liberation Radio, Free Radio Berkeley, and KPOO in SF.  Some of her work is archived at www.kpfa.org. and www.myspace.com/official_kiilu

 

This is an edited interview, featuring excerpts from Nyasha’s article: “Ruchell Cinque Magee and the August 7th Courthouse Slave Rebellion.”

 

Hans Bennett:            How did you join the BPP?

 

Kiilu Nyasha:             I started running into Panthers when I worked for President Johnson's so-called “War on Poverty,” at The Community Action Institute (CAI) in New Haven, CT. We were supposed to organize the community, and of course they didn't really mean it; but I was politically naive.  So I took them literally at their word and plunged into organizing, going to various community meetings.

 

A young Panther named Belva, just a teenager and known as "sisterlove," was sent to New Haven from Oakland to organize a free breakfast program.   A town hall meeting was organized to decide whether or not they could institute the breakfast program. I was employed at the teen center where they wanted to house the breakfast program.  I wound up being the Breakfast Program Coordinator after being eliminated by CPI when they closed the auxiliary Community Action Institute, absorbing those they wanted to stay into the main body, CPI.   Later on, I was recruited from the Chapter to work as office manager and secretary to the attorneys for Lonnie McLucas, Ericka Huggins and Bobby Seale, including the late Charles Garry, Esq.

 

When I found myself jobless, I applied for welfare because having worked for Yale and the government, I didn't qualify for unemployment insurance. I had a 9 year-old son and rent for my apartment was $80/month, but they would only give me $25 a week. What was I supposed to do with that?  So I joined the second chapter of the BPP in late 1969, created after the first chapter got locked up for murder charges, along with the Chairman, Bobby Seale -- basically recruited to organize around the Panther trials by Robert Webb [martyred] and Doug Miranda. At this time, I was still “Pat Gallyot”, because I changed my name later in the 1970’s.

 

 

HB:     Tell us about the BPP.

 

KN:     The BPP was initiated by Huey Newton and Bobby Seale, who were students at Merritt College in Oakland. They saw the needs of their community and began to address them with the Ten-Point Platform and community programs. They confronted police brutality by following the police around with law books and guns, because at the time, it was legal to carry arms openly. They witnessed arrests to make sure the police didn't go into their brutality mode. Eventually, there was a shoot-out between the police and the BPP when Huey's car was stopped, and an officer was shot and killed in self-defense. Huey himself was shot in the abdomen and the picture of him handcuffed in the hospital went around the world.  

 

An incredible movement swept this country like wild-fire, because police abuses were a national epidemic. The BPP developed a 10-point platform demanding self-determination for our Black community, including land, bread, housing, clothing, education, justice and peace. We started free medical clinics, and in New Haven, the clinic was staffed by doctors and nurses from Yale. In Oakland, Dr. Tolbert Small initiated the sickle cell anemia awakening with education and free tests.

 

We propagated revolution and formed the original “rainbow coalition.” We worked with many groups, including the Young Lords, the Young Patriot Party from Appalachia, the Peace and Freedom Party, SDS, the Red Guard, the Brown Berets, I Wor Kuen, and the American Indian Movement. History books have omitted the fact that Blacks were leading the revolutionary movement in this country. Other communities adapted our programs for themselves. We organized within our own separate communities, but we all came to the same rallies. So then you'd have this huge multicultural rally led by the BPP. It was also intergenerational. I was practically an elder at 30 because most Panthers were teenagers.

 

HB:     What is the BPP’s legacy?

 

KN:     Once instituted, our free breakfast program was in high demand because kids were hungry. Subsequently, a free school lunch program was started in New Haven, and similar free food programs were instituted across the country.

 

The “Black is Beautiful” campaign elevated the mentality of Black people in terms of what we thought about ourselves. Don't forget, James Brown's song “I'm Black and I'm Proud” came on the heels of the BPP. Music and culture reflected the Movement. That legacy has endured.

 

The BPP ushered in a whole crew of Black politicians, but what did that do for Black people, especially poor Black people? For example, President Obama is a friend of capitalism, imperialism, and fascism. Fascism needs a new brown face to deal with the so-called Third World.  Obama cannot and will not produce real change, like moving from capitalism to socialism, redistributing the wealth, abolishing the prison system per se, and changing domestic and foreign policies.

 

HB:     How did the BPP fare against US government repression?

 

KN:     We were defeated. They pulled every dirty trick in the book to wipe us out and succeeded. They organized fratricide and had us killing each other. They jailed and assassinated us. By 1969, 28 Panthers had already been murdered by the police. There was the blatant murder of Fred Hampton and Mark Clark in Chicago in 1969.

 

President Richard Nixon and FBI Director J Edgar Hoover orchestrated COINTELPRO and another program that was behind the walls called “NEWKILL.” We were targeted and declared the most dangerous threat to the internal security of the US. This came out when the secret programs were revealed after files were stolen from the FBI office in Media, PA.  Later, Senator Frank Church conducted hearings further documenting the repression.

 

HB:     What impact did the BPP have on police brutality and prisons?

                                        

KN:     We may have caused a temporary calm, but it actually got worse. For example, Panthers Harold Taylor and John Bowman (currently of the SF8) were chased down in Los Angeles by plain-clothes police and shot at. They shot back, were eventually arrested, had a capital trial, but were acquitted on grounds of self defense.  However, today we're getting shot left and right. The incarceration rate is the highest in the world. President Clinton ushered in a prison boom that has our prison population up to 2.4 million today. Here in California there are 180,000 prisoners, with many more on probation and parole. We're living in a police state and have a cradle-to-prison policy for our youth. We have to regroup and develop new tactics and strategies that address today’s conditions.

 

HB:     What can we learn from the successes and failures of the BPP, so that we can be more effective today?

 

KN:     Organizing worked!  As in, door-to-door street organizing, on the ground, rolling up our sleeves and going right to the people, and helping them meet their own needs. People have gotten far away from that.  Stop knocking on city hall’s door!  Why are we asking our enemies for help? Working within the system only works if you consider yourself an infiltrator. We have to draw the line and stop supporting it. Today, we should organize gardens to grow our own food.

 

Propaganda is a necessary tool and our job right now is to raise consciousness to educate to liberate. The BPP had regular political education classes. That needs to happen again. People need to get into small study groups and discuss politics.

 

Also, students aren’t organizing on the campuses like they used to. I think it's partly because the lower class isn't on the campuses these days, because nobody can afford it.

 

 

HB:     What do you think of recent events in Latin America, where people are fighting US domination and local ruling class power?

 

KN:     I’m inspired!  I highly recommend the recent documentary film about Venezuela titled “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” The people’s reversal of the attempted coup is such a wonderful demonstration of people's power and what an impact it can have. Watching it recharged my batteries. I was like "Oh my goodness!" It's very exciting, promising, and I hope we have sense enough to be in solidarity and support the struggles there and everywhere else oppressed people are fighting.  How else is the US empire going to be defeated?  The global economy is here to stay.

 

HB:     This issue of global solidarity reminds me of Huey Newton's idea of “revolutionary intercommunalism,” emphasizing that in today’s age of transnational corporate power, the US working class’ liberation is inherently tied to that of workers everywhere. Globalization is a popular topic today, but do you think Huey gets credit for talking about it back then?

 

KN:     Huey’s theory was brilliant, prophetic, and is a perfect solution in today's world. Of course Huey has not been given proper credit and it’s the same thing with Malcolm X.  Now more than ever, oppressed people around the world need to unite against the common enemy that is transnational corporations. We can’t let them divide us. We're in the throes of a death spiral right now, and if we don't hurry up and deal with climate change, for example, things will get horribly worse for ordinary people and we can kiss this planet good-bye, probably within this century.

 

HB:     When did you start working in media?

 

KN:     Because of my years of secretarial work, I had typing skills. At the time of Bobby Seale and Ericka Huggins’ trial in New Haven, on behalf of the Panther Defense Committee, we printed a tabloid and I co-wrote and typeset an article covering the story. I also wrote articles for the national BPP paper, and eventually learned how to put a newspaper together. After moving to San Francisco, I was working for a local Black newspaper called The Sun Reporter, but left in anger after they chopped up an article that I wrote about the uprising at NY State Prison in Attica that resulted in the massacre of some 39 prisoners and guards.  Afterwards, in late 1971, a bunch of us had political education classes that met at my pad in the Fillmore, and we put together a tabloid called "By Any Means Necessary."   In '72, I wrote and published another tabloid titled, "Niggahs of the World Unite." 

 

Later, I lived in the Hunters Point neighborhood, and while practicing a very strenuous form of martial arts, my muscles started deteriorating. I wound up in the medical system for many years--a long, hairy story. Suffice it to say, I walked into the system in 1975 and rolled out in 1980, and have been in Chinatown ever since, living in a 12 story Housing Authority building that they said was the only place they could find that was wheelchair accessible.

 

HB:     How does the mainstream media today compare to 40 years ago?

 

KN:     It’s much worse! I used to see BPP leaders Kathleen Cleaver and David Hilliard on TV. The movement used to get media attention. Now you can't get any media attention on prisoners. We can have a demonstration with 10,000 people, and they still don't cover it. You don't even have good journalists anymore.

 

HB:     Why do you think that is?

 

KN:     Look at all the journalists who’ve been fired for telling the truth. Not to mention all the journalists who have been murdered these past few years, particularly by the US in Iraq. It intimidates people and they need real courage to tell the truth today.

 

HB:     How has the alternative media changed?

 

KN:     It's not anywhere as bold. We had the BPP newspaper and all kinds of badass tabloids. Today they censor you. To me, with a few exceptions, the Black press and other alternative media have fallen down on the job.

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(ARTWORK BY KIILU NYASHA): From left to right: Ruchell Magee, George Jackson, Jonathan Jackson.

 

HB:     Your recent Black Commentator article titled “Black August 2008” focused on the legacy of the late prison author and BPP leader, George Jackson, who was assassinated by guards at San Quentin Prison on August 21, 1971.

 

KN:     I initiated a correspondence with George in early 1971, and months later, got a one-hour visit in the holding cell of San Quentin. I’ve met no one before or since more dedicated to revolutionary change. George’s book of prison letters, Soledad Brother, was a best seller, and his second book, Blood In My Eye, had just been finished at the time of his death, and was published posthumously.

 

George was one of the three “Soledad Brothers,” whose story began on January 13, 1970 when a tower guard at Soledad State Prison shot and killed three Black captives on the yard, leaving them unattended to bleed to death: Cleveland Edwards, “Sweet Jugs” Miller, and W. L. Nolen, all active resisters in the Black Movement behind the walls. Others included George Jackson, Jeffrey Gauldin, Hugo L.A. Pinell, Steve Simmons, Howard Tole, and the late Warren Wells. 

 

After the common verdict of “justifiable homicide” was returned and the killer guard exonerated at Soledad, another white-racist guard was beaten and thrown from a tier to his death in retaliation. Fleeta Drumgo, John Clutchette, and Jackson were charged with his murder, and became known as The Soledad Brothers. A campaign to free them was led by college professor Angela Davis, and George’s brother Jonathan. The three were awaiting trial, with a mandatory death sentence if convicted, at the time of George’s death.

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(PHOTO: Hugo Pinell at Old Folsom State Prison in 1982 behind the glass)

http://www.hugopinell.org/yogi_p_187x288.jpg

(PHOTO: Hugo Pinell at Pelican Bay State Prison in 2001 behind the glass and inside the visiting cell)

HB:     You wrote that we should honor Jackson’s legacy by working to free two California prisoners: Hugo “Yogi Bear” Pinell and Ruchell “Cinque” Magee. Currently housed in Pelican Bay State Prison’s notorious “Security Housing Unit," Pinell has been in continuous solitary confinement since at least 1971.  On January 14, 2009, Pinell was denied parole for 15 years, a virtual re-sentencing.

 

KN:     The book titled “The Melancholy History of Soledad Prison,” by Min Yee, documents how Hugo Pinell was one of the original members of the Black Movement, led by George Jackson and others in Soledad Prison. At that time, it wasn't safe for Blacks to walk the yard. The collusion between the racist, KKK-type guards and white racist prison gangs was horrendous. These conditions were horrible.

 

Yogi was eventually transferred to San Quentin, and was there on August 21, 1971, when George was assassinated. That day, in what was described by prison officials as an escape attempt, George allegedly smuggled a gun into San Quentin in a wig. That feat was proven impossible, and evidence subsequently suggested a setup designed by prison officials to eliminate Jackson once and for all as they had tried numerous times. On that fateful day, three notoriously racist prison guards and two inmate turnkeys were also killed. According to an eye witness, when Jackson was shot while running on the yard, he got up instantly and dived in the direction of some bushes. He was subsequently murdered while lying on the ground wounded.

Six Black prisoners were charged with murder and assault. Hugo Pinell, Fleeta Drumgo, David Johnson, Luis Talamantez, Johnny Spain, and Willie Sundiata Tate became known as the “San Quentin Six.” Johnny Spain was the only one convicted of murder. The others were either acquitted or convicted of assault.  Hugo is the only one remaining in prison, and badly needs our support.

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(ARTWORK BY KIILU NYASHA): From left to right: Hugo "Yogi Bear" Pinell, Mumia Abu-Jamal, and Albert "Nuh" Washington

 

HB:     Tell us about Ruchell Magee.

 

KN:     I first met Ruchell in the holding cell of the Marin County courthouse in the Summer of 1971. I found him to be soft-spoken, warm and a gentleman in typically Southern tradition. We’ve been in correspondence pretty much ever since. I was then working for The Sun Reporter, and covering the pretrial hearings of Angela Davis and Ruchell Magee. By 1971, Ruchell was an astute jailhouse lawyer. He was responsible for the release and protection of a myriad of prisoners benefiting from his extensive knowledge of law, which he used to prepare writs, appeals and lawsuits for himself and many others behind the walls. 

 

Ruchell was fighting charges of murder, conspiracy to murder, kidnap, and conspiracy to aid the escape of state prisoners.  Although critically wounded on August 7, 1970, he was the sole survivor among the four brave Black men who conducted the courthouse slave rebellion, leaving him to be charged with everything they could throw at him. On August 7, 17-year old Jonathan Jackson raided the Marin Courtroom and tossed guns to prisoners William Christmas and James McClain, who in turn invited Ruchell to join them. Rue seized the hour spontaneously as they attempted to escape by taking a judge, assistant district attorney and three jurors as hostages in that audacious move to expose to the public the brutally racist prison conditions and free the Soledad Brothers. 

McClain was on trial for assaulting a guard in the wake of Black prisoner Fred Billingsley’s murder by prison officials in San Quentin in February, 1970. With only four months before a parole hearing, Magee had appeared in the courtroom to testify for McClain. 

The four revolutionaries successfully commandeered the group to the waiting van and were about to pull out of the parking lot when Marin County Police and San Quentin guards opened fire. When the shooting stopped, Judge Harold Haley, Jackson, Christmas, and McClain lay dead; Magee was unconscious and seriously wounded as was the prosecutor. A juror suffered a minor injury. 

Magee had already spent at least seven years studying law and deluging the courts with petitions and lawsuits to contest his own illegal conviction in two fraudulent trials. As he put it, the judicial system “used fraud to hide fraud” in his second case after the first conviction was overturned on an appeal based on a falsified transcript. His strategy, therefore, centered on proving that he was a slave, denied his constitutional rights and held involuntarily. Therefore, he had the legal right to escape slavery as established in the case of the African slave, Cinque, who had escaped the slave ship, Amistad, and won freedom in a Connecticut trial. Thus, Magee had to first prove he’d been illegally and unjustly incarcerated for over seven years. He also wanted the case moved to the Federal Courts and the right to represent himself. 

Moreover, Magee wanted to conduct a trial that would bring to light the racist and brutal oppression of Black prisoners throughout the State. “My fight is to expose the entire system, judicial and prison system, a system of slavery. This will cause benefit not just to myself but to all those who at this time are being criminally oppressed or enslaved by this system.” 

On the other hand, Angela Davis, his co-defendant, charged with buying the guns used in the raid, conspiracy, etc., was innocent of any wrongdoing because the gun purchases were perfectly legal and she was not part of the original plan. Davis’ lawyers wanted an expedient trial to prove her innocence on trumped up charges. This conflict in strategy resulted in the trials being separated. Davis was acquitted of all charges and released in June of 1972. 

Ruchell fought on alone, losing much of the support attending the Davis trial. After dismissing five attorneys and five judges, he won the right to defend himself. The murder charges had been dropped, and Magee faced two kidnap charges. He was ultimately convicted of PC 207, simple kidnap, but the more serious charge of PC 209, kidnap for purposes of extortion, resulted in a disputed verdict. According to one of the juror’s sworn affidavit, the jury voted for acquittal on the PC 209 and Magee continues to this day to challenge the denial and cover-up of that acquittal.

 
Ruchell is currently on the mainline of Corcoran State Prison doing his 46th year locked up in California gulags - many of those years spent in solitary confinement under tortuous conditions! In spite of having committed no physical assaults or murders. Is that not political? 

 

HB:     Let’s conclude with a quote from George Jackson.

 

KN:     He wrote in Blood In My Eye: “Settle your quarrels, come together, understand the reality of our situation, understand that fascism is already here, that people are dying who could be saved, that generations more will live poor butchered half-lives if you fail to act. Do what must be done, discover your humanity and your love in revolution.”

 

--Hans Bennett is an independent multi-media journalist (www.insubordination.blogspot.com) and co-founder of Journalists for Mumia Abu-Jamal (www.abu-jamal-news.com). Special thanks to Ed Mertex for help transcribing the interview.

Comments

Thank You

This all happened in my lifetime, all though we were a little younger, this generation led the way and opened many doors for my generation. College, Model Cities programs under the President Johnson administration.

What a education this morning, thanks to the writer and everyone else that contributed to this detailed article...

Thanks Bob,

Glad you enjoyed this... Truly fascinating history and very inspiring.

The BPP's building of a multi-racial coalition to abolish capitalism/poverty (so similar to both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King's last years) was such a threat to the system, that you can see why the US ruling class attacked them so terribly.

Nowadays we must make sure that this history cannot be erased or distorted. And, we've got to free Ruchell, Hugo, and all the other freedom fighters still behind bars from this era.

All Power to the People!

For more on Hugo Pinell...

From: http://www.hugopinell.org

Edited Transcript of an interview for Prison Focus radio show, June 15, 2006, KPOO, 89.5 FM on political prisoner, Hugo Antonio Lyons Pinell (aka Yogi Bear)

Luis Bato Talamantez: So what we want to do now here at KPOO is introduce our guests in the studio. We have comrade Nedzada [Handukic] and Kiilu Nyasha and we have Gordon Kaupp, an attorney here in San Francisco that is representing the subject of our show, Hugo Antonio Pinell. And online shortly, we will have Kiilu, all of whom traveled to Pelican Bay State Prison, which is, I think,10 miles away from the Oregon state border, very remote prison, super-maximum prison, to visit Hugo. We claim, that he is probably the longest held Nicaraguan citizen in the world, 42 years. And in the past he was also a codefendant with myself during the ‘70s in the so-called San Quentin Six case. But #we want to ask Gordon here, for somebody here in America who has been in prison for 42 years, I mean, how do you square that with justice? Can you tell us, more about his case, Gordon?

Gordon Kaupp: First I want to say good morning and thank you to the KPOO Prison Radio audience. I also want to say thank you to Bato for having me on the show to talk about Yogi’s case. I have the honor of representing Mr. Pinell, and I had the honor of meeting him several weeks ago up at Pelican Bay State Prison which is an extremely cold, dark, foreboding institution in which many lives are thrown away. There are legal reasons and social-political reasons for why Yogi is up there. In the board hearing, we’re dealing with the legal reasons which serve as the mechanism for the social and political reasons that keep him locked up. Namely, the way that they keep somebody held for such a long and inhumane period of time is by focusing on the suitability factors in his parole board hearing. And the suitability factors are mostly factors that remain unchanging, things that he can do nothing about since the convictions that he has suffered. So the Board will say, well, we look at the underlying crime and if it’s so callous, if it shows a callous disregard for suffering, we’re going to deny him his hearing. If he’s got a prior criminal history, we’re going to deny him his release. If he has an unstable social history, we’re going to deny him his release. And so, you look at these parole board decisions that the commissioners issue, year after year or every couple years, however long it is between your time visiting the Board, they deny prisoners, old lifers, for the same reasons every single time. And these are unchanging factors. So, essentially they convert a sentence of nine to life to a sentence of life without parole. It’s a really big problem here in California.

Bato: Hugo Pinell will be going to the board very very shortly, as he has been going to the board for the last 42 years that he has been in prison. We’re saying 42 continuous years there’s been no parole, there’s been no furloughs, it’s all been very, very hard time that Hugo, my comrade, has had to do all these years in the worst conditions because before they built Pelican Bay, he was in the second worst, which was Corcoran State Prison, and before they built that supermax, they took him back to Tehachapi, which is out in the desert. These are horrible places for a human organism to have to try to exist in. We also understand that because of his political history inside prison that he is a legacy that will always be remembered in connection with comrade George Jackson and that whole period of prison rebellion and prison reform that has stretched from thirty years. I remember not too far back they even took him to the board and slammed him with five years and since then the times for him to return to the board have lessened, but, nonetheless, he’s been continuously denied. Suppose he is denied, where do you go with a denial from the Board of Prison Terms?

G.K.: That’s a really tough question when there is no justice in the justice system -- where to go? Fortunately the courts have been a little bit better than the parole boards. The parole board is pretty much a guaranteed denial. Surprisingly, Arnold Schwarzenegger is a little better with releasing prisoners than Grey Davis was. But still, what you do is, you go to the parole hearings and you make the best arguments you can, and essentially, you pull the rug out from under the commissioner so that any excuses they have to deny him parole, you destroy those, you whittle away those excuses so that after the board denies him parole, you bring it to the courts. The courts have continuously reigned in the board of prison terms. and told them, look, you gotta follow the Constitution and what you have to do is base your decision on some evidence. And if you continue to deny life inmates parole based on unchanging factors, that begins to weigh upon the inmates’ liberty interests. So what we really have to do is set up a really good record at his parole board hearing and then take it to the courts and show the courts that they are denying him parole without any evidence that he would pose an unreasonable risk of danger to society, which is the legal standard they operate under.

Bato: Well, I’m glad that you mentioned the so-called liberty interest because for a number of years at the California Prison Focus and prior to that at the Pelican Bay Information Project, a span of fifteen years, the work that we did around prisoners and prison issues was that the State just did not acknowledge that there was a liberty interest. I mean, why are you being held? Any democratic society requires that through habeas corpus, [you] be able to explain why are you holding me? With Hugo, there’s never been that explanation other than the fact that what we know about prison internal politics is that the Department of Corrections considers him a trophy, so to speak. The Guard’s Union, they say, he’s the worst of the worst and this and that; they hold these guys as some kind of emblem. But the thing about Hugo is that he has always been able to maintain his humanity. Hugo and I, we’re in touch kind of spiritually, you know. He knows that I wish him all the love possible in the world and that when I left the Adjustment Center, August 20, 1976, the day they told me I would be set free, after the San Quentin Six trial, they popped my cell door in the Adjustment Center; they gave me a minute to run down the tier and say goodbye to everybody. I seen Hugo in his cell and you know what? He had the sweetest look on his face. He was so happy for me. And I said Hugo, Hugo, I’ll never forget you. All he said was to say to his mother that he loved her. So there is that very human quality about Hugo a lot of people don’t understand. Because he grew up between here and the Fillmore and the Mission, and he vanished off the streets of San Francisco in 1965. The State gobbled him up and we have factored in that the State of California has made about one million dollars in upkeep and rent holding him captive all these years; and it makes no sense today. He has been in the Security Housing Unit absolutely too long. It’s a miracle he’s still in the great condition he’s in. I want to also ask Nedzada who also visited Hugo -- when you first seen him there in the S.H.U. where the visits take place in this kinda dungeon keep, through Plexiglas, through a phone, what was your first impression?

Nedzada: Well, I don’t know. We just felt like it was a bond there, like I already knew him for so long. I been writing letters to him, you know, I started through Kiilu, and it was just the expression, his look in his eyes and everything; he just looked like he was gonna hug me, you know, I was like, oh my god, I couldn't believe it! I couldn't believe the shape that he was in and he looked really really good, and you could tell that this man was so positive and had such great, wonderful energies about him and it was beautiful to be there. At the same time it was very sad to see him locked up in there because I feel like he would be a wonderful contribution to our society to be out here instead of locked up in there, and he sets such a good example, and his principles are like -- whew man, outta this world, like, he won’t compromise for anything, and you know that.

Bato: Yeah, and, Gordon, I know this was the first time you had a chance to meet Hugo face to face even though it was in the conditions you guys were in, but what was your first impression?

G.K.: You know, I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived at Pelican Bay. And when I met him, I met somebody who deeply moved me. He is an inspiration; he is someone who has taken everything that they have tried to do to him to break his spirit and he has reversed it on them. He says, the one thing I learned from W. L. Nolen is that they cannot take control of how you live your life. And so when they try to make me angry, I turn that into love. And he is such a warm person. He is such a loving person. Everything he does is from his heart, and it’s about his love for humanity, his love for nature, his love for all life. And he blew me away. When I went into his cell the second day, even though we only had a couple hours the day before, when I walked in, he came right up to the glass, he put both his hands up. And he had a wide grin across his face and he is just something else. He’s really the kind of person like Nedzada said that would contribute so much to this world.

Bato: Yeah, I do remember that he had a very infectious smile. So my heart always goes out to Hugo and I’m so elated that you, Gordon, and comrade Nedzada and Kiilu Nyasha, who will be coming on the line real soon, have gone up there because I think that you really have put some energy into this dungeon-keep where everything is designed to shut the sun out, and Hugo hasn’t seen the moon in thirty, forty years. We need to understand that this is a story of tragedy. It’s a relatively unknown story, but America is not good about justice for everybody. You know, it really is not.... because that’s what we’re talking about right now, forty-two years! It’s just unimaginable. I have been free thirty years, you know, but he never did get free after our trial. Three of us were released after the San Quentin trial and three of us were convicted. So you tell us, Gordon, what’s possible for helping Hugo out?

G.K.: Well, I will talk a little bit about Hugo Pinell, but I will also say that I think we need to bring a larger campaign to bear for all political prisoners in the United States. And I was so inspired by Hugo Pinell, but also so disappointed that so many people will talk about political prisoners but very rarely do people bring real concrete support. So, what I would like to do is to campaign, people, to get money together, to get resources together, to get a clinical program running for all political prisoners in the United States; so we have a concerted effort to work on their cases. Because before I stepped in on Yogi’s case, he was going to do this on his own. He did not have an attorney. And a lot of these guys who have been in -- and who are in here for every single one of us --have been left behind in a significant way. The same was true for Ruchell Magee who I represented earlier, last year. But I’d also like to go back to something, and that is that Yogi Pinell has been in the security housing unit for thirty-three years, solitary confinement, and every year, once or twice a year, there is a confidential memo that is put into his file that he does not see, that his attorney does not see, that there is no way to challenge, that says that he is in a gang and that he has been in a gang, and that’s why he’s in the security housing unit. So, there’s this backdoor way that the prison has used to keep him in the S.H.U. and they keep saying he’s in a gang. But, if you’re in the S.H.U., how can you maintain a gang affiliation for thirty-three years? It’s impossible for that to be the case and it’s also impossible to challenge, because, like I said, it’s a confidential memo that his attorney can’t see, that he can’t see. So, we’re going to challenge this at his hearing. We’re going to challenge this in the courts, but what I’m also going to do is to start getting a larger campaign together to put pressure on, legal pressure on for all political prisoners. And we’re going to go to the people with money, and we’re going to attorneys across this country to help free the political prisoners who are serving time for every single one of us.

Bato: Thank you Gordon. We’re going to come back to Gordon in a little bit. We have Kiilu Nyasha on the line and we’re going to patch her in and she was also there to see Hugo. Hugo is a very powerful person, you know, a completely new revolutionary person, you know, in who he is and what he stands for. Like Nedzada says, he will not budge on certain issues, he will never surrender, because the Department of Corrections sees him as their trophy and they would like to really break his spirit, and the spirit of all revolutionaries that have fought inside prison, comrade George Jackson and all the other revolutionaries who have fought the system from in prison and are fighting the system today in prison. You know, our prison radio show is basically about keeping the spirit of resistance alive. Kiilu, more than anybody, the last thirty, forty years, you have been a great source to a great many people including myself, the San Quentin Six, and across the country the old line Panthers who you knew, Romaine Fitzgerald, the longest-held Panther here in California. You have been an inspiration for all of us. And to see Hugo Pinell, you know, he just loves you so much. Tell us, how’s he doing these days, Kiilu?

Kiilu: Well, again, I have to be repetitious here. He’s amazing! He’s just absolutely amazing! This was the fifth visit that I've had up there, but the last visit was close to five years ago. And it just amazed me that he looked better than he looked five years ago. I mean he’s just unbelievable -- in his discipline, in his high energy, and he’s a vegetarian, as you may know. By the way, the Chaplain rescinded his vegetarian diet that you guys fought so hard for him to get, California Prison Focus, I mean, because it wasn’t on religious grounds. He sticks to his vegetarian diet, but I worry about him getting his nutrition and his protein. But in any case, he still looks fantastic. And he works out and his high energy is unbelievable and of course his loving spirit. And I want to just give some quick quotes from some letters I have been perusing. “I don’t ever regret speaking out and standing up for our people in here. I regret not being able to give more.” That's out of one letter. And here’s a kind of political statement: “I used to believe that for our freedom to be real and effective, we first needed land. But with time, I‘ve come to realize that just like our struggle is for humanity, freedom lies in the people, new people, first and foremost, for the people will make it all happen and wherever we are, that will be our freedom home, our freedom land. Once I was sure of that, I began to grow closer to my true loved ones, for in their true love and hearts, I have found my personal freedom, justice, peace and security, my personal home. That’s how I've managed to keep pushing and growing, living in the hearts of beautiful and special people...” In another letter he says, along the same vein, by the way. “I hope you've understood what I've tried to say. The way things are for us in the world, we don’t have a land we can really call our own, since we don’t govern it. Therefore, the surest, safest and best station of living is in our hearts. That’s my home. For I know I’m really loved and wanted there and you all already live in my heart. You take care, big hugs, kisses and real love, Yogi Bear.”

Bato: Hugo just really, really been a great correspondence writer, you know. Over the years he’s written really, really outstanding humanitarian letters, you know, that everybody should take to heart.

Kiilu: And that’s how he survives 24/7 lockup, you know except for the, the “dog run,” that outdoor closet they allow him to get out in. But people need to realize that is a windowless cell that he has been in sixteen years of his thirty-some odd years of solitary confinement. Pelican Bay S.H.U. is what they call a supermax prison that is right now being cited by the U.N. Commission at the recent international court hearings as a violation of human rights. Pelican Bay itself is a violation.

Bato: Pelican Bay early on -- as the work we did with the Pelican Bay Information Project -- was cited by the Human Rights Commission of the United Nations in their journal 1994/95 as one of the worst three prisons in America. So, we believe that during the early formative years of running Pelican Bay, which was ‘91, ‘92, ‘93, prior to the Madrid [Madrid v. Gomez] “cruel and unusual punishment” federal case here in San Francisco, that some of the worst atrocities had occurred during those years in America, just by the personnel who were coming home from the first Gulf War taking jobs within the prison system. So, it’s been a very, very brutal regime there at Pelican Bay and elsewhere at California prisons because, you know, the training that some of the personnel get, and today we’re seeing a lot of these same Service people being the custodians and keepers of a great amount of people that are going through prisons today. So, the spirit of Hugo Pinell is just so important to keep alive. I think that there will be a major campaign to free Hugo.

Kiilu: There really should be because, Bato, collectively speaking we Americans are loosing our humanity. I mean, it’s a sad and frightening thing, because we are tolerating Guantanamo, three suicides, and we’re tolerating this incredible, callous statement that came out of the State Department about that. And then, we’re tolerating Iraq and the ongoing slaughter there. We tolerated Haiti and the slaughter there. We’re tolerating so much inhumanity. And as you know there’s well over two million people in prison, and rising at the rate of a thousand prisoners a week.

Bato: What about that, Gordon?

G.K.: I mean, it’s absolutely true, you know. We’re incarcerating large numbers of our own population at levels that have never been seen in humanity. I was watching this documentary yesterday and this law enforcement against prohibition was putting up figures about incarceration rates of Black males under South African apartheid. It was something like 849 black males per 100,000 under apartheid were incarcerated; in the United States Black males per 100,000 is something like 4,991. So we are way, astronomically beyond even what South Africa during apartheid was doing to Black men. Not to mention the rise in women prisoners, not to mention the rise in Latino prisoners, not to mention that Native Americans proportionately have more people incarcerated than any other group of people in this country. And I think Kiilu was right on. We have a subhuman conscience in this country that has been corroded, corrupted, and we need to regain our humanity. One thing that Yogi said when I was up there, and this is the quote I wanted to read and I’ll insert it here. He said, “If you want to change the world, change yourself. We have a society of half-people, to have a whole society, we need whole people.” And that’s what he’s about is transforming himself. And that’s really why he is still locked up in Pelican Bay. Because it’s not about rehabilitation, it’s about domination. And the prison system wants to break your will, they want to dominate you and they want you to submit. And it’s like a man-over-a-dog kind of environment, and they want you to submit, and they want to rub your nose in it. And then maybe, maybe they’ll let you out. And because he’s not gonna submit, because he’s proud, because he has dignity, and integrity, I, I

Kiilu: ...and he will maintain it at all costs,

G.K.: Yes.

Kiilu: Yes. And that’s why I love and respect him so much. I don’t know too many other people in the world who have the kind of integrity and uncompromising principles and great love that Yogi has. And he would be an incredible role model. Also, I want to throw in another thing. Yogi is so principled that when he first went on the yard at San Quentin -- you know how segregated it is -- it’s divided into basically Mexican, Whites and Blacks. And years ago, back in the ‘60s, it was very segregated and you didn’t cross those lines. So, Hugo identifies as a Black Nicaraguan, and the Mexicans wanted him to, well, because he is bilingual, they expected him to hang with them. And he had Black friends that he knew from the Fillmore and hangin’ out in the streets here and he wasn’t about to give up his friends, and so he stuck with the Blacks. And of course when you break ranks in prison -- Bato can tell you -- they don’t like that. So the guards had it in for him right away. Then, when he became politicized with George Jackson and W. L. Nolen and Howard Tole and they started turning a criminal mentality into a revolutionary mentality, and fighting racism in the prison, and started trying to unite prisoners of all ethnicity's, then Hugo was of great value and an even greater threat because he’s bilingual. He could unite, potentially unite Blacks and Mexicans. So, he’s been locked up all this time because they really want to break him. And I want to just share one more thing that gives you an insight into Hugo’s personality. When geronimo came out and I interviewed him on Free Radio Berkeley after 27 years [in prison], he talked about Yogi. And he said Yogi could be out on the yard and if some brother that he didn’t even know was being assaulted by a guard, Yogi would come to his defense. He would jump in and of course wind up in the Hole himself. I've had letters from Yogi where he would tell me about -- he loved W.L. Nolen -- and he knew Cleveland Edwards and Sweet Jugs Miller, the three that were killed in the yard at Soledad. in January 1970 which precipitated the Soledad Brother’s case. Yogi was telling me about Cleve and he said W.L. was thrown in the Hole and they were worried about him, so they caught a case by getting beat up themselves and thrown in the Hole so they could go see about W.L. This is the kind of brother we’re talking about. We’re talking about a brother who is really standup. I mean if he’s got your back, your back is covered.

Bato: Yeah, I remember a lot of times when there was a so-called ass-whoopin’ to be given out, Hugo usually was the one. And even though we was going to trial, during the San Quentin Six trial, the judge had told the prison guards there at San Quentin to bring us to court no matter what. We decided we were going to protest going to court that morning because of the horrible conditions they had us in all chained up, they had dog collars on us at the time, and

Kiilu: I remember, you had to go into court with 30 pounds of chains.

Bato: Yeah. So, we had one of the chains, pretty loathsome, pretty odious that was the chain that went around your neck that was held by the escort, the guy behind you. We thought that was one too many chains for us. So the guards came in and seeing that we were going to protest and the judge in charge of our trial had given them permission to beat us up and stuff, they went in with the whole thing, put on their attack gear, came in with their Billy clubs and they brought gas with ‘em that morning, they brought these big old canisters, you know this was gas during the Vietnam time and they brought it into the cell block and it was like, Oh boy! We all got gassed and shot and stuff, but Hugo, they went for him first. I always regretted the fact that if I had not proposed this taking a stand, maybe Hugo --but Hugo just laughed, later, you know, he just laughed about it. He’s always been that kind of self-sacrificing kind of person. He’s always put himself out there to get hurt first, you know, or to help others, regardless of whether it was going to hurt him or not. But we want to turn and ask comrade Nedzada more of her impressions on her visit talking with Hugo.

Nedzada: Thank you. Well, one of the first things I remember is that he kept asking me about me and you know, I didn’t know how to react. Because I went in there and I was like, what am I gonna talk about and you know, I wonder what his life in there is like because when we write letters, you know, he just kind of helps me out with my problems, which is weird because I have all these people out here around me and I can get advice and just talk to people and he can’t. And then we went in there and he wanted to talk about me. So what’s going on with your little sister, and you know, how you been, and how’s work and are you going to school and everything, and I was like, Wow. This man really cares about something other than himself. But, yeah, I just had a very, very -- it was a new, new experience in my life. I’ve never met anybody that was, you know, anywhere close to him.

Bato: Well, I have been into the SHU, allowed just one time, the only time I got to see Hugo. It’s been about ten years, you know. I somehow was allowed that one time to go in and visit as an investigator with the California Prison Focus monitoring group that went in and we seen each other briefly. And it was like, five minutes of kinda like us not really believing who we were seeing was really who we were seeing because he kept asking me if I was Bato, and I telling him “Yeah!” But he said he had never seen me in a suit. He said you look like a lawyer. And I go yeah, well, for the purposes of seeing you (Laughter) But also I know what it was to go in there, and it turned my stomach going through the security, through the dungeon, through the bars, hearing the clanging doors, you know, the rattle of keys; it’s just unnerving, you know. And for me it was a psychological first to go back into the dungeon-keep that I had left years before.

Kiilu: And I give you high praise, Bato, because I have been dealing with prisoners’ for over 35 years or something and very, very few will ever go back because of what you’re saying. And, so for you to overcome that, and, and go anyway, I think you deserve kudos.

Nedzada: I want to say when you spoke about psychological torture, I mean, that’s just the most beautiful place [pristine redwood territory] that I've been to, like, it had all these trees, and these little rivers, and our drive up there was so nice, but

Bato: Crescent City is beautiful, yeah

Nedzada: And then to think that these people are in there but they can’t see any of this stuff, they can’t even look outside. It was very hard; it was hard in that sense. And then, you know we talked a little bit about just what it was like in there and he talked about how they separated a lot of the people that were near his cell block so now he really has nobody to talk to. He mentioned that a lot of people in there -- i guess that that’s one of their tactics -- that if they tell you something for long enough you’ll end up believing it. And he said they've accused a lot of people of being gang-affiliated, and they started to believe it. They just walk around and they’re like, yeah, I’m this big shot and this and that and he said, he said

Bato: Yeah, psychological, I think, right

Nedzada: He said, I refuse to because I was not in a gang. I’m not that, I’m not what they say I am. And it was just, like wow

Bato: Yeah, Hugo was always been a revolutionary. He’s gotten away from the criminal mentality mode, I mean twenty, thirty years ago. I mean it’s like everybody gets caught up in that, you know, and some people never get out of that criminal mentality mode. But through the teachings of Che Guevara and Ho Chi Min, and Malcolm X and George Jackson, there are prisoners today, I believe tens of thousands of them that are politically conscious. It’s a perfect place for the revolutionary spirit to manifest itself, to show itself. But we want to once again turn to ask attorney Gordon Kaupp, what’s the next phase for the struggle for Hugo Pinell legal-wise?

G.K.: The next phase is his parole board hearing, which is on July 10th [postponed 'til November], and I’m going to go up there with Yogi and we’re going to present his case before the Board of Prison Terms. And we’re going to have to face these cold commissioners who lack humanity and will be evaluating his case. And my job, essentially is to is to take away any excuses that they have to deny him parole. And I do not expect, and he does not expect to walk out of there because one of the things that they hold against him is the fact that he is still housed in the S.H.U. And so another thing that we have to do after this parole board hearing is get him out of the S.H.U. And we have to get his case before the courts. And we’re going to have to fight that very, very hard. But I want to go back to one thing, Bato, that you said before and that is you were in there, you were part of the San Quentin Six and like you said, Yog is one of the guys who stood up for everybody and the Department of Corrections has not forgotten that. Although people have changed, the institutional memory has remained. And he stands out in their minds. He told me that the old prison guards, from way back in San Quentin came by on a tour. They got together, drove all the way up to Pelican Bay to see him because the prison guards up there now had said that they had broken his spirit. He said they walked by his cell and he had a big smile for them and “I remember you,” and immediately, their smiles turned to frowns. A lot of people have been let out, but he’s remained. Because their job, as they see it, is to break him.

Bato: I believe what you’re saying is true. It’s very, very detestable, but they would come into the Adjustment Center [the hole] to see if any of us had been broken by the treatment, by the every day -- [you’re] just a nervous wreck in there with all the commotion and all the noise. It’s like an insane asylum. And so Hugo Pinell has put up with that for 42 years and he is still somebody, when you see him, he radiates, you know. He’s somebody who

Kiilu: He does that.

Bato: He’s created his own light in there, you know. He’s always had that ability to do that. He generates light. He generates goodness and kindness and absolute strength, you know, the kind of strength that you can only acquire from 42 years within the California prison system. So, Kiilu, we’re gonna have to get off line pretty soon, but do you have anything else that we can read from Hugo, because like I said, he’s just a great correspondent, and I wish there would be a booklet put out on his behalf, that would have just some of his really, really courageous and humanitarian letters in them.

Kiilu: Well, here’s a paragraph that was written after the last board hearing. “I was denied two more years. Some lady D.A. from Marin County was present to speak out about the S.Q.1971 incident, how bad I am, even though we never met, and why I shouldn’t be released. It’s really blanked up, you know, how the deck is stacked up against Rue and I.” He’s talking about Ruchell Magee. Don’t forget, Ruchell Magee is always a year ahead of Yogi, so he’s been in there 43 years, and of course he’s the trophy for the Marin Courthouse rebellion, the sole survivor of that case. He was Angela Davis’ codefendant.

Bato: Uh, yeah, August 7, 1970.

Kiilu: August 7, 1970. Black August. If I can briefly mention Chip Fitzgerald, the first Black Panther railroaded to Death Row, and fortunately the death penalty was rescinded in 1972, so he got off death row, but he is still doing life. Chip is closing in on 40 years in prison. We have the New York Three that are some thirty-something years in prison now. Nuh, one of the New York Three, passed away a few years ago; but Herman Bell and Jalil Muntaqin [Anthony Bottom] is coming before the board again very shortly, we should find him on the web site or through the San Francisco Bay View web site, www.sfbayview.com, and find there’s a current article about his case, so you should support him and write letters for his release. We've got Leonard Peltier, we've got Marilyn Buck, who just had another board hearing and Assata Shakur in exile. We have so many political prisoners that I can’t even name them off the top, Eddie Conway, Mutulu Shakur, Sundiata Acoli, help me,

Bato: Ramsey Nunez and Alvaro Hernandez, Oscar Fernandez Rivera,

Kiilu: Yes, Mumia Abu Jamal -- who himself is before the courts now and if he looses this one he’s on a fast track to execution. So, we really have our work cut out for us, folks, there are so many prisoners’ lives we must save.

Bato: We don’t want to forget all of John Africa’s people in prison

Kiilu: Oh yes! the MOVE nine, absolutely, and one of them died, so there are really, literally eight MOVE members still locked up in prison doing up to 100 years for the death of one police officer killed in friendly fire. Even the judge said, “I don't know who shot the officer.” We have a total picture of total injustice in this country. Mumia’s obviously framed. Now it’s in Congress. They’re trying to get France to take away the street they named for Mumia Abu-Jamal in a [French] town, a suburb of Paris. And he’s been named an honorary citizen there and the last person named an honorary citizen was Pablo Picasso. So, there you have it. Mumia, our wonderful, brilliant journalist, keeps us posted with his commentaries.

Bato: Thank you very much Kiilu, you know, we’re at a quarter of an hour, we’re going to have to be fading out here, we want to thank

Kiilu: Yeah, thank you so much, Bato, for all your good work with Prison Focus, I’m a regular listener.

Bato: Thank you very much, Kiilu. You put a light in that man’s dungeon-keep, let me tell you

Kiilu: Well, listen he lit me up too, don’t forget! (laughter)

Bato: Well, you stay lit, Kiilu! Thank you so much for being on KPOO Community Radio. We want to thank our guests once again, Gordon Kaupp and comrade Nedzada for being here in the studio with us and we’re going to be going onto Fernando’s hideaway music box.

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