Sundiata Acoli Mixtape

Sundiata Acoli: A message to my supporters. There are many people who are supporting my release by attending benefits, fundraisers, rallies, demonstrations, dances, dinners, Black August concerts, making rap songs, writing poems, making videos and documentaries, attending letter-writing parties, making telephone calls, sending faxes, Signing and collecting petitions, writing individual letters to the New Jersey parole board urging my release, and doing 1,001 other things to support my release, even if it was just writing a letter to me saying, brother, keep your head up. I support you, or, I'd like to visit you, or, here's $10 for your commissary. Thank each and every one of you from the very bottom of my heart, because I truly appreciate all you've done and everything you do. Thank you. As I reflect on my life, I was always mindful of the restrictions placed on life in the small area where I was raised. I could never be at peace by turning my back on the masses of people who suffered in so many different ways, whether in the North or the South. I saw so much injustice back then and so much seeming powerlessness that was caused by the blatant Jim Crow laws in the South and the more subtle forms of Jim Crow in other parts of the United States. The prestige Even if elusive, that came from working with an agency such as NASA, could have made me turn my back on those I left behind and caused me to block out the ever-present reality of poverty and racism. I chose not to do that, however, and instead worked in Mississippi to help organize black people to vote. I worked alongside many who this board would refer to as civil rights activists. I was compelled to do this because I have always had a deep and abiding passion to to help organize people and to help them see that, in reality, they have more power than they are willing to claim. My life started before I joined the Black Panther Party and continues after. Past membership in any organization is not relevant to my current status. I cannot apologize for my membership in a party that helped provide free breakfast for schoolchildren, legal clinics, health clinics, tenant control of slum housing, community control against drug dealers and many other aspects of community work.

Speaker 3: I'm sorry.

Sundiata Acoli: I was particularly impressed with the party's emphasis on self-reliance, a concept that is so commonly used today, used even by the current president of the United States. Today, it is hailed as a good concept. I do not take lightly the crimes of which I have been convicted that have resulted in my serving over half of my life in prison, nor is my plea to this board for sympathy. I request that this board release me because there is no objective reason to continue my incarceration. No matter how many more years I am left to spend or languish in prison, that will not change the unfortunate tragedies that occurred on May 2nd, 1973. Black people have come this far by each previous generation sacrificing and struggling so the next generation can do better or certainly not have to suffer the same indignities, hardships, and oppressions of the previous generation. And frankly, oppressed people all over the world have also done this. People do this out of love for their people and oppressed people in general.

Mutulu Shakur: I'm sorry.

Sundiata Acoli: Too many of our present-day youth are obsessed with getting paid, getting rich quick, getting fame and fortune, big cars, fine clothes, mansions, and etc., to the point where they'll do anything to try getting it, and it's tearing our people apart and leading us towards self-destruction. It's the greatest danger facing our people at this stage and must be turned around. And it's slowly being turned around, and it will be turned around if our youth learn from our elders, How to love our people. If released, I look forward to a life with my children and grandchildren, who will take me in as I earn a living for as long as I am an able-bodied man. It is important that I make positive contributions to my community, and it is my desire to see them all again beyond these walls. I thank all of my supporters for your love. Sundiata Akoli.

Mutulu Shakur: Let me start off with Sundiata right now, because his life is still with us. His spirit is still with us. It is important for the masses of people, all people, to take a good, focused look at a man who has made a full commitment of his life to a people, in many ways, who seem ungrateful. We have the world theater to look at, at people making sacrifices for ideas we might agree or disagree with. The fundamentals of the '60s and the '70s narrowed down to pure and simple human rights for a group of people who were deprived of human rights. Maybe 5, 6 years out of classic hanging, police brutality, separate Uh, bathrooms, uh, disrespect on the job place, housing and the like. We were, uh, looking at apartheid in South Africa, at the World Wars, and had made a determination that it was a crime against humanity, while at the same time these activities were being waged against African people. People like Sundiata, and in particular Sundiata, who had options to try to integrate into Even though it might not be easy to integrate into this society, was driven to do what was right, what a man would do, what a human being would do. Sundiata is still in prison. He has been in prison since 1973. He was in prison before that, before the Panther 21 case, for trying to be about correcting A war against a group of people who had decided that it was our responsibility to propose another option for black people. And that option was to resist repression by any means necessary. And what we should do today, that's for the politicians to decide. As a political prisoner in prisons of war, we have to look at the sacrifices of our political prisoners in prisons of war inside of the prisons and see how do we transmit to the masses that we have Made these sacrifices and what relevance it has to the overall political landscape. Zayd was— I think if I take after anybody, I think I'd take after Zayd, because Zayd was a nonassuming brother. He was an intellectual. He was a cultural revolutionary. He understood clearly the beat of the He was the vanguard. He was the vanguard in music, vanguard in couture and clothes, vanguard in paintings and art, and vanguard in ideas. And he was not— was not immature politically. So his maturity politically allowed him not to be stagnated in—

Speaker 3: In what?

Mutulu Shakur: Stagnated to the point where he was, uh, where he, he couldn't get along with anybody. He can get along with everybody. He can understand everyone's position. But at the same time, he pursued his own objectives. And, um, whatever the objective was that he had committed to, he was full force behind.

Speaker 3: You follow me?

Mutulu Shakur: And so, um, his ability to get along with people's ability to get along with other cultures, his ability to find the unity of the principles made him a danger to the counterintelligence program. Because at the time that the East Coast-West Coast Panther Party was splitting, he was the contradiction that they could not resolve. Whereas Lumumba and Kwanzo and Zundiyata and Sekou, even though Sekou was underground, Larry Vagin. Some of these people were very clear that the, you know, they had a contradiction with the West Coast and the West Coast leadership. On the other hand, Zayd's relationship with Geronimo made him and other great brothers up in the Bay Area and in the East Coast— And in the Midwest. Yeah. —in the California region made him the person that they couldn't jacket as a jackanape. They couldn't— you know, he was still a person that everybody could talk to. And that made him— made his task that much more difficult. It made his love for what they were trying to build in the Black Panther Party, what we tried to build in the Black Panther Party, That much difficult, and his dream to make it happen, he worked tirelessly every day to try to unite and at the same time trying to build an apparatus for those who were targeted to survive. And so I joined him in his effort to do what I could to keep the Jamaica branch and the Corona branch of the Black Panther Party, you know, struggling. And while I was still a part of the New African independence movement, the Republic of New Africa. And so I believe that tolerance taught me tolerance, you know, and that tenacity taught me tenacity. So that's where I got it from, you know. I mean, that's my example on that end. And that's what he was to many people, the people that people could trust. They could trust his opinions.

Speaker 5: And I think that's what he was to And me.

Mutulu Shakur: they could trust his ideas. They knew that he was on the cornerstone of any new theory, you know. And he was a hell of a brother. And we're going— we need more like him. He was targeted. He was trying to help too many people. Well, he was trying to help everybody. That May 2nd, 1971, was a date after many other incidents. —that occurred in and around the New York area, in and around the Pennsylvania area, in and around the Jersey area. And the intensity of the manhunt for Assata Shakur was just tremendous. And the heat on the street was like nothing you could imagine if you have not been familiar with low-intensity warfare.

Speaker 3: Yes.

Mutulu Shakur: And I would have advised to wait, slow down, rest, focus, and let the heat subside a little bit before you traveled on the New Jersey Turnpike. That's what I would have told Assata and Sundiata. In fact, work to get Sundiata out of jail. I didn't understand he was— he was in jail that day, in fact. In the Bronx for some crazy reason. And then Sister Naisha Shakur, my sister's brother, came and bailed him out. So I definitely told him that I thought he should lay his ass down. I didn't know, obviously, because I wasn't privy to all that other information, what his plans was, but he was driven to do what he felt was right, you know. And that's what's so good about Sundiata, that he, you know, you know, he does what he thinks It's right. Where we don't know what makes him think it's right, he knows, and he pursues it. You know, I'm an old African. I mean, I relate to the African heritage. And sometimes you look at the signs, and you have to wait and see what the signs are telling you. If you move while you're getting the signs, sometimes you move into conflict. But who am I to say? I'm in jail, too. So you never know. But, uh, that's what I would have said to him, Assata, and Dave, that, that on May 2nd, 1971.

Sundiata Acoli: Sure.

Mutulu Shakur: Assata was a man, of all of the brothers that I related to in the Panther 21, that never had any protection. He was always someone that when you wanted the community to respect the so-called Revolutionary, you would always bring somebody like Sundiata and Lumumba, because those were the brothers that the community just loved. They were down to earth. They were sincere. The people felt them to be sincere. They held back nothing from the people, and they were capable, very capable of explaining to the people the fundamentals of the politics and the contradictions they were facing and the rationale for action that had to be taken. And when they finished talking to the people, we were ready to go. They would always be, where's Sunni? Where's Lamont? Before we start any housing meeting, you know, they would always ask for the people that they trust the most. And so, you know, we could hang out on oblivion with Sunni.

Speaker 3: Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're here with Brother Sundiata Okoye, prisoner of war, who is being held right now in Leavenworth Prison. Brother Sundiata has called straight from the prison, and we'd like to welcome him to the WSPK listening audience. Welcome to the show, Brother Sundiata.

Sundiata Acoli: Oh, thank you. I'm excited.

Speaker 3: Yes, and, you know, if you could tell us— a lot of people are not familiar with your case. A lot of people are familiar with what a prisoner of war is. Could you enlighten us on your case, exactly what you mean by being a prisoner of war?

Sundiata Acoli: All right. My case is basically, you know, I was shot on the New Jersey Turnpike in 1979. 73, 87. Uh, Assata Shakur, Zayd Shakur, and I were part of the New Jersey Turnpike, and, uh, we were pulled over by the police. Police, uh, shot Assata Shakur with their hands in the air, killed Zayd, and, uh, I was arrested a couple days later. And, uh, we went to trial, and, uh, I was charged with death of police. I was sentenced to life plus 30 years. Assata went to trial a year later. She was charged with the same thing, the death of police, and she was We've been dealing with it for the last 30 years. Most of us came out of the Black Panther Party. The Black Panther Party began to be destroyed by COINTELPRO. Many of us decided to continue the struggle on an underground level, formed the Black Liberation Army. And at the time that we were arrested, we were members of the Black Liberation Army.

Speaker 3: Could you tell me a little bit about what the Black Liberation Army was about and exactly how How did they try your case?

Sundiata Acoli: Okay. First, with the Black Liberation Army, one problem with the Black Panther Party was that the people that did community work— we did basically community work. We organized around community control of schools, free breakfast programs for children, free health clinics, tenant organizing for tenants to take over slum housing. When the landlord wouldn't maintain it, um, uh, anti-drugs, against drugs in the community and against police brutality. Uh, the problem was that, uh, we were organizing, uh, in the, uh, community by day and having, uh, uh, resurrect meetings and, and, uh, organizing in the office in the daytime. And, uh, well, these are the same people that had to perform, uh, Sometimes military maneuvers took place at night, right? So what happened was that as the repression came down on the quarter, they used the excuse they were always looking for fugitives or looking for someone that happened to be engaged in some other activity. Right. So that we began to see that it was necessary for the military to be completely separated from the pro-Zion organization. And as the party began to succumb to this repression, people that wanted to continue to struggle became members of the underground. And that was how the Black Liberation Army was passed.

Speaker 5: And as far as Oh, yes, about my trial.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, the trial, well, basically it was one of, uh, uh, continuous— I don't know, hysterical publicity from the time of our arrest right straight through until, uh, day in and day out, right straight through until, uh, we were, uh, convicted.

Speaker 3: And, um, Well, initially, uh, uh, you stood trial after the '21 case.

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah.

Speaker 3: Um, so that was— you were accused of a plot to blow up New York department stores, the New York Botanical Gardens, etc.

Sundiata Acoli: Um, that doesn't sound, uh, uh, anything that, uh, okay, what it was is that it was at the private party at the time But we were organizing the community. We were very effective, right? And we began to get good support from the community and good follow-through from the community, right?

Speaker 5: Mm-hmm.

Sundiata Acoli: So in order for the police or the government or whatever to stop us, right, they came up with ridiculous conspiracy charges to try to get mostly to arrest The leadership, right?

Speaker 5: Mm-hmm.

Sundiata Acoli: To be your Black counterpart and to try to, uh, you know, spread, uh, you know, you know, bad propaganda or whatever on us, right? Mm-hmm.

Speaker 5: And, um, it was most likely taken up by the community because the charges were so ridiculous, uh, and, uh, that the jury kept it low for us. Mm-hmm.

Sundiata Acoli: But the thing is that they kept us in prison for 2 years and, uh, About, they over, I think, 4 people got— there were 21 of us that were invited, and, uh, 13 of us were arrested. What happened is they kicked in doors at 4 o'clock in the morning on 21 people. They found about 13 of us at home, and, uh, we were taken down to the precinct and, uh, you know, arrested, booked, and all that.

Speaker 3: Now, so this was back in 1969?

Sundiata Acoli: Right, uh, '68, '69.

Speaker 5: Mm-hmm.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, and, uh, at that time, they, uh, they, they would— each of us would give a $100,000 bail, uh, which doesn't seem like much now, but back in '69, a $100,000 bail was almost like a million-dollar bail now.

Speaker 5: Mm-hmm. So, uh, uh, we had a, um, a difficult time raising the bail, but we did happen to raise enough to Well, they all wore papered out.

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, at the time I was working in computers, uh, as a programmer, and there were some people called the People for Peace that were, you know, people that formed from different corporations that worked for computing and also where I worked.

Speaker 5: Mm-hmm.

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, up to 4 people in the DLR, I think the people that was DLR were, uh, Assata Shakur, Joan Bird, uh, the Reverend Ben Rahab, and, uh, At the rail. Uh, by then the people, the people, well, peace had raised our bail money, and, uh, I came up to be, uh, bailed out, and, uh, the, uh, judge refused to let me out on bail and said that, uh, from then on I had no bail, and this brother boy wasn't going to let anybody else out on bail. So the remainder of us We had to stay in prison for 2 years, or in jail for 2 years on trial, until we were acquitted. Then, you know, the jury acquitted us in less than an hour.

Speaker 3: As they say, justice delayed is justice denied.

Sundiata Acoli: Right. But one thing that it did was that it kind of decapitated the leadership in the Yorktown Accord. methods that they used to kind of destroy the party. Because by the time we came out, the party almost had been closed down for a while. Half of it was scattered, disorganized, and paranoia was running wild so that it was— the party almost never got back to where it was. And that was one of the reasons that— That, and with the intensified surveillance. That they put on all of us in the '21 after we were acquitted, and the harassment that they put on us, that it really drove most of us underground.

Speaker 3: So on May 2nd, 1973, you were ambushed by the state troopers on the turnpike, right? And so that's what— That resulted in the murder of Zayd and the wounding of Assata.

Speaker 5: Assata Shakur.

Speaker 3: And after your arrest, you suffered abuse at the hands of the state. Yeah. I mean— In terms of the lack of medical care, They kept you in isolation?

Speaker 5: Well, uh, what they did was they, uh, took me to, uh, the county jail, right?

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, put me in solitary, kept a light on me for 24 hours a day.

Speaker 5: Uh, I wasn't allowed any visitors.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, the only visitor I had was, well, a lawyer was able to visit me, but other than that, uh, no visitors whatsoever. No family, No friends, no nothing. Uh, I wasn't allowed any newspapers. I was just in solitary by myself. And, uh, uh, they frequently let, uh, state troopers, uh, come back in the county jail, back in the quarter solitary where I was, and, uh, uh, just, uh, you know, stare at me coolly. I remember, in fact, I remember one time one came to the door And, uh, I don't know whether— no, yes, sir. But anyway, when you, when you come into a jail, whether you're an officer or not, all guards and police officers or whatever have to check their guns, uh, you know, at the door, right? Back in the section where the prisoners are. Uh, anyway, this guy came through with his gun already on him, so the big thing of— Hey, hey, stop, stop! Stop, stop, uh, and, uh, yeah, told him that he forgot to check his gun.

Speaker 5: You know, little, uh, play-acting for things like this, right?

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, uh, that I, I went through for the entire, uh, year that I was in county jail.

Speaker 3: Um, right now, right now you're at, uh, you're in Leavenworth, but before that you were at, uh, Trenton State Prison, which, which had been condemned for years as being uninhabitable.

Sundiata Acoli: Also, I was in state prison, right? Yeah.

Speaker 5: And I am still a state prisoner. What happened—

Sundiata Acoli: a number of things happened. One, that when I went to Clinton State Prison, they kind of like instantly made the British 1st Florida Prison into an MCU unit. In which— and, uh, they rounded up a lot of us. I was the first one they rounded up.

Speaker 3: Can you tell us what an MCU is?

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, it's called— it's just a name, but what it is, it's a patrol unit. They have named it an MCU because the warden had gone out to California and they had a unit out there that they called MCU, which stands for Management Patrol Unit, which was like O-Week in California. And he liked the setup there. And so then he came back to Trenton and instituted this system in a wing at Trenton. And then they rounded up 250 prisoners and put them in this unit. And I was the first one that he rounded up. And then they began to let out— what it was, it was a ploy to like really round up about 25 prisoners.

Speaker 3: Uh-huh.

Sundiata Acoli: But, uh, in order to like make it look like they weren't aiming at particular prisoners, they had no reason to put us in this unit, but they had to put a cover on it. So they rounded up 250 prisoners, and, uh, within a month or so, they had let, uh, over 100, 150 of them out, right? Mm-hmm. And, uh, what they were doing, they were sending out everyone that they Really didn't want in the first place. They were just really aiming at 25 to 50 prisoners, which they had tagged as political, you know, more political prisoners. Okay. And so I was in the unit for 5 years. The cells were very small.

Speaker 5: I mean, they were so small that the fad It was closed to animals.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, says the cells were smaller than, uh, than the space that you put a German Shepherd dog in. Yeah.

Speaker 3: And, uh, that's just a sign.

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah. 5 years, that was a hell of a go. Then, uh, the conditions in the prison period were horrible, but Trenton was, uh, built before the Civil War. I think it was built in 1860.

Speaker 5: 35.

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, had been on a condemnation for quite a while, but the, uh, conditions were pretty harsh. And until that word finally got out to, uh, uh, some jurists that were connected with the United Nations that were making a tour of this prison, so they came by to interview me. And, uh, they interviewed me and found that the conditions that I was held was held under, and that most of us held. They said that I was definitely a political prisoner.

Speaker 5: And then a couple of nights later, uh, Penn State Prison, uh, took me out of prison, drove me to the Pennsylvania border, and there the federal government took over and drove me to Lewisburg Penitentiary.

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, And everybody put in the federal district of Lewisburg, uh, I wound up in Marion Penitentiary, which is a federal penitentiary too.

Speaker 3: Tell us a little about Marion Prison from the inside, from hanging inside there.

Sundiata Acoli: Okay, uh, Marion, you know, okay, a penitentiary has what you call general population, and then it has lockdown sections. Uh, the lockdown section is kind of like a jail where persons that are in general population, if they commit violations, they're punished. They're punished by being sent to the hole or to lockup or, you know, to a unit, and, uh, you know, so forth and so on.

Speaker 5: Uh, Marion, the whole, uh, penitentiary is a lockdown unit.

Sundiata Acoli: In other words, there's no general population in Marion, so that the whole penitentiary It's a controlled unit.

Speaker 5: It's a controlled prison.

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah. You know, in other words, the whole place is locked down. The whole place is, uh, you're in your cell 23 half-hours a day. Uh, they took out all of the, uh, bunk beds, which have, you know, some kind of little springs and mattress on them, and, uh, they put in stone beds. Uh, they took out all the fixtures in cells and only left a sink and a toilet bowl. And in prison, the sink and the toilet bowl is all one unit. You know, in other words, there's a bowl of gloves, and then there's a toilet. The top part of the toilet is your wash bowl. So that these cells, they only have stone beds. These are all the cells in Marion. They only have stone beds, Uh, toilet-bowl combination, and, uh, that's it.

Speaker 5: Okay.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, and you got a few personal properties, and you lock these cells 23 hours a day.

Speaker 5: And, uh, it's made to, uh, break and to punish, you know, prisoners, right?

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, same thing as in other prisons, 90% of, uh— well, I don't know, 90 maybe, but at least 75%, uh, African and, uh, third world people, okay, third world nationality.

Speaker 3: There are a number of political prisoners, uh, besides— and prisoners of war besides yourself.

Sundiata Acoli: Um, he's at Marion right now. And it, uh, what it is is that they always find— they didn't— they don't have a reason, right? They didn't have a reason to send me there. I, you know, I just been in— just coming to the federal system. Forced into the federal system. And, uh, they sent me there, no, no violation, no nothing. They just sent me there. Uh, same thing with, uh, he's there now, right?

Speaker 5: Uh, uh, Oscar, uh, Oscar Lopez.

Sundiata Acoli: Lopez, right. Thank you. Uh, you're not knowing about very well.

Speaker 5: He's there.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, uh, Or, um, Bill Dunn, which is a father brother-in-law. He's there at Marion, right? Most of the people—

Speaker 3: Ali Shabazz Baggs.

Sundiata Acoli: Right, Ali, uh-huh, Shabazz. He's there.

Speaker 5: Uh, and, uh, most people that are sanctified and considered dead at the prison have sometime or another been through Marion.

Sundiata Acoli: And that's without any violation of his, uh, uh, in other words, they come up with a classification, well, we decided that you need closer custody, and you're sent to Marion for no reason at all.

Speaker 5: Sure.

Sundiata Acoli: So when you get to Marion, they put out the propaganda to all the rest of the people in the world that these are the worst of the worst, the end of the line, the prisoners that are The most violent, that have violence on their record. I don't have any violence on my record in prison, period. That they're gang members, all kind of tags to keep the public terrified and, you know, anti-prisoner, anti-this. When in the asylum house, they, you know, they give people very strict punishments. Didn't have him committed any violation whatsoever.

Speaker 3: So your cell was how big in Marion, and you were in there for 23 hours a day?

Sundiata Acoli: Okay, well, let's see. Prison was built before the Civil War, right? So the cells that they built in this section of the prison were very small, way too small for a But you hold a man in for 23 hours a day, you feel like you did. Okay, now Marion was built in 1962, I think, right?

Speaker 5: Uh-huh.

Sundiata Acoli: So by then regulations had come out that a prison— regulations always had to have a certain amount of space. But what I'm saying is that at the time that they built Marion, uh, they had to like follow these regulations, you know, because it was a new building, right?

Speaker 3: Uh-huh.

Sundiata Acoli: So that as far as space at Marion, I think the cells are and by 7, I think so, which is, you know, I mean, it's much larger than the cells where it sits, but you're still in these cells 23 hours a day.

Speaker 3: So now you're in Evan West.

Speaker 5: Right.

Sundiata Acoli: By the way, I've been married 8 years, which was, um, much longer than most people stay married.

Speaker 3: So is there any possibility at all for parole for Sundiata Akali?

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, well, uh, I'm glad you asked that, but right now our attorney is working on a sentence reduction, right? The first thing is that I've been in prison 19 years, going on 20 years, right?

Speaker 3: Yeah.

Sundiata Acoli: Um, I was going on 19 years, 19 years in state custody. Uh, and so that my, my attorney, uh, put together, uh, a sentence reduction petition saying that I had good time that was taken and that because I was sent out of state, forced out of state, I could never get back in the Kansas courts to, uh, You know, a lot of them have just a good time to return. But people, prisoners that stayed in New Jersey, a lot of them got their good time back. And a lot of it stems from the time that we were in, um, your MCU unit, where they gave us a lot of bogus charges, uh, just because of, uh, you know, as a means of punishing prisoners, right?

Speaker 5: Yeah.

Sundiata Acoli: And they make the charge. A lot of us lost about a good time on bogus charges. Uh, the prisoners that stayed in New Jersey, uh, they were eventually able to get theirs back because it's obvious that, you know, it was just a— a lot of charges made simply to antagonize prisoners.

Speaker 5: Right.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, I was sent out of state, and then later on— I was the first prisoner sent out of state to Jersey. Later on, they began to send more prisoners out of state, but I wasn't able to get my good time back in there. My records were all messed up from, you know, being a state prisoner in the federal system. So my lawyers are putting together a sentence reduction to get all this straightened out and to get my good time back and to get my sentence reduced.

Speaker 5: Okay.

Sundiata Acoli: So basically what I'm saying is that when they file this in court, they're asking and I'm asking, please Send letters to the court and, uh, you know, urge and request that my sentence be reduced, uh, because a lot of the time was added, uh, unfairly and unfairly. Anyway, uh, I have a, uh, uh, uh, address where that people could write to, uh, and, uh, get on the mailing list so they can know when my sentence is up and talk to them so they could send support letters, or they could also Right into, uh, uh, find out, uh, more about the prison in general and my case and how to, you know, what they can do. So, uh, so the address is, uh, right, the, uh, Sundiata Atoli Freedom Campaign.

Speaker 5: Okay.

Sundiata Acoli: S-U-N-D-I-A-T-A, Sundiata Atoli, A-T-O-L-I, Freedom, F-R-E-E-D-O-M, Campaign, C-A-M-P-A-I-N.

Speaker 5: Uh, Post Office Box 5538, and it's in Manhattanville Station.

Sundiata Acoli: Manhattanville is M-A-N-H-A-T-T-A-N-C-I-L-L-E. Manhattanville Station, S-T-A-T-I-O-N.

Speaker 5: Uh, Harlem, New York 10027. Okay.

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, and, uh, if you A way to, uh, kind of like keep track of our situation and how, uh, um, you know, like, uh, you can help them out and afraid to stand up, we'll let them know. That's one thing they can do.

Speaker 3: Do you have a date for that yet?

Sundiata Acoli: Uh, no, because your lawyers are, um, uh, drawing up the petition now.

Speaker 3: Okay.

Sundiata Acoli: And, uh, if, if, uh, civil rights is Then they can get on the mailing list, and then, uh, when the petition is drawn up and filed in court, or before it's filed in court, uh, they'll be sent letters saying, uh, you know, that what court it is and where it is to them in the letter.

Speaker 3: Okay. Uh, Brother St. Patrick, um, what would be, uh, your message to African people today? Um, A lot of people are looking for some sense of direction, some sense of how to struggle and in what way to struggle. What could you give us your perspective?

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah, I think the main thing that African people have to do Uh, I mean, in our particular situation is that we have to, uh, take control of our own lives one way or another. By that I mean that we have to become more, uh, self-reliant and, uh, and independent in our thinking and in our actions and, uh, in the direction that we're going. One of the problems is that we, uh, you know, as Black people We can never really solve our own problems because we are always dependent on laws being passed, uh, in other words, that our problems are always being solved from City Hall or from the U.S. government. And, and the solutions that, uh, they propose are basically solutions that are best for them, but it's not always best for us. So that we have to, like, understand that we We have to solve our own problems. The way that we do that is that we have to stand on self-reliance and independence and take control of our community and our lives and whatever. But I'm saying that we have to start thinking independently.

Speaker 3: Now, I understood you've published at least one book, and people might be interested in In trying to get a hold of that information or anything that you've published or written.

Sundiata Acoli: One thing about burying, uh, you have lots of time. Yeah, out of it, uh, in prison about, I don't know, 6, 7, 8 years. I don't know how long, maybe 10 years. Uh, and, uh, so I decided that, uh, I didn't— and doing, uh, those For the last 10 years, I had written articles for various political organizations, you know, things like that. So basically what I decided to do—

Speaker 5: and oftentimes people said, well, well, Sundara, what, uh, is your solution?

Sundiata Acoli: I mean, what do you propose, right?

Speaker 5: Right.

Sundiata Acoli: So what I did, I decided to, uh, kind of just sit down, because I had so much time, and, uh, kind of lay out, uh, the problem as I saw it. I'm talking about in reference to African people in this context. So it will be to stand out what I feel the solutions were. So, uh, I've noted that I put in a book called Frontiers, right? And the book, um, I can say where it can be gotten from, uh, the address that I just gave you, the, uh, Sundiata Koli Freedom Campaign in New York.

Speaker 5: Also, uh, we have a, uh, a branch in Chicago.

Sundiata Acoli: Oh, great. And a brother, uh, named Hondo Chiqui is, uh, like, he's the desk manager, uh, doing a fantastic job. Uh, I don't have that address on me, that telephone.

Speaker 3: Yeah.

Sundiata Acoli: I don't, I don't know, I don't have it on me right now.

Speaker 3: I, I have his phone number.

Sundiata Acoli: It's, uh, 312- Maybe not so much his phone number. His phone number too, right? But he has a post office address where he's through that Dakota Freedom Campaign in Chicago, right?

Speaker 3: I believe so. I can check with Brother Hondo and ask him exactly what the situation is. But if not, I do know that the phone number for the Malcolm X Grassroots It's 312-737-8679.

Sundiata Acoli: Okay, that'll work too.

Speaker 5: Yeah, that'll work.

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah, that'll work because they're one in the same location. And I even think both of the boxes, one in the same location. Uh, right. And, uh, he has, uh, front views too. So either one, the DR's, uh, address or, uh, Brother Hondo's, this address, front views available to both of them.

Speaker 5: Great.

Speaker 3: Brother Sinyadja, after being in jail for 19 years, for your worldview and for asking people, a lot of people would ask the question, how have you been able to To survive, and how have you been able to really just maintain the same beliefs that you had? A lot of people are— I just have to ask the question, you know, how do you do it from day to day?

Sundiata Acoli: Okay. I don't know. It may sound a little— anyway, I noticed that— okay, here's the thing. I noticed that a lot of people that have been in prison a long time, even people that struggle, right, uh, a little disillusioned because, uh, there's not much support from political prisoners, uh, uh, there's not much, uh, support from political things, period, right? And they feel that, uh, they get disillusioned, they get a feeling that people don't support them.

Speaker 5: Yeah.

Sundiata Acoli: Right.

Speaker 5: And, uh, uh, it may be justified, but what I'm saying is that when I was struggling, I was struggling for African people, right?

Sundiata Acoli: Yeah. But I was also struggling, uh, for myself, you know what I mean? And I, I struggled because I felt it necessary to struggle, right? That, you know, someone had to struggle. And, uh, so I struggled, and I wanted to struggle. So what I'm saying is that I wasn't struggling so that people would praise me or support me or whatever, right? I struggled because I felt it was necessary and that people had to struggle and that definitely I had to struggle, right?

Speaker 5: Yes.

Sundiata Acoli: So that when I got into prison, I wasn't that concerned about whether people supported me or whatever.

Speaker 5: Yeah.

Sundiata Acoli: And it didn't bother me that, you know, that there wasn't a whole lot of groundswell of support. And maybe I'm just built like that. Some people do, right? I simply do what I feel that I have to do, period. And I'm, you know, even though I'm struggling for African people, and I guess maybe that's a We have now.

Speaker 5: And having said that, is that also I was surprised too of, uh, just people that are out of touch, not, you know, out of, out of flow.

Sundiata Acoli: Every now and then I get those from people that would say, hey, uh, uh, brother, I, uh, really, uh, appreciate, you know, you struggling for our people. And I just wanted you to know that there's somebody out here that does, right? And, uh, uh, it, it, uh, it, uh, makes you feel good, right? But that wasn't the main reason I'm struggling. But I'm saying it also helps, right? I mean, it helps to, uh, you know, keep you, uh, you know, you know, uh, keep you afloat. Uh, and lately, uh, more and more people are beginning to get, uh, conscious because of People like you, people like Hondo, and other people that have political presence. The Puerto Rican movement is very good at publicizing and educating people about their presence. In fact, I think the work that they did on the Nationalists, the Puerto Rican Nationalists, is kind of like a model for what, you know, for the movement, right?

Speaker 5: Right.

Sundiata Acoli: They kept the nationalism alive among the Puerto Rican people, uh, when nobody else even knew what it was about the nation, except every now and then you hear about it, right? They kept that alive the whole time they were in prison. Uh-huh. And, uh, uh, uh, so now I think that, uh, after, uh, a decade going into 2 decades, uh, they have, you know, Or like, uh, whatever you call it, educational material or whatever around political prisoners. And, uh, it's still, you know, like, still most people don't know what a political prisoner is, a prisoner of war, whatever. But it's beginning to, uh, get out there. And like I said, because of, uh, uh, I think people are getting a little bit more conscious. I think conditions are getting, uh, a lot worse. And it just takes time, but I think that now people are beginning to become a bit more conscious of it.

Speaker 5: I don't know if that answers your question.

Sundiata Acoli: I kind of rambled then, but anyway, that's what I'm facing with.

Speaker 3: Well, I can just— we can just hope that people are beginning— are going to— we're going to start to struggle around the issue of political prisons and around, very seriously, around the issue of independence for African people.

Speaker 5: Definitely. Yeah, when I said independence, I really do know our people—

Sundiata Acoli: that's another thing, really. Our people so far haven't really sat down and Decided, uh, exactly what it— what we're going to have to do to deal with our problems.

Speaker 5: And, uh, frankly, I—

Sundiata Acoli: when I said independent, I, I meant that, uh, I think that black people are going to have to move toward independence, and that really is the only solution to our problems. I mean, independence is that— So we're going to have to move toward, uh, forming an independent, uh, State on land within, you know, land that was formerly within the U.S.

Speaker 5: border.

Speaker 3: My brother Sundiata, thank you for coming on the air and, uh, and sparing this time, this on a Saturday morning. All right, very impromptu interview, but, uh, Got it together. And, uh, we definitely would like to be, uh, hearing from you in the future.

Speaker 5: Really?

Speaker 3: Okay. Um, so you hang on and, uh, thanks again.

Sundiata Acoli: All right.

Speaker 5: Uh, good talking to you. All right, goodbye. Hello? Hello?

Speaker 3: Yeah. So yeah, why don't you, why don't you hang? Because I just wanted to talk to you. I don't know if you knew the interview.

Speaker 5: Oh, all right.

Alice Squire: Well, the basic family structure is from the state of Oklahoma. But somehow, Mother managed to get over into Texas. And we were born— I was born in Decatur, Texas, which is not too far from Dallas and Fort Worth. I have no remembrance of being there. It's just on my birth certificate. However, We did move to Vernon, Texas, and that's where we went to school, we made friends, we went to church. We did all of the fun things that kids do growing up together. My mother worked hard. Without a husband, we were left alone a lot, and because we were somewhat We were quite mischievous. We got into a lot of things that, as I grew older, I realized was not helping my poor mother, because we were doing a lot of damage to the house and what have you. For instance, one day she came home, and there was flour all over the house. And she said, what is this? And we said, well, it's been snowing. And, of course, you know, that was wasting money, wasting food and what have you. But my brother and I— and I am 2 years older than he is. He was born in January, and I was born in February. But we loved each other, because it seemed that in that time that she was working and we were left alone, we were each other's world. And so, we did things together. We played together. And then there were times that we We even fought each other, but we wouldn't let anybody else fight us. But at the time that he began to beat me up, the fighting quit. And I thought it was time for both of us to grow up. But my mother worked hard to teach us basic things, like reading, writing, math, so that by the time we got to school—

Speaker 5: Right.

Alice Squire: We already knew all of that. And with me being older, of course, I went to school first. But my brother became lonely, as my mother said, without me. So the next year, she put him in school, even though it wasn't quite time. And, of course, he kept up, because he's a very bright, bright young man. And I was just— And you were 7? I was double promoted once and left him. And then another time he was double promoted. And then by the time we got to what is now called middle school, junior high school, he was double promoted again. And from that point on, about the 7th or the 8th grade, we were in school together through the remaining of high school and into college. We lived on a street called Will Barker. And I think that was the name of the street or the name of the county. We were alone at that time, and that's when we were getting into lots of trouble and what have you. But eventually, Mr. Jesse came on the scene, because at Christmastime and birthday times, he would come by, and he'd bring us gifts. I remember crates of oranges and apples. And what did he do? And things like that. So, he was— he was a man, but we didn't quite know what the connection was until we moved to Wheeler Street, which was near the high school that we were going to attend much later. But with him being in the house so often, we had to figure out that he was the new man or the new husband or whatever. But for some reason, it doesn't seem It wasn't as though Mother told us about them getting married, which they did, because I saw the birth— I mean, their marriage certificate later. But he was a gentleman, never raised his voice to either of us, never fussed at us, complained about anything. But he was the real father figure in our lives, because— I was a father figure. Because our other fathers only came around at certain times. And I knew that Henry was our father, but we didn't live with him. We never lived with him. So, all the things that we got in life, all of our clothing, all of the food that we ate, all of the fun things that we did, came from our stepfather, whose name was Jesse Walker.

Speaker 5: And he was a barber.

Alice Squire: And he put us through school, worked on the railroad very hard. And now, Mother would fuss at us, you know, and spank us, but he never did that. And he was always there for whatever we needed, a very, a very kind, patient, understanding man. Personally, I don't really know who Roosevelt Johnson is. I've just heard I heard of him recently, and I heard, through my brother and through a funeral program, that he is the father of my brother. And I'd never, never heard of anything like that before. I always assumed that we had the same father, the same mother. And today I still don't know. I still feel that way, but I don't have any proof. All I know is that this program was there, and my brother says that's his father. Oh, yes, you can't forget that kind of thing. It was not only cotton pulling, but cotton picking and chopping cotton. And we did all of it. I didn't like it, not only because of the kind of work that it was, but it— It happened during schooltime. And one of the things, I finally convinced my mother that I would chop cotton, which takes place in the summertime, if she would let me go to school. Now, it seems as though my brother didn't mind being out of school, so he stayed, and he would pull cotton or pick cotton, depending on what was happening. I did manage to get to go to school, but I would chop cotton in the summertime. And you were 10 years old? It was one of those things that we needed, because we needed money, and that was one of the few ways that you could get it. My mother, because she did not finish school— I think she made it to 8th grade— she had this deep desire that her children go farther and do more than she had done. And therefore, she took the time, the patience, the energy to teach us. Teach us basic reading, basic math, spelling, writing. And as I said, by the time we actually entered public school, we knew all of the things that kindergartners, first graders, second graders would be learning in school. We had been in school together since 7th or 8th grade, and I don't know why he said he was surprised. Because Mother had always stressed that we were going to school. And so it was just understandable, as far as I was concerned. In fact, when we got ready to pack our bags or our little trunks, he got all of the new sheets and the pillowcases and the blankets and all of that kind of thing, and Mother packed my trunk with the things that were around the house. And—

Speaker 5: but it was OK.

Alice Squire: And so, you know, we were going to school. OK. He was my brother, and I loved him anyway. But when we came back at the end of our freshman year, he didn't have any new sheets and blankets and what have you, so she had to buy more for him. But I think with us being together like that, he felt somewhat like he was my protector. But it also— I believe I kept him in school, because he was young. He had graduated from— I think he graduated from high school at 14. And that's very young, very young. And so, I encouraged him and worked with him to make sure that he stayed there. I just know that my brother was a very personable person, wonderful personality. Not only did he get along with the young ladies, but he was also a friend to young men. People liked him. He was a natural. Just as he was naturally smart and brilliant, he was naturally a humanitarian, a person who liked people and got along well with people. He got his degree in math, which I wanted to have a degree in, because I liked math. But we had been together all along, and I decided we needed to separate somewhere, so I chose English I majored in English as my major, and he majored in math. And of course, that probably was better for him because he went into computers and, you know, science and those kinds of things. On the day that we graduated, I remember that he came to me and he said, well, sis, it's time for us to go meet the bear. And he meant the world, because I feel we had been kind of Pampered and sheltered over the years. And so we stuck close to each other. But we knew that as adults now, it was time for us— especially since I was engaged and he was going to do whatever he was going to do— that we were going to be going our separate ways. But as I remember, He was at the wedding, because I got— we graduated in May, and then in June I was married, June 23rd. And I say that because years later I was separated on June 23rd. But anyway, he was part of the wedding, and he looked at my husband at that time, and he told him to take care of me, or he would— He would be there to see why he wasn't. But anyway, he went on. We went to Kansas, my husband and I, and he came to California. At that time, as far as I remember, he worked for Edwards Air Force Base. And by the time we left Kansas and we We went to Cleveland, Ohio, first to Toledo and then to Cleveland. He came through Cleveland on his way to New York, stopped by to see me, because he said he didn't really like California. And, of course, I'd never been there, so I didn't know. But we had a short visit with each other. And later on, I did see him in New York in his— In his apartment. He had this little home that he bought. He let us stay in it for a while. And then he was working somewhere in Manhattan in a computer place. But after that, I'm not really— I'm not really sure. Now, this is taking us back to Prairie View, because while at Prairie View, during my senior year— junior-senior year, I ran for Miss Prairie View and ended I'm going to sign up as number 2. But in the meanwhile, we had to make a presentation in Dallas, Texas. So all the buses were loaded on the campus— football team, the band, everybody going to Dallas. Well, he didn't ride the bus. Some kind of way, he got to Dallas by hitchhiking or what have you. And then, when it was time to leave, And ready to come back, he let a few buses leave the campus, and then he came, my bus is gone! My bus is gone! So nobody wanted to leave him in Dallas, so they stuck him on a bus, and therefore he got a ride back. But he hitchhiked to Dallas. And, of course, he wanted to see his sister and enjoy all the activities. But that was just my brother, full of imagination, full of fun. And he was a very good student. A little devilish, but a lovable person. Well, they didn't, but there was the chaplain at the school. His name was Phillips, Reverend Phillips, as we called him, a very distinguished, unique, special kind of person. He taught a class or so on Negro history. I took the class. I don't know if my brother took the class. There weren't a lot of classes being taught. But we had black teachers who instilled pride in us. In fact, even from elementary, junior, senior high days, we had teachers who continued to make sure that we felt good about ourselves, we learned as much about our roots as we could. And you were a member of the Black Panther Party? race and our heritage and our culture as possible. But they didn't just have lots of classes on black history, but this one individual, Reverend Phillips, did teach classes. And they were quite good. I know that my brother Clark did things that way, and he would mostly tell me about them after I remember that Clark went to Mississippi with some other young men, and they went down to register black people to vote. My brother Clark may have shared more of that kind of thing with our mother. Also, he had a lot more experience in traveling around and doing different kinds of jobs, meeting a lot more people than I did. He used to call me the book learner. And he said, he said, yeah, you're smart, but you have to study, and you get most of your information from books, whereby he got most of his information from being with the people. And that does make a difference. I think that's a very important point. Because I was not out there, even though I've always been proud of being black and knowing that I was black— no one had to tell me that— and I had information about historical things that have happened, I didn't feel that anyone was pressuring me or making me be something that I wasn't. But as I said, As I said, our lives began to be a little different after college, and so therefore he was involved in things that I was not involved in. But— so I can't really, really say that I know a lot about what he was doing or how he was feeling. But he did share things with me. But he never seemed to have been dissatisfied with I just remember that Black people in general were at unrest, so to speak. '65 in particular was the time of the first Watts riot. And people— I think Black people were beginning to learn more about themselves, beginning to be concerned about the way in which they were being treated. I remember that world around them and things that were happening. So he was just doing what everyone else was doing, you know, except maybe, maybe by his being the kind of person that he was, more concerned, he got more involved. But he didn't always tell me about everything that he did. Like, he didn't tell me that I did not know that. I wonder whether it's forever or a change in that. But anyway, I knew that he had been arrested, but not that frequently.

Speaker 5: OK.

Alice Squire: Yes. But he didn't necessarily tell me what he was doing or why he was going. Well, he had come to visit me in my hometown. Um, before he went back to New York. In fact, that's the last time I saw my brother outside prison. And, um, he was— he was a wanderer. He almost— that's why I think Henry Squire is his dad rather than this other man, because my dad was a wanderer. He couldn't stay in one place. Right. Place for a long time. And even though he had come to see me, he just kind of disappeared one night. And I just got in my car going to look for him. And I went out onto one of the long streets in the area and driving toward Compton. And I looked, and there he was on the street coming back home. He was alone, you know, just himself. And I says, where have you been? He just wanted to see what was What was happening? And that kind of thing. And then, of course, he did go back to New York after that point. And he told me about his joining the Panthers. He joined them because they were the kind of group that he felt would do something for the black people and was doing something for the black people, helping He felt that everything, you know, was for a good cause. And then later, I'm not sure who told me about my brother. I'm really not sure, because it could have been one of the ladies he knew. But I did find out that he had been arrested. I was 10 years old. I think they call it something, the 21, something 21. But anyway, I didn't think it was as serious as it turned out to be, because I know black men get arrested for lots of things, whether they are guilty of the things that they're arrested for or not. But it— I began to read I read some things in the paper. There was a little booklet put out. And I just expected him to be there a short while. I just had no idea it was going to stretch out into the number of years that it has been. And after a while, then we started to visit him. And I just— I don't know. It bothers me, because I don't see why he's still in prison. I really don't. I don't know anything that he's done or even been accused of that would keep him in prison like this and for so long. So, we do talk now, and I do visit him, and I do write him. I sent more information to him through writing. But back to that particular day and time, it might have been Joyce who told me about it first. But in prison, there— you can't talk freely. So I never really heard from my brother, or have heard to this day. And you were in the same prison as your brother? His view of what happened and his reasoning as to why he thinks he's still in prison. I know that he's tried for parole several times, and I've told you this, that, that it bothers me because I don't, I don't know how to help him. I don't, I don't know how to To feel, really feel about what's going on, because I don't know the real facts, or I don't know the facts from him, who is my brother. There had to have been some dialogue between them, because my mother, being the proud black woman that she is, was crushed with all of this, literally crushed. I do believe, and I've always said this, that the sickness that my mother took on after he was arrested and put in prison caused her cancer, caused the other things that she's gone through. She wouldn't talk to people about him. And it wasn't that— maybe it was part shame. I won't say that it was all shame. I think it was part shame. But it was almost for a while that he didn't exist. Not that she didn't love him or anything like this, but when people would ask about him, she couldn't tell them that he was in prison. She was that hurt. And it took a long time. It took years. And then, finally, she did. It took her 3 years before she could come out and just admit to herself that her son— because with her upbringing and the times in which she lived, these kinds of things, like daughters getting pregnant, sons going to prison and jail, those were things that families didn't want to happen to them. And— but because she was internalizing it, It was harmful to her body. So, yes, she had to have talked to him somewhere. And maybe it was just through letters. Maybe it was— I don't remember telephone calls. But maybe it was the few times that we visited in the prisons, that— because he was her number one child. I was no— I mean, I was born first, but he was her pride and joy. And I did manage to get through school being good, and I didn't get pregnant, so I didn't bring that unto the family. But with him being in prison, she saw that as a blemish. Even though she may not have been admitting all of this, but she was holding it in. And harming herself in the process. But as the years went by, she began to release it and realize that this was her son, her one and only son. And it's just that I wish he had gotten out before she got into the state that she's in now.

Speaker 5: I don't know.

Alice Squire: So, how they talked, other than telephone, letters or face-to-face in prison, I don't know. But they did. They had to. I— Mother never said that she was harassed. And, of course, she— if she were, she probably wouldn't have recognized it. I do remember little things like someone being on the telephone Or calling and not answering or saying anything, you know, in great numbers. But I— I'm not necessarily street-smart, but I was concerned, but I didn't associate it with my brother. It could have been that.

Joan Gibbs: And—

Alice Squire: but no one ever came to me face-to-face with a question. I remember one time, I was in the kitchen, and I heard someone Or no one ever said anything to me, say, on the telephone, that would make me think it's a direct confrontation because of my brother. I don't remember anything. I do remember just little, little strange things happening with the telephone over a period of time. But I associated that with just anybody.

Speaker 5: And Mother never said anything.

Alice Squire: I remember one time, I was in the kitchen, and I heard a loud bang. Never said. Never said. Because she was closed-mouthed about a lot of stuff once he got in prison. So— but she never said anything to me about anyone actually bothering her. Well, I do recall that he had some ailments, and he didn't always get the medical attention that he needed. And not immediately, OK? I think he— in time, he would get the medicine. I think he had tuberculosis at one time, some other things that were happening to him. But— and I don't know, maybe even I was asked to write a letter or do something. I do remember. That he needed some help with medications and what have you. And it seems as though once or twice I wrote some letters, and I never talked to anyone personally. And then, of course, his friend Joyce also helped him a lot. In fact, she was able to visit him more often. And I was there. He did see him at times when I could not see him. But yes, he did. He did have some problems there with getting assistance and help. I remember reading about it. In fact, he would send me materials. And I remember getting a book or being referred to a book called the— what was it? The Hurricane 21 or something like that. Something to that effect. And sometimes, sometimes I wouldn't read it right away, because I guess I was being like my mother, to a degree. Some kind of way, he told me that he was not released, OK? Because in the early days, he didn't talk to me by telephone that much. Now, He talks to me by telephone and occasionally letters. But back in those days, it was mostly letters, or I would learn things through Joyce. And I didn't know why. I didn't know why he wasn't released. But I think at that time I began to be a little bit concerned that all of the others were released, and I didn't know whether he was I didn't know whether he was a scapegoat or whether he was guilty. I just knew that he was my brother and still in prison when everybody else was gone. And I have materials at home that he shared with me and other people. And sometimes I'll read it, and sometimes—

Speaker 5: What do you read? I won't.

Alice Squire: He didn't ask for money, not from me. I think he did rent the house out, because one of the times that I went there, he allowed my former husband and I and some friends to stay there while he was somewhere else. And Mother may have sent him money. As I said, with the state of mind that she had, she didn't like to talk about it a lot. More recently, he has begun to save money, and he sends it to me, and I have it in an How do you account for it? I let him call me free. I told him, don't ever call me, you know, call collect— I mean, you know, pay for it. Occasionally he will do this, but— well, he's asked for— OK, once he needed some cigarettes, you know, little things like that, and I sent him money for cigarettes. But he's never asked for big money. I do know that some people give him money.

Speaker 5: OK.

Alice Squire: No, he didn't ask for any money then. No. He may have been renting the house out and doing odd jobs and that kind of thing, but he didn't ask me for any money. OK? As I said, if he asked Mother for some, then I don't know about that. But he came through to visit me. And mother was there and my stepfather. But he didn't ask for anything, OK? I don't— no, he didn't ask for anything. And he's— you know, he was his usual happy, contented self, at least as much as we could see. And it was a joy to see him. And you were 6 years old? to see him. But no, I don't know where he was getting money or how.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry. It's the first time somebody's ever hugged me.

Alice Squire: That's the first time I've been asked like that.

Speaker 5: That's very— Why?

Alice Squire: Nobody's ever asked me that before. I guess I've been holding it in. I knew it had a great effect on me, but he's always been so upbeat. And listening to you ask me these questions, I think he's been shielding me. I didn't like him being in prison.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry.

Alice Squire: I never have, but I've always just— I guess I've just been waiting on my brother to get out of prison, thinking that one day he would. I even told him that I wanted him to come and stay with me.

Speaker 3: Why?

Alice Squire: And I thought I might be able to protect him. I don't know how he takes it I couldn't. I think he's been wronged, and I wonder why he he about the people. Why would you go ask stuff like that when so many others have been released, even those well-known Panthers, what have you? That's why I keep wondering, did somebody purposely plan and make him the scapegoat? No. Been going through. I think he's been sparing me of some of the stuff he's. I tell people about him in prison, because I'm not ashamed of him. But I don't want to see him there. He spent his whole life there.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry.

Alice Squire: I'm sorry. I've written letters. In fact, whenever he tells me to do something, I do it. I've wrote letters for Mother explaining why we thought he should be paroled. And they still don't parole him. They don't let him out. It bothered me. I guess they didn't know how much it bothered me. Oh, gosh. Now I've got to go see him, because he hasn't— he hasn't let me be part of all of this, not completely. I wish I, I really do.

Speaker 5: Sorry.

Alice Squire: Anyway, you just think he just turned 71, 72. He just. He was born in 1971. And he spent half of his life in prison. It's a waste. It's a waste. He had too much to give. You're making me feel things that I didn't know. My brother, my brother, my brother, Takiyah. If we could go back in time, that would be—

Speaker 5: I'd like to talk to you.

Alice Squire: Not really knowing. All the things you were doing, I would try to tell you to remember your upbringing, remember your mother and your sister, and how much we love you, and how smart you are, and how you should not really let yourself—

Speaker 5: What?

Alice Squire: You get into things that may not be the best for you. Not everybody out there loves you like we do. You're not a dummy. You were young, and you probably got into a lot of things you wouldn't have ordinarily.

Speaker 5: But you do know right from wrong.

Alice Squire: You do know when people are trying to misuse you. You don't really need all those other people. All Blacks have suffered one way or another. You've done a lot of good. But in doing your good, you don't want to get yourself into trouble. So think. Think first before you do something. Think about the people you're with. Are they for your best interests? Remember that there's a life after this life, and you want to We've always been Christians. And you want to go to heaven, you know? I've sent him materials to study, to make him think about even Even though he's now in prison, he can still— he can still do what's right. And in your heart, I know you know what you did or what you did not do, no matter what other people said you did. And I'm glad that you're not Getting into trouble in prison like you were, and being a sitter.

Sundiata Acoli: Wait, I don't know what they call it.

Alice Squire: I can't even think what they call it when they put you in solitary. Oh, so. And because that always bothered me. I never knew how long he was there, how big the little place was that he was in, if they fed him while he was in there, if they mistreated him by beating him, or what happened. That's not the kind of life I wanted to see my brother have.

Speaker 5: And I wish—

Alice Squire: I wish y'all would tell me more. And then, if you'd make us a snack, it might have been able to help.

Speaker 5: What?

Alice Squire: I'm hurting. Your mother was hurting. But it wasn't because we didn't love you. We just didn't want to see you get into trouble, whether it's your fault or somebody else's fault. I know that you have the capability of— of thinking things through. You've never been bad. You've always been concerned about other folk. Maybe you didn't think about yourself enough. I just wish you had talked to me, talked to me like we used to do.

Speaker 5: Oh gosh.

Alice Squire: I miss you. Even when I go to buy you birthday cards, there's some I can't even buy because we haven't been together in so long. All the little things it says about family, about the fun family has. We haven't had that experience in a long time.

Speaker 5: I want you out. I want you out. Oh, gosh. I don't know if I've been a good sister.

Alice Squire: I certainly appreciate Done now. Oh, but at least it happened a long time ago. Now somebody believes us. It's never too late. It's never too late. But I want that day to come when I can see you on free ground, walking, talking, and laughing. Hugging. I wanted it to happen before your mother leaves here. You were always her favorite, and that didn't bother me, 'cause I loved you too much. I don't even know what Donnie's asking for. She's gonna love you an awful lot. And I love her.

Speaker 5: I know. I do.

Alice Squire: Tariq, this is your mother talking to you. The mother who brought you into this world and loved you more than any mother could ever love a son. I gave you my all, whatever I could do for you. I remember those days. You had pneumonia 7 times. And after about the 3rd time, the doctor says, he's not going to make it. Let him alone. And she said, no, this is my son. And like a poem that I'm seeing in the back of my mind, she was bending over him, taking care of him, warming him, treating him, giving him medicine. Making sure that her son lived. As I said, I knew he was her favorite. There isn't anything she wouldn't do for him. And she did everything that she could, that a mother could. And she hurt She hurt without sharing with anybody. So she would have just told him to remember all the things that I've tried to teach you. Remember that you're the only son that I have. And if something happens to you, I don't know if I could live without you.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry.

Alice Squire: And as I said, all the sickness that she suffered, she suffered because of him, because she loved him so much. And she would keep telling him, I did what I could. I did everything that I could for you. Don't let me down. Don't let yourself down.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry.

Alice Squire: You're too— you've got a brain. You've got a good mind. You can do anything in this world that you want to do. And she said, all your life, you've been a good son, a good son, a typical son in the fun things that boys do. She even spanked him, gave him his last spanking. The summer after his freshman year in college, we came home. We were the college kids. And he went down to a little store, just devilish, and rearranged some things that the man had at his little grocery store. And, of course, the man was upset. And Mother brought him back and spanked him right there in front of the man. But she did it because—

Speaker 5: Because?

Alice Squire: Because she loved him, and she knew that he really knew better. But she wanted him to be the best that he could be in everything. And so, she would look at him on the day before. She would simply say to him, I love you. I always have.

Speaker 5: I love you, too.

Alice Squire: And I want to love you the rest of your life. And I want to be proud of my son. Not that I'm not proud, but I just don't want you to get into trouble. And she would hug him. She would hug him for a long time. And she would promise him anything that he needed, that she would get it for him if she could. Just remember to be a good boy.

Speaker 5: And you know what?

Alice Squire: First of all, my brother Clark is a very likable person. And even though people haven't seen him for years, they remember the days that they did see him and they were around him. And when I do see people, many are surprised that he's still in prison. And then there are others who who, like me, don't really know what to do. But I have had some people have me put them on his visitors list so they could go and talk to him. And they've asked for his telephone number to talk to him and, you know, the address so they could write him and just see what What they could do. But most people just don't know what or how. It's deeper than our understanding of this world that we live in, and the system that he's in, why certain things happen. But they've tried to keep contact. And I don't really know how many actually They never actually visited, but I know they wanted to. And I told them they'd have to get on the list like anyone else, and I know he can put them on temporarily. But even when I went to Prairie View this past 2 years, 1956— I mean, 2006, there were people who still missed him, probably missed him more than they missed me.

Speaker 5: I'm sorry.

Alice Squire: And they ask about him, and I tell them that he has maintained this composure. And that's probably from feeling that he's just not going to let the system get him for something that he's not responsible for.

Joan Gibbs: And they've written—

Alice Squire: one or two have written me, actually, saying that they're very Since— I guess I could have brought you the letter— since I left Prairie View in 2006. And I just want to know how he's doing. That was one of the reasons I put his picture in the book, in our little souvenir book. I didn't know whether people— many people would remember him, but they do. And they have sympathy for him.

Speaker 5: I feel so sorry for him.

Alice Squire: But who can help him but you? I don't know. You've done more than anybody. I know he appreciates it. I know he does. So, they're just kind of like me, at a loss. He laughs a lot. He does. He laughs when I tell him not to use his money to call me. I said, that's one thing I can do, at least accept calls from you and pay for them. We laugh when we talk about his 2 daughters, because he knows that they're very different. And I'll tell him how one receives One responded to an incident, and the other did it just the opposite. He laughs when I talk about his nieces. And he wants— he wants to know everything that they're doing. And I have one grandson, so he's into that. He used to laugh when I talked to him about Mother, because he'd call her— oh, he had some little nickname.

Sundiata Acoli: What was it?

Alice Squire: for the old battle axe or something, but it was all in love. But now that she's ill, or more ill, if there's such a term, and he doesn't laugh as much. I mean, he's eager to know what's going on with her. He laughs at me when I tell him about things that I've done or things that I can't do or I haven't learned. What have you. And then when he tells me about the things that he does in prison, like some of the games— I think he was captain of the basketball team or the manager or whatever they call them in there, the name they gave themselves. But he was over some sports teams. And he would share things with me and how they would have fun or how he'd have to get on them and So, almost every time we talk, there's more laughter than sadness. When he is sad, that's when I have to ask him, has he undergone some kind of problem? Have they put him in that little storeroom or whatever? Has somebody been mean to him? I think that's what's so sad. And he doesn't really ever say yes. But— and then it doesn't last long, because our little 15 minutes are up. He says, you're going to hear the beep. You're going to hear the beep. I said, that's OK. We'll talk until they cut us off. But I would say, if I had to give it a percentage, he is truly 95% positive and happy. And he's a very good listener. More so than being negative, sad, complaining, angry. And that's just amazing to me. It's absolutely amazing. But I love him, and I tell him as much as I can. I even tell him that when he's He does get out. He's got a home. He's got a room. I'm going to introduce him to the world again, all the things that he thinks he knows about, and that I'll actually show him these things. And what— I went to— I went traveling this past summer. I went to Australia and New Zealand. And what did you see? New Zealand. So he said, I want pictures. I want to know what it's like. He's still curious. He still feels like he's on top of everything. And so I took a few pictures and shared the— it was wintertime there. I told him it snowed on me. And, of course, I don't know when it snowed. I probably was 5 years of age when it snowed before.

Speaker 5: But—

Alice Squire: But then I showed him, you know, the girl I went with and how she was more of a problem than a big help. But we made it. And the things that I brought back— and I told him I could live in Australia. I really could. And I felt— I think he told me that he had been there once. He didn't seem to have stayed long, but he said he liked it. And he was a journalist. Even then, when he went. And so, so we just, we laugh the whole time we're talking. And it bothers me when those little voices come in on the telephone, you've got such and such time. I said, just move away and let us talk and enjoy it. And then they hang up. I have to wait for the next calls. We'll go— I think it's usually Friday, Saturday and Sunday that we'll go. We'll go in as early as we can, and we just stay until we have to go, and then we'll go back the next day. I was very appreciative of the people in charge. I think it was 2 times before, 2 visits before, when we made it all the way And when we got there, we realized Mother didn't have her ID. And they could have made her sit outside, which meant one of us would have had to sit with her. But they knew that she was his mother, and they also knew that she had a little problem. So they didn't deny her from seeing her son. So we enjoyed that. I wrote them a letter, and I said, Afterwards, I took the names of the 2 men who were responsible, and I asked that they be thanked and be recognized for doing something good like that, because we didn't know if she would ever make it back or not. But, you know, when we go to visit him, he just eats the whole time we're there. We, you know, we have to make sure we take him And plenty of dollars and whatever to feed him out of the machines and that kind of thing. So he seems to enjoy that. And I even ask him, I says, are they feeding you here? But he eats all of them, the little sandwiches and the drinks and the chips. And we just eat all day long, you know, and take pictures. Got lots of pictures. So— and he's— on every picture, he's smiling.

Joan Gibbs: I'm smiling.

Alice Squire: He's smiling as though he's on top of the world. It's just wonderful, because just like he's been in prison, someone put him there. I know there are people out there who still don't like him and probably would like to see him stay in prison. So that's why I wanted him to come and stay with me. In whatever way I could help him or protect him or save him, I would. I wouldn't want him pinned up, like being in prison, but I want— I would want him to be safe and secure, and yet reacquaint himself with the family and with the world and the things that are there. But in the back of my mind, I've thought there that I have. I don't know where they would come from or exactly who they would be, but I would try to do as much as I could for him. And even if we had to move or whatever, I would do that, too. I knew that he had a fan base. I didn't know how big it was. How big it was. But as I said, it has always been part of him, just part of his personality, his nature, his whole being, to be warm, friendly, helpful, so that now that he's involved with fighting for freedom doesn't surprise me. And I'm sure that everywhere he's reached out— I had a chance to reach out. There are these people who have followed me. Those people wouldn't bother me. I mean, I could have them all in the house at one time. It wouldn't bother me. It's just that in the back of my mind, I've always felt that of the things that he's done, there are those people still out there who would be wanting to hurt him. And that would be my greatest fear.

Joan Gibbs: What do you think about the The first problem being an attorney representing political prisoners in the United States is that basically you have to do it on a volunteer basis, because there is no funds, basically, for it, and the prisoners obviously can't pay for it. So that makes it much more difficult. Obviously, if you could do it as a part of the work that you normally do, it would be much easier. —normally do, and do it during the hours of the day and not have to take off from work or do it on the weekends. It would be much easier. And then, of course, not having financial resources behind you, you're limited in what you could do. Most of the work that's been done for Sundiata, for example, is not— is not only volunteer, In great instances, the lawyers have actually funded— did the funding of our own work, like fees, filing fees, copying fees and things like that. So that's the difficulty. And because it is mostly volunteer— well, in my case, I don't know about other attorneys, but in the case of people who work with Soniata, I know that they're all volunteers.

Speaker 5: Right.

Joan Gibbs: And that we do the work out of our support of him and his case and relief that he's being— that he's wrongly incarcerated. And so, that means that we have to take time out from our jobs, our full-time jobs, because all of us are employed, and do— or do it on the side. So that's the biggest difficulty. And that's the difficulty. That I guess all political prisoners who want to get an attorney, that's the primary difficulty that they face, that their support committees, to the extent that they exist, can't raise money sufficient to pay attorneys to devote themselves 100% to their cases. Well, I didn't come into Sundiata's case until, I think, after his first parole hearing. I think that Sundiata's case is difficult in many respects, and one of which is that it's my personal belief— I don't know what others may think of this— is that Sundiata should have been released on parole on the first time or on the second time. And I think the reason that he The reason he hasn't been released on parole has nothing to do with his behavior in prison or with the fact that, you know, the parole board has somehow concluded, notwithstanding the fact that people his age rarely go back to prison. I mean, it's— all statistics show that, that elderly prisoners are not the one, when they talk about recidivism rate, who are going back to prison. It's the young people. Right. People. And so then it says, okay, then that undermines their argument that if he's released, he's likely to commit another crime. He's not likely to commit another crime. So then it gets down to what I believe is the real issue, which is New Jersey is vindictive because of his co-defendant. Everybody knows what that is. I mean, recently this week somebody sent me an email how New Jersey has people, you know, searching for her in Cuba, and his refusal also to like renounce his political positions and renounce her. If he did that, he might get out. I don't know. Probably wouldn't. But I mean, they— that's why he's there. And it's totally, in my opinion, a question— it's a violation of the First Amendment, though the courts haven't said that. But it is, because he's being held there solely because of his political association and association with her.

Sundiata Acoli: Right.

Joan Gibbs: Political association with the Black Panther Party and association with her. So that's the real difficulty. Because there are others— it's not like people who are convicted of killing police officers are not released. That's not true. There are people who are released, admittedly not many Panthers, but there are people. I know somebody who was convicted of killing a police officer who was released. It's Darryl King, who was in New York City. He was released, I guess, on the first time he was He was released. He was released on parole based on a lawsuit. I think it was the second time. But at any rate, he's released. And he's quite a young man. He's not as old as Sundiata. So that, I think, is the big difficulty with respect to his case. And that's a fact that cannot be changed. So we have to try to bring political pressure to bear. I've worked— I represented Herman Ferguson. I guess you know who he is. And I did some work around Derruba bin Wahad. All of those cases, particularly Herman, who I know best, had to do with FBI and great involvement in his arrest, conviction. And so— but I didn't represent Herman at trial, obviously. He was tried while I was still, I think, junior high school. But I did his parole and appeals once he came back to the United States. I think it was 1987. It wasn't— I mean, that is not— I think that those problems, if they occurred, occurred when they were initially going to trial. You know, I think it's outrageous, obviously, and I think it bespeaks of selective prosecution and selective and discriminatory sentencing, that people who are political Political people get greater sentences than nonpolitical people. I think that that is easily demonstrable. But it's— you know, I'm not shocked by that, you know, because, I mean, that's historically what has happened to people in this country who dared to challenge the United States government or, you know, or— and the governments of the states. That's what has happened to them, you know. Thank you. That they have been singled out for prosecution, sentenced excessively, and, in some cases, thrown out of the country. For example, I was thinking the other day about Marcus Garvey, who— Marcus Garvey was convicted in federal court, and somehow or another, within, I guess, 4 years, he was pardoned by the president. And I was thinking, oh, I need to go back and read about how that campaign went about, because It's been a long time since I read it. But with the exception of him and a few others, most people who are sentenced in the United States as political prisoners stay in jail a long time. The Puerto Ricans who were finally released spent 25 years in jail. You know, that's— so I'm not shocked by that. It's the same thing that happens in other instances of the law, whenever someone is sentenced If to a long time. I think it's important to note that the United States has a history of you kill somebody, it's like the situation of somebody— if you kill a white person, a black person, you're going to get sentenced disproportionately, right? Studies have shown you might get the death penalty more likely than if you killed another white person. Political prisoners, from the time they're arrested, are treated differently. I'll give an example. Herman Ferguson, when he was at the Brooklyn House of The detention down on Atlantic Avenue was in a unit that housed— you know, housed within it were some other people who were accused of controversial crimes, but some of them who were mentally ill. Facts just showed that they were mentally ill. The same thing happened to Assata, if you recall. When she was at Rikers, she was in a unit with people who were having problems. So they put And Assata, when she was— of course, when she was in that all-male facility for so much time. So they're treated differently. They are— there's greater scrutiny given to them in prison, because, one, that they may organize or provide a role model to other prisoners. And I guess prison authorities fear corruption— not corruption, fear that they will organize and Mm-hmm. —challenge corruption and whatnot in the prison. So, that's how they're differently treated. They are set— placed in prisons that are distanced from their families, so they can't stay in contact. Sami Al-Arian is in New Jersey— was in New Jersey— he was convicted in New Jersey. He was put in federal prison in, you know, in Marion. And then now he's in White Deer. His family is in Texas. Or California. One of the— or he could be near his daughter. There are federal facilities closer to any one of those 3 entities, any one of those 3 family units, than where he is. And they know that. Uh, Mutulu Shakur was in Atlanta, where his mother is. Now he's— you know, he's been transferred. And they do that deliberately, to make— to break them down. It's a process of breaking down people. If you put you somewhere where you can't get visitors, hardly, or, you know, people can't go— you can't go to visit Sonny Ali except by car. If you don't have a car, you can forget it. It's not like there's a— I mean, I guess his daughter once told me there was some way to fly near there, but he flew, so how do you get to the prison once you get off the plane? So that's all part of— Of targeting them and of trying to break them down. Well, the purpose of that, the United States and the government of the states together, the last thing they want in the world is for people to see them as appropriate role models, you know? And so, to the extent that they can, you know, punish them severely, it discourages other They don't want to stop people from following their example. You know, that's a simple fact. They don't want any more Sundiata Kolis. They don't want any more Marilyn Bucks. They don't want any more Matul Shakurs. They don't want people who are steadfast, tireless in their beliefs, political beliefs, in opposition to the government. They don't want that. And the best way to, like, not be a non-role model is to say, look, this guy, You know, he's— look, he's in prison for all that time. You know, he gets more time than the drug dealer. Well, the United States doesn't acknowledge political prisoners, because the United States portrays itself as a democracy. This is the land of the free, home of the brave. So they're not political prisoners in this country, because the legal system in this country is a wonderful system, if you listen to the United States tell you. There's no such thing as racism in the courts. There's no such thing as politically— or politics being used. Under their theory of the cases, lawyers would say this, you know, if you were convicted, you were rightfully convicted, and you had opportunity to appeal. If your appeal was unsuccessful, then you are a criminal to them. So that's why they won't acknowledge it. And I think that's why— They're not going to acknowledge it. What people can do is to focus on the fact that they are political prisoners. And every time the United States goes around the world, you know, calling on Cuba or calling on— well, I guess the main— its main target is Cuba— to release political prisoners, people should point, well, you should release yours, you know? Because the United States incarcerates more people and holds them longer than anywhere in the world. I'm a member of the United States Now that South Africa doesn't exist, even South Africa, I don't think, imprisons people as long as the United States does. Well, what do you mean? Are you talking about government surveillance and harassment of political groups?

Alice Squire: Yeah.

Joan Gibbs: Well, one, you know, in this country, you have the First Amendment gives you the right to petition the government and the right to freedom of speech and association, right? And those rights are abrogated whenever the government comes into meetings, particularly when they come into meetings and then spy on people and use their presence or what they say at that meeting against those— against people, which is classically what happened under COINTELPRO and classically what's happening now, that the United States— and so that's an overreaching of them and it's abuse of power. And it hurts people because it then— it chills people's willingness to engage in political activity. And I think you can see that by the number of people, if you— that I've talked to, young people who always say, well, look, I don't want to end out like, you know, like a Sundiata Kouli. Or— and then there's a level of paranoia that then also chills people, because then people get, oh, you know, either they think everybody is an agent. And so that And that paralyzes political work, too. You know, my opinion about it is— and I've been involved in the movement for a long time, since '68, versus, you know, just as a young person. And my opinion is that there are always going to be agents. We have to accept that fact and move on, because they've always had FBI agents in our meetings, and they always will. And then there are always people who are subject to being Baited into agents because of something that they've done, like they've done something the United States has discovered about to expose it. So that's the reality that we have to deal with. And what we have to do is do the best we can in the circumstance, but we cannot— it cannot make us so fearful that we do nothing. The main atrocity is the fact that he hasn't, you know, that he hasn't been released on parole. That is the main atrocity, because Sundiata is somebody who has, you know, a near-perfect record. You could not want a more perfect record than his. I mean, I was— you know, the fact that he's taken numerous courses, numerous programs— anger management, one-on-one counseling, group counseling— all these things he's done. All his classes, he's gotten A's in. All of them. I mean, it's even real estate, which I probably— I'm sure, even a law graduate, I couldn't get an A in real estate court. I mean, I didn't do it in law school. I don't see no reason why I would do it now, right? And that and all of that he's done, he still hasn't gotten parole. And that is the greatest atrocity against him. I mean, there's no— it's the biggest atrocity that he's still in prison.

Alice Squire: I'm sorry.

Joan Gibbs: You know, we had at one point, we had, we hired our own psychiatrist to go and interview him, to see whether, you know, and, you know, people say, well, of course that's self-serving. You hired somebody so he came to the conclusions you were looking for. That's not true. That brother who did that study would not do that. He's an expert in cases. People hire him all over the country. It's not like we went and got one of our friends. I didn't even know the guy. And neither did Florence. But we never knew the guy. I met him once at a conference after the fact. So, I mean, that's his biggest atrocity, is that he's still being held in prison. You know, I don't think— you know, short of that, I don't think there's anything— it's not that they beat him up or something like that. I mean, that was done early. But, you know, now he's an elderly man, to be truthful about it, and he's still—

Speaker 3: I'm sorry.

Joan Gibbs: So, you know, and he's still in prison. That's the greatest atrocity. The federal— the states and the federal government, they have this agreement where they border prisoners out if they feel that it's difficult keeping them in the state. And so that's how he came to be in the federal. When he was— New Jersey felt that he would be— well, I think that's true. I mean—

Speaker 5: Yeah.

Joan Gibbs: The federal government has some of the most maximum prison— maximum facilities in the world. So that's why he's there. The question is, why is he still there now, when he's not— I mean, in the beginning, when he was in prison, of course, like all prisoners, it was adjustment problems and he ran into trouble. But that hasn't been the case in years. So the question becomes, why is he still in federal custody? There's life sentences without parole and life sentences with parole. He got a life sentence with parole. So, therefore, that's why he's coming up for parole. But, you know, parole, release on parole, you still— it's not automatic. It's not shell. It's not mandatory. It's a thing that's under the discretion of the parole board, to a great degree. And so, that's why he—

Alice Squire: Right.

Joan Gibbs: He's— he could stay there until the end of his life and keep going before the parole board and keep being denied. I mean, because it's put under the discretion of the parole board to release him. Well, when people are— I mean, it's just like— you're right. I mean, it's absolutely a great question, because he likely— I mean, he's beyond the retirement age. I'm not going to change. But he is required to find a job, and we, in a sense, ask him to do this to show the breadth of support for him for his parole. But in reality, he shouldn't be required to find a job, because he's too elderly to work. And everybody knows it's difficult enough for a young black man to find a job, to say nothing for somebody who's 70 to find a job. It's not necessarily they want him to take these classes. He takes the classes, because he's— like most people in prison, he wants to occupy his time. And so, he— a lot of them, like his art classes, are all— he wants to take them. So— and you're right. I mean, he's highly educated. He studied a lot toward a master's. So— but it's just to occupy his time. And it's sort of unfair to the other students in the class that somebody in the class is He's so highly educated, and when most of the people who are in prison, I doubt most of them have the educational background that he does. But I think, in large part, the classes they want— they want him to take these little group programs, like anger management and stuff of that nature. That's what they want him to take. He wants to take these classes, Afro-American history and stuff of that nature, that he takes. I mean, I don't think they wanted him to take the other stuff. I think he wanted to take I'm them. sure he wanted to take the class himself. And also because there's a limit to the number of classes. He's been in jail so long. I'm sure he's probably reached the end of the classes available to him, because unless he's going to start repeating, because he's taken a lot. They have judged him to be— and they know the truth. But in order for them to keep up their argument that he's likely to commit another crime, they have to say that he's hostile and have anger. So, that's why they recommended him to do that. But, however, he did those things, and they didn't— they still didn't release him. So it's not like— I mean, whatever it is that they have suggested or recommended that he do, he's done. Short of renouncing his colleagues and renouncing his co-defendants, he's not going to do that. But the other stuff, anger management, you know, go to group counseling, he's done that. What is important is to create a justification for him being denied parole. So they would point to something he did at 14 if they could find it. I mean, they have got to keep creating this rationale for his being And so they will use anything they can. It's an interesting point, you know. I guess, personally, as a lawyer— I mean, I'm a constitutional lawyer, and so— and human rights lawyer. So I'm more— I look to thinking about how to use international instruments, as opposed to the Declaration of Independence, which was a document that preceded the Constitution. So, and to that extent, we more rely on international instruments which give rights to people to, you know, self-determination, to defend themselves if they're oppressed. The Declaration of Independence, you know, I guess it's interesting why we don't use that. I mean, I'll talk to other lawyers about it. But, I mean, And also, I'm going to be honest, you know, perfectly honest about the Declaration of Independence. I don't look to the Declaration of Independence, because I have the same feelings about the Declaration of Independence, even more so. I mean, the Declaration of Independence had nothing to do with us. You know that. That we, as a people— they were not talking about us. And that was very clear from everything surrounding the writing of that document, all of that. I mean, that's why— one of the reasons why I don't use it, because I know it's hypocrisy when it comes to black people, because we weren't— you know, it didn't change our status. As a matter of fact, some people have argued, and I would tend to agree, that what happened as a result of the American Revolution, it was our situation as slaves got worse, actually. It didn't get better. It got worse. You know, I think it was— who was it? I think it was George Habash that said that, with the— I don't know, one of the so-called founding fathers, maybe it was Madison, said that, that they had did more to help slavery than definitely the British had. So that's, I mean, just a personal thing that I don't talk about or refer to the Declaration of Independence. But I will bring it up with other lawyers, I promise. There's no barrier to— what is the barrier to is that people have got to organize, educate themselves and organize themselves. That's what people have to do. It's not documented. It may be that people will respond to that. It may be that some new document will be created or, you know, we— that's why we talk about international human rights, you know, to think that that's— you know, could organize people. But people have got to get involved and get engaged themselves. I don't think the barrier is the doc— it's not necessarily the document that's prohibiting that. It's just, you know, it's a matter of people's initiative, because the Constitution is by far, you know, not a perfect— it's not a perfect instrument. It's not a perfect document. For example, and it's not no surprise, but the Constitution of the United States speaks nothing about discrimination on the basis of wealth, obviously, because it's a capitalist society. So, already, it's a big hole. You can be poor and get no relief.

Speaker 5: I'm a Democrat.

Joan Gibbs: You know, that's your problem in this society, which is, to me, is an outrage that people should, you know, not have— I mean, I— one of the things I believe strongly, I think probably was what got Martin Luther King Jr. killed, was that he started to say, okay, he started challenging the economy. And he started to challenge this and say, wait a minute, if people can't have a job, then they need a guaranteed livable income.

Speaker 5: That's right.

Joan Gibbs: And once he started demanding that, I guess they said, OK, now he got to go, because that's the big— I mean, once you do that in this society, you know, it's bye-bye, because that's the real— you know, besides white supremacy, that's the real crux of the matter in this country, is money and lack of jobs. First of all, I doubt seriously that they destroyed those documents. They have those documents. I mean, I doubt it. I think that's a lie, first of all. And the transcript is available. And so I just don't think that that's true. I think they didn't give— tell you that, but that's a lie. You don't— if they did destroy it, I mean, that would be an outrage, because you're not supposed to do that. If somebody's in prison, you're supposed to keep their trial transcript.

Sundiata Acoli: I think that's a lie.

Joan Gibbs: Because anything could happen. You know, there are people who have been in prison for years and years, and then suddenly somebody discovered something and the person was released from jail. So you're not supposed to be destroying trial records. The reopening of the case, it's not a matter of just finance, it's a matter of procedure. You can't— you know, there are strict limitations on when You can reopen criminal cases. That's a matter more of procedure than finance, because surely if it was felt that there was a good— that offered a significant possibility of gaining his release, I don't think that it would be— finances would be overcome. So, I mean, it's not— it's just that we have focused more on We're going to give him release on parole, because we think that that's more likely to occur than reopening the case, because reopening a case is very stringent. You know, you have to have evidence that was suppressed or newly discovered evidence. And in case of newly discovered evidence, it would be, well, where have you been with this evidence for the past 30 years? You know? And I don't know about blood at the scene.

Alice Squire: I think that the blood at the scene is If—

Joan Gibbs: I mean, I don't see— if— I don't see any— if there was real evidence that could get his conviction overturned, I think that people would be willing to do that. Now, you just brought up a possibility, like DNA testing, whether they have the DNA of the trooper who was killed, would be—

Alice Squire: I'm sure they could get it or—

Sundiata Acoli: I'm sure they do.

Joan Gibbs: or they get it from surviving members of his family or something. Or whether Zayd Muhammad— Zayd Shakur, I'm sorry. Zayd Shakur, you know, and all of that, that would be things that have to be considered. I'm glad you're making this film. I hope you are very successful with it, because I think Sundiata is, you know, He should be released. I mean, there's no question that he's been held there unfairly. I think— I don't know about the cases of the political prisoners as well as I know his, but I have a sense that he's being held there truly for vindictive purposes. And I think people need to know that, that he's being held for vindictive purposes. He has a perfect record and should be released.