
The beating of young Delbert Africa during the Philly police invasion of the MOVE home on Aug. 8, 1978, was shown on television. Just after this photo was taken, police smashed his head with a rifle butt. Then his head is shown flapping back and forth as cops kick him from each side.
On political prisoners
by Michael Africa
On the move!
Solitary confinement is a position that most true activists experience regardless of their location. Whether on a cell block or a street block, the life of an activist is one of isolation.
Public officials want to isolate the activists in the community in an attempt to contain them. Old acquaintances distance themselves when they realize the activist is aggressively confronting the same system they have been taught all their lives to fear and avoid.
But as old friends distance themselves, new comrades emerge who also feel compelled to confront a system that has terrorized your power of purpose. These comrades, however, are always subject to be snatched away by the system.
Once these same activists are thrown in jail, the isolation tactic increases a thousandfold. All the tactics the system employed in an attempt to break the will and the spirit of the activist are applied non-stop, 24/ 7, to the political prisoner. The authorities then figure they have the prisoner exactly the way they want him or her: beaten and silenced – or so they figure.
In a further attempt to silence and contain political prisoners, officials keep some in the holes of the worst prisons in the country. And as demonstrated by the prison guards turned soldiers and sent to Iraq’s Abu Ghraib terror camp, the same tactics have been employed on prisoners in this country.
This torture is a continuous tool of the ghouls that run these slave camps. And the more political prisoners stand up to these cowards, the more they are targeted and isolated.
Political prisoners like Mumia Abu Jamal and the Angola 3 have been isolated in these dungeons for a quarter of a century by people who find it intolerable that people stand up and speak the truth. MOVE people have been forced into the holes for five- and seven-year blocks at various times during the various rigged up sentences we have been given.
The torture and isolation for the political prisoners also extends to their families, as was demonstrated by Philadelphia officials when they targeted MOVE’s home on May 13, 1985. Dropping a bomb on the house, they massacred everyone inside: Four men, two women and five babies! Four of them were the children of the embattled MOVE women and men, in the holes from earlier confrontations with the same Philadelphia officials and terror cop brigades.
Being a political prisoner in isolation means enduring a multitude of gut wrenching experiences on a daily basis. It means watching guards – who will always find a way to further harass you – bring you your meals and your mail.
They come to get you for a shower, where you have to completely expose yourself by coming out of your cell wearing only a towel. It is painful watching these same guards harass your family and friends when they come to visit you, treating them like criminals as well, in an attempt to discourage them from supporting you.
Being a political prisoner in isolation is sometimes getting to see yourself in the mirror and not recognizing the changes in the reflection. Being a political prisoner is watching your parents grow old as they continue to visit, less frequently, until too many calendars prevent them from showing. It is being told of your loved ones’ passing by people who hate you and only use the news as another tool to dig at you.
Being a political prisoner is watching your siblings grow more unfamiliar to you with each passing year. Watching as they struggle to keep disturbing family news from you. Seeing them not realize that, after decades of this treatment, you no longer feel like the brother, the son, but a kind of guest in your own family.
Being a political prisoner makes you feel terrified of touching things that you keep locked up in the recesses of your mind. Like the first day your young children woke up without you anywhere near. How it must have been for them to only know you through an entire lifetime of brief visits under the ever-watchful eye of people they know hate you – and because they hate you, look upon them with much suspicion.
Being a political prisoner means watching your family struggle, locked into a lifetime of battles of support on your behalf. Defending you and then having to defend themselves from the corporations that exist only to try to exploit the families and friends of prisoners. The lawyers, the phone companies, the commissaries, the suppliers, all of whom jack up their prices when dealing with prisons.
Being a political prisoner is watching your sister, Merle Africa, one of the MOVE 9, die in a prison, having spent the last 20 years of her life in a goddamn dungeon for a crime that even the mayor of the city admitted he knew she was innocent of – and nevertheless would do nothing about – as she died in a prison where she was sent by his courts and terrorist cops.
Being a political prisoner means taking all of these things and using them as motivation to keep fighting, knowing that this is exactly the kind of injustice that compelled you to want to stand against and confront the system in the first place.
All political prisoners should be supported and freed! The system only gets away with this treatment of political prisoners because the people allow it.
The silent give their permission through their silence. It is past time that all political prisoners are freed and given the same kind of support that they have always shown to the people for whom they sacrificed their lives.
On the move! Long live MOVE! Long live the revolution! Long live John Africa!