TO OURCOMMAmsitm

„J€W YEAR'S BOO]

Those who fight injustice are people <xf true meritWhen the prison doms me opened* the redl dra^m wttlfy out!

-HoChiMinh

FROM THE

NO

MATTER

HOW LONG IT TAKES,REAL CHANGES WILL COME,

AND THE GREATEST PERSONAL REWARD

LIES IN OUR INVOLVEMENT AND CONTRIBUTIONS,EVEN IF IT MAY APPEAR THAT NOTHING SIGNIFICANT

OR OF IMPACT REALLY HAPPENED

DURING OURTIMES.

BUT IT DID,

BECAUSE

EVERY SINCERE EFFORT

IS AS SPECIAL AS EVERY HUMAN LIFE.

HUGO PINELL

A-88401

Affirmative Action

Lucille Clifton

driving though Virginiawe pause at a creek calledDifficult Run.

Sunday morning.we have been here before.

we have survived the Mississippithe Atlantic and the Nile, there we werebundled into boats and the captainhated us.

he still does, he will dowhatever he can to drown us,

but we are not surprisedby the captains, the waters, the longand difficult run. the people

can fly if they have to.we lift ourselves across.

Lucille Clifton is the author of theforthcoming "The Terrible Stories."

AkT by far// %//S<?6oLt>

r \

INAUGURAL DEATH MARCH

Today a new governor was inauguratedin PennsylvaniaAiming to pleasehe has promisedto expeditiously consignthe condemned to death.

A morbid chillkeens within my bonesColdcoldice constricts my chestI scream

Mumia must not die!

(1 did not knowbrother Ajamu Nassorhad already been executedin IndianainDecemberNews arrives late here.His brother in struggleZiyon Yisrayahawaits the gas chamber still.)

To speak out stand upcan be deadly.

I have seen many diewho dared to speakto stand upMalcolm Martin Fred Hampton

assasinated by agents and pawnsMany others alsowho did not speakexcept through their existencecolonized men, women, children

lynched, gassed, murderedchoked to death with police clubs

They will not be found in u.s. history booksyet their spirits livein furious condemnation.

After nearly 50 years1still can not accept murderso constitutionally contrivedDispensed by government gas chambers

policeartilleryand u.s. bombers.

I have fantasiesRipping out electrical wiresBurying cyanide capsulesDenaturingdesignerdrugsof lethalinjection

And I am here in prisonfeeling the death tremorsrunning throughconcrete and steelfrom the East coast to the West.

Don't you feel offendedangry

indignantthat a woman or a man should begleefullygarishlyMurderedby State decree?Legality

not by accidentnot in an "incident"not in a war

but deliberatelycalendarically calculatedin cold blood?

If not, why not?If so, what will you do?

****

Marilyn BockJanuary 1995

E W illAwo zAtata

The many faces ofSubcommander

Marcos

(reprinted from Harper's Magazine)

From a communique issued

last year by a spokesman [or the

Zapatista rebels in Chiapas,

Mexico, in response to a reporter'squery as to whether Subcom

manderMarcos, the Zapatista'sleader, is gay ...

Marcos is gay in San Francisco,

black in South Africa, an Asian in

Europe, a Chicano in San Ysidro.

an anarchist in Spain, a Palestinian

in Israel, a Mayan Indian in the

streets of San Cristobal, a gang

member in Neza. a rocker in the

National University, a Jew inGermany, an ombudsman in the

Defense Ministry, a Communistin the post-Cold War era. an

artist without gallery or portfolio,a pacifist in Bosnia, a housewife

alone on a Saturday night in anyneighborhood in any city in

Mexico, a reporter writing fillerstories for the back pages, a

single woman on the subwayat ten p.m., a peasant without

land,an unemployed worker, adissident amid free-market

economics, a writer without

books or readers, and. of course,

a Zapatista in the mountains of

southeast Mexico.

How We Carry Ourselves

To Others in Prisons

I am the broken reed in this deathly organ,I am those mad glazed eyes staring from bars,the silent stone look

that knows like other stones the smell of working feet,knowshow long andwide ahumancan spreadover centuries,

each step, untilwe now stepon dustand rock of prisons.

I could not throw my feelings away,shoot them like wild horses,stone them like weeping dirty prophets,couldnot machetethem pioneeringanew path,I sought no mountain, no brave deed,

I sought to remain human, to lookand feel wind blessme. . . .

Chicanos, Blacks, Whites, Indians,we are all here, our blood all red,we are all filled with enduranceand have tasted the blade,smelled the gun's oily smoke of death.

We are steel hunks of gears and frayed ropes,our hands the toolsheds,our heads the incessant groanof never ending revolving wheelsin an empty, gaunt warehouse,our blood dripping from steel jointslike greaseand oil onto granite floors.

I meant to say, you can turn away from this:if you can take the hammering, they will give,if you can hold on while they grip youand hurl you ragefullyat the ground,if you canbite your teeth when they bend you,and still, you do not fit,you can be who you are.

You can see the morning and breathe in God's grace,you can laugh at sparrows, and find lovein yourself for the sun, you can learnwhat is inside you, you can know silence,you can look at the dark graymachine around you,souls going up like billows of black smoke,and decide what you will do next,you who are the main switch, who rumseverything off.

But you breathing, smiling, struggling,turning yourself on

by Jim^y Santiago Baca.

Song No. 2

(1) i say. all youyoung girls waiting to livei say. all you young girls taking yo pilli say. all you sisters tired of standing stilli say. all yousisters thinkin you won't, but youwill.

don't let them kill you with their staredon't let them closet you with no airdon't let them feed you sex piece-mealdon't let them offer you anyold deal

i say. step back sisters, we'rerising from the deadi say. stepback johnnies, we're dancing on ourheadsi say. step back maa no mo hangin by a threadi say. step back world can't let it all gounsaid

(2) i say. all you young girls molested at teni say. all you young girls giving it upagain &againi say. all you sisters hanging out in every deni say. all you sisters needing your own oxygen.

don't let them trap you with their cokedon't let themtreat you like one fat jokedon't let them bleed you till you brokedon't let them blind you in masculine smoke.

i say. step back sisters, we're rising from thedeadi say. step back johnnies, we're dancing on our headsi say. step back maa no mo hanging by a threadi say. step back world can't let it go unsaid

So*IA S/AMCrVEt

& 'l

Suzanne Roden/Spare Rib

ITS OVER?

It wasn't over when your firstinvaded and plundered theMother Land

Committed your vicious actsand made a vow to annihilate

the fifrikan man

It wasn't over when you nefariouslyconspired and murdered brotherNat, Malcolm, George & Fred

Our anger must neveir subsideand should be appropriatelystored within our heads

find to this day, we refuse toallow it to be over

Even with your attempts to murderbrother Ziyon and Mumia Abu

find you foolishly thought weforgot when you brutally murderedbrother fijarnu?

by Kondo Nasser - brother of fijarnu8/12/95

*«*«•«<>«*••

One year ago today the state of Indiana murdered a proud Newfifrxkan warrior by the name of fijarnu Nassor. fijarnu is rememberedby many,specially those who he worked with and helped guide inmuL ?»rSK° HIn^aI!a" WS ShOUld not for3et this brother - weZ^tt bB a constant ^minder of why we continue our

Remember fijarnu Nassor 8/12/51 - 12/8/94

Tongue Lashing

A Texas judge today ruled in a custody casethat Maria Castaneda was abusing her 5 yearold daughterby speakingonly Spanish to herin the home.

-New York Times, September 1, 1995

Mother, don't abuse your childby speaking in your mother tongue.Your child lives in her father's landand in that Fatherland a foreign phrase,delightful in the drawing roomas souvenir of costly education,upsets the restless nativesif spoken near the hearth.

Don't violate her unspoiled ears.Selena's songs, Neruda's verses,words from die land of Lorca:they're far too potent; keep them mute.Teach her Bert and Ernie,Barney and Big Bird,the Pledge of Allegianceand the Marine's Hymn.

When she comes crying home from schoolthe day they call her dirty spicwhat words will tumble from your tongueto tell her how to live a strangerin the land where she was born?

Mickey HlingerSeptember 1995

Anci^nr SoviqsJ. Anthony Ficollo, POW

Deer Lodge. Montana

the candle is lit and the flame is strong.the shadows dance on the wallstonight my blood sings the Ancient Songs;they echo in the depths of my soul,stirring the Gods of my ancestors.their many voices whisper as one to me.. .

'THEIR TIME OF RECKONING HAS COME!

THE SPIRITS OF YOUR PEOPLE HAVE NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN.YOUR PEOPLES LIVES SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN.

ARISE AND JOIN THE RANKS OF THEIR GREATNESS;RECLAIM THEIR SPLENDOR — SECURE IT FOR YOUR CHILDREN.

LET QUE CRIES BECOME YOUR OWN."

a Primal Force secures my dreams of the future;they arc validated and stripped of deceptive lingerings.a foul fog has advanced across my land and kinsman,destroying honor and breeding deviation,but from that shape-shifting mist emerges the pure in heart:a Warrior's Society that answers the call of the Gods ...

"ARISE! DEFEND! PRESERVE!LET US ADVANCE AND CONQUER!CUT OFF THE HAND OF OPPRESSION!

LET THE BONES OF OUR ENEMIES GROW BACK—ON THE PLAINS OF OUR VENGEANCE!"

&

UCrtL'Vt A&iwck. 0L JtPCA^ 1%"\

I Am with Those

Whose blood has spilled on streets too often,surprising bypassers in hushed fearand withdrawal, and later over suppertell of the bad one and good cops,the bad one in a dark cell, the copgoggle eyed on laughter.

I don't want weak people. I don't wantpeople to believe I am bad,without knowing me first,without giving me a chance to show my hand,these people, scattered over the world,in fluffy silks and puffy walletsand pockets,I'll say nothing to, because it is theywho must learn now from me, who must hear me out.

I've seen too much, felt such strong loveand hurt in me, for the downcast, the criminal, the worker.I'm not in love with money, with people I am,I'm not hanging onto lies to save my skin,I'm not for the one down when he or she is wrong,I am for peace, for giving a man a chanceto prove himself, giving a woman her fairdue.

Big men, gun-toting sheriffs, Cadillac cruisinggents, slick skinned ladies, you do not intimidate me,I do not hold you higher than the next manconvicted of murder, or the next womanbelieved to be bad.

I am dangerous. I am a fool to you all.Yes, but I stand as I am,I am food for the future,my thought will blossom tomorrow,today, I plant roots, and god help me,I will not sell out, in the face of death,and that is saying something so large, so very large,

it scares me.

But more than fear, is my love of justice,more than my pride, is to step asidewhen someone is right. But today, no one speaksthe truth, yesterday, no one spoke the truth,none stood up to say I was right, because

I stood alone, without money, without connections,so today I stand up, I speakup, and standwith otherswho do the same.

This is suffering, pain, anguish, and loneliness,but also strength, hope, faith, love, it gives a manthose secret properties of the Spirit, that make a man a man,it gives to us, what is most lacking,most powerful and full of extreme beauty and body.

Timmu Sanfiaoo'Ba.caL

#^>#fo&>M*# <§$i

William Kunstler - 1919 -1995

ATTICA,f9 7/

A partial list of individualsand groups supported or

defended by William Kunstler:

The Freedom Riders

Adam Clayton PowellDr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Abbie Hoffman (HliAC)Stokely Carmichael

Lenny BruceMorton Sobell

Daniel and Philip BerriganThe Chicago 8

The Black PanthersRussel Means

Attica prisoners, 1971 uprisingThe White Panthers

The Weather UndergroundLeonard Peltier

JoAnn LittleEddie Hatcher

Joey JohnsonLarry Davis

Bobby Lee WilliamsDarrell CabeyMarion Barry

El Sayyid Nosair

I see myself asa keeper of the faith, fighting for my own personal vision ofAmerica andmy own personal goal: That someday, somehow we will find the hidden path that leads towhat we have always outwardly prized but never attained. Equal justice for all."

from My Life as a Radical Lawyer, 1994

Sweet dreams.

DREAM DUST

Gather out of star-dust

Earth-dust,

Cloud-dust,

And splinters of hail,

One handful of dream-dust

Not for sale.

LArf*?7>rf ttu*W£5

MARTYRS

Archbishop Desmond M. Tutu of CapeTown, right, took part in a march yesterday in Johannesburg, SouthAfrica, to protest the execution of nine political dissidents by the Nigerian Government last week.

Although the Israelis were to have freed a group ofPalestinian women yesterday, differences over whowould be freed led to a protest among some of the

Rlna Castelnuovo (or The New York Times

prisoners. As a result, only one woman, 18-year-oldBashayer Abu Laban, was released. She celebratedwith her mother, right, and other relatives.

74USTINA A

8

I

Rln« Castelnuovo lor The New York Timest»„i»_«J • • XT t_i . _ "•*• »-*s«;"iuovo lor roe New York Times

S^Sr't!" NabluJ,™lcomed *i Palestinian policeman yesterday to the former Israeli military headquarters. Israel, troops pulled out on Monday, ending a28-year occupation of the West Bank's largest city

GREED a poem by Bernice Johnson Reagon

Fora tew years now,Ihave been thinking about how to talk

aboutgreed

Fora few years now,Ihave beenwondering if therewasa

way Icould sing about greed

You see, inmy opinionGreed isatthe heart of what's wrong with the worldAt thevery centerofwhat is crippling

abouthuman society

Greed isa progressive viral-likedisease,with humankind twisted in its

gripHighly contagiousWith a long incubation period of

wanting andwishing

In the beginning-Greed expresses itspresence in small

incrementsbefore springing forth in fullbloom

It is want -outofcontrol, masquerading as needAnd we are in the U.S.A.Are sinking in a mighty rampaging

epidemic

From thevery beginningThis thing greed has been with usThe peoples ofEngland,Pilgrims,Puritans,Quakers,Colonizers who came to these shoresCame wanting more than freedom of

spirit andmind andbody

They wanted freedom to possessFreedom to ownNot justenough tosustain

But toown as much as they couldLand - evenpeople- even us

And there would never be anend to the

'as much as theycould'Never Neverwould there beEnoughExpansion becamethewordFirst across the continentThen starting overagainWith the farthest farmlands --

justoutsideof the city -they became suburbs

And then to the farthest farmlands-theybecame resorts

And now they havestarted towatchwhattheycallthe Decaying inner citiesthat's where we live

They say we are inneed ofa fixThey arepositioning themselves

to

Start all over againWith thevery cities they abandoned to

create the suburbs,To have more

Greed makesexpansion a holy wordIgnoring thatinnature,Growth takes place within boundariesWhen growth grows beyond

boundariesWe have a name for itWe call it cancer

Or

TnebigCIt often leads to deathWe treatitbytrying tocut itoutBut sometimes after the surgeryThe cells cool itHiding underthe liverAnd when the coast is clearItleaps outagain devouring

everything in itspath - Us

ThegreeddiseaseDrives you with a hungerThere always has to be something else

TobuyTo takeTo controlTo ownTo win

TheGreeddisease issneakyEven while itisfestering inside meIfeel secure in myself because Ican see

itso clearly inyouIcan watch over there and see

itclearlyTaking overOver there

Greed's best defense is that it canalmost

Only bereadily recognizedDiagnosedIn the eye of the beholder -Turned onthebeholder's neighbor

What looks like greedto me,Is normal totheone upon whom I

wishto placethe labelIcansee itclearly in youwe are blind to it in ourselvesAnd greedmarcheson

The greed diseasecreated a philosophyoftherighteousness ofplenty

Possessing much more than enough,Isproof ofrighteousnessYou have so much because God has

blessedyou

And if youaint gota lotWell that isjust evidence that you

arewrongYou are a failure

Thekilling thing about this diseaseIsthat its contagion knows no bounds

Evenas the founding fathers had itThestarving workers, slaves, and

rented laborers - theygot itThemiddle class, they gotitOur kids withtheir correct sneakers,

and jackets,andgunsandknives - gotit

Theteachers, theygot itMeand myKente cloth and Mud cloth,

Igot it

You cannot be in the culture and nothave it

Thishaving morethan youneed tosustain life -extending growth

Iget it inthe air IbreatheEvery fiber ofthis landIs permeated with it.Our babies are bom to it

But all need not be tost

There is that which offers possibilityofcontrol

Inner control -watching my own serfMonitoring how ImoveBetweenWhat I needAnd what I wantMinding myfirst mindThat tells meclearty

if ~ that isIhave not choked down my first mindMuffled it with external voices driving

me to consumeMy ownfirst mindTells mewhat my boundary is

And

Icandieofold age inside my own skinAnd leave you with yours