Mumia on Entertainment Tonight?! Last evening I was bustling around, doing some chore that pregnant mothers of five do, when the phone began ringing and ringing (let the machine get it), they kept calling back, "Marpessa, get Channel 3!" OK. Again "Are you watching Channel 3?" hold on, call waiting, "Sista, Mumia is on Channel 3!". Mumia?! I commandeered (literally) the box to see that this was "Entertainment Tonight"! just in time to see Gary Bell telling his well rehearsed lie for the thousandth time, "Yes, he said to me I shot the m.f. and I hope the m.f. dies." This cop who participated in the attempted murder of Mumia. This cop who is pushing for Mumia to be executed this summer. The same F.O.P. with five members now under federal indictment with at least a dozen to go, of whom the past president was recently convicted in Federal Court in an at least $75,000 kickback scheme. Segway to the widow, Maureen Faulkner, "This has been going on for 13 long years. I want to get on with my life." Segway to 13 year old footage of Mumia being led to court. Now to a bookstore, stocked with copies of "Live From Death Row" and a bewildered looking clerk, some more nonsense about how Mumia should not be able to publish a book (although Stacey Koons, LAPD cop and convicted criminal, netted over 4 million dollars from his book). Gary Bell again calling for a boycott of celebs who support Mumia. Zoom in on photo of Maureen and Daniel Faulkner. Mary Hart and whoever that guy is sitting next to her look sadly at one another and shake their heads, content that they presented their deeply moving one-sided boatload of bullshit and dreaming of an Emmy. The question we should be asking is why this smear campaign has escalated to national proportions... The recent CBS similarly one-sided presentation, Entertainment Tonight, what's next? The cops are scared to death that Mumia's growing support will lead to him receiving a new trial and they will be EXPOSED! It's not just "radical leftists" raising the demand anymore! It's actors, singers, celebrated authors, a Black police organization, lawyers, the list is endless, the truth is OUT! Mumia was RAILROADED! Mumia, who was unequivocally denied his right to self-representation and even removed from the courtroom, yet Colin Fergusion, gleefully granted that right as it was apparent that this man was insane as they quip "Well it's his Constitutional right." How law-abiding they all are. Please. In the midst of all of this activity, Mumia's lawyer is preparing to file his final appeal. The tension is mounting, the people are restless, it's time to get ON THE MOVE and FIGHT BACK! WHY DON'T THEY WANT YOU TO READ THIS BOOK? "A rare and courageous voice ..." Alice Walker ------------------------------------------- Excerpts from "Live From Death Row" by Mumia Abu-Jamal "Philly Daze: An Impressionistic Memoir" "If Wallace would dare to run for president in Philadelphia, we, four black North Philly teens, would dare to protest - in his white honky face, if need be. So we did, Eddie, Alvin, Dave, and I. We began by boarding the Broad Street subway and riding to the end. Four Afros amid a sea of blonds, brunettes, and redheads, entering the citadel of urban white racist sentiment to confront the Alabaman. We must've been insane. We strolled into the stadium, four lanky dark string beans in a pot full of white, steaming limas. The band played "Dixie." We shouted, "Black power, Ungowa, blackpower!" They shouted, "Wallace for president! White power!" and "Send those niggers back to Africa!" We shouted, "Black power, Ungowa!" (Don't ask what "Ungowa" means. We didn't know. All we knew was that it had a helluva ring to it.) "Black power!" They hissed and booed. We stood up in our seats and proudly gave the black power salute. In answer, we received dubious gifts of spittle from those seated above. Patriots tore American flags from their standards and hurled the bare sticks at us. Wallace, wrapped in roars of approval, waxed eloquent. "When I become president, these dirty, unwashed radicals will have to move to the Soviet Union! You know, all throughout this campaign these radicals have been demonstrating against George Corley Wallce. Well, I hope they have the guts to lay down in front of my car. I'll drive right over 'em!" The crowd went wild. Helmeted cops came and told us we must leave. We protested but were escorted out (perhaps a little relieved). Outside, Eddie, Alvin, Dave, and I saw a few other blacks from Temple University and a group of young whites, also thrown out of the rally. We gathered at the bus station to get on the "C" for North Philly. But before we could board, we were attacked by several white men. One of them had a lead and leather slapjack. Outarmed and outnumbered, we fought back, but four teens were no match for eight to ten grown men. I was grabbed by two of them, one kicking my skull while the other kicked me in the balls. Then I looked up and saw the two-toned, gold-trimmed pant leg of a Philly cop. Without thinking, and reacting from years of brainwashing, I yelled, "Help, police!" The cop saw me on the ground being beaten to a pulp, marched over briskly - and kicked me in the face. I have been thankful to that faceless cop ever since, for he kicked me straight into the Black Panther Party." "Defense captain Reg narrows his eyes in a paternal smile. "Hey, lieutenant - it's too hot to work, come on and let's get a taste." The two leave the dim Panther storefront and cross Columbia Avenue to Webb's Bar." ... Mumia, his ears throbbin' from James Brown ("Say it Loud, I'm black and I'm proud"), and wanting a breath of fresh air, sticks his head out the front door - and sees two white men dressed in army jackets kicking in the front door of the Panther office across the street. The buzz from the Bitter Dog evaporates. "Reg! Yo, Reg! Somebody breakin ina office!" The young lieutenant turns back to the street and focuses on a .38 special close enough to touch. "Freeze nigger! If you fuckin' blink, I'll blow your black goddamn head off your shoulders! Red strobes sweep the summer night. Mumia freezes, and the Bitter Dog transforms itself into cold sweat. The man holding the gun smiles - sort of. His teeth are bared, but his eyes like blue glaciers. His face and neck glow in a red flash. "This is it," the young Panther lieutenant thinks. The .38 is so close that he can smell gun oil. Across the street, white men are throwing files and papers into the street." "There I was in the 70's, a bored, slightly petit bourgeois, burnt-out ex-Black Panther who distrusted organizations and still simmered in a stew of generational rebellion. I felt all dressed up with no place to go. The Panthers, to whom I had loaned my life, were sputtering in an internecine, bicoastal, and bloody feud. East Coast against the West Coast: those aligned with the then minister of information Eldridge Cleaver on the East against those siding with once minister of defense Huey P. Newton on the West. Cleaver was an idol to me; Newton, whom I had once served as a bodyguard, a hero. The prospect of us fighting one another sickened me. "I didn't join the BPP to get in a goddamn gang war!" I thought angrily to myself. "Shit! I could've stayed in North Philly for this dumb shit!" "By 1974 the state's militia had slaughtered more than thirty militants and jailed many more; had seeded branch offices with informers and agents provocateurs; had tapped phones, covered mail, destroyed party property. Then there was an on-TV feud between Eldridge and Huey (set up by an obliging white newsman) that had resulted in two deaths. Blood for blood. East for West. Panthers croaking Panthers. I knew both men. Frustrated, angry, I drifted away from a party that had drifted away from its moorings in the people. Bitterly, I told myself that I would never join another organization. I would support, send money, write agitprop. But join? Nothin' happening. No suh! Unh unh! Not me! Then I met MOVE." "Being news director of WHAT-AM meant doing the morning shift, training new talent, organizing features for the newscasts, and hosting a weekend show. I reveled in it and worked with youthful enthusiasm and energy. In 1975, the Reverend Jesse Jackson brought his show to town, and black Christian Philly erupted in a storm of support for the "country preacher." Philadelphia PUSH (People United to Serve/Save Humanity) hosted a national convention at the downtown Sheraton Hotel, and hundreds lined up to get in and hear Jackson. Not only would the event be simulcast over a network of black stations all across America. And hosting it would be - Mumia Abu-Jamal! ... All went well as I interwove commentary and interviews, gospel singers and live audiences, with the words of Jesse himself. I was as high as a Georgia pine. The second day I arrived before airtime to get set up and found a small picket line in front of the Sheraton. They wore blue denim. Their hair was long, nappy, and uncombed. They were MOVE. Delbert Africa was on the bullhorn giving Jesse hell. MOVE folks carried signs that read "THIS DUMB ASS NIGGA IS BEGGING FAVORS FROM THE SAME SYSTEM THAT OPPRESSES HIM!" Always hungry for a sound bite, I unslung my trusty tape recorder and approached Delbert, "If Jesse Jackson has gotta solution, why ain't he givin' it to everybody instead a selling it at $25 a seat? What about poor folks from North Philly, why they gotta spend they last dolla, if they got it, to hear this nigga? John Africa teaches us that the truth is free, like the air we breathe. It ain't to be sold." .... I found the Reverend surrounded by mostly black plainclothes cops who were working for him as bodyguards. I found him, as always, game for an interview, and asked him what he thought of the demonstration out front. The Reverend looked at me like I was speaking Javanese and wrinkled his handsome features into a sneer, "I have an agenda for black people in America, young man," he said. "An A-GEN-DA! Who cares about a bunch of dirty, unwashed niggas who don't comb their hair?" Like a fool, I'd turned my Sony off. I turned it on and asked for more. This time Jesse answered, "No comment," and the police (in and out of uniform) around the room smiled." ----------------------------------- Now that little taste has to let you know this book is live, live and direct! This book covers a wide range of Mumia's reporting on various topics throughout the nation, his experiences on death row, and his usual biting, profound political commentary. Mumia is NOT getting rich off this book as the proceeds are paying his legal expenses in his righteous struggle to secure a new trial! Get "Live >From Death Row" ... you WON'T be sorry! And DON'T delay! For more information on supporting our brother's righteous campaign and to order "Live From Death Row" if it is not avabilable in your area contact: International Concerned Friends & Family of Mumia Abu-Jamal P.O. Box 19709, Philadelphia, PA 19143, 215-476-8812 phone & fax Equal Justice USA, A Project of the Quixote Center P.O. Box 5206, Hyattsville, MD 20782, 301-699-0042 phone 301-864-2182 fax Free Mumia Abu-Jamal Coalition, P.O. Box 650, New York, NY 10009, 212-330-8029 Committee to Save Mumia Abu-Jamal, P.O. Box 163, Amsterdam Ave. #115, New York, NY 10023-5001 Partisan Defense Committee, P.O. Box 99, Canal St. Station, New York, NY 10013, 212-406-4252 -------- Submitted by: Sis. Marpessa. WE GOTTA DO THIS Y'ALL!