The Day I Met Geronimo Ji Jaga Pratt

I knew Geronimo Ji Jaga Pratt through books and stories passed by old head revolutionaries in Los Angeles. He was part myth and part hero---a comrade and political prisoner in conscious circles, and a brother effed by the police in the larger black community. 

I can recall going to Leimert Park in Los Angeles circa 1997-98, to celebrate and see Geronimo upon his release. He was like Mandela and Michael, and pre-Obama, much more grassroots, and more like a legendary dream. 

Leimert Park, the black arts Mecca in Los Angeles was packed with everyone from thugs to business folk. On that day, we all one. Every person that was unjustly treated by the justice deparment, from all walks of life, and races, hugged and shook hands in a small slice of victory. 

Los Angeles used to be a blood bath during the 60s and 70s when it came to black liberation struggle. There were more Panthers killed in Los Angeles, than any other city, including the home of BPP, Oakland. We couldn't believe that not only did he get released and was acquitted of the bogus charges, but he also got paid several million dollars.

Folk gathered and hugged, and waited to see Bro. Geronimo.

But as soon as we saw him he was whisked away to finally get a small taste of a life that was robbed from him.

I never once spoke to Geronimo, but I met him in the living room of Johnny Cochran. That day I met Geronimo, through the thick narrative of Mr. Cochran who was miles away from O.J. or gloves. He spoke with a passion that epitomized his practice of being a revolutionary with a 3-piece.

I had made the trek to a nice area of the city to go speak with Mr. Cochran on his next career venture. It was my last interview for a black local paper. I was thinking about suing them, but Mr. Cochran talked me out of it. Instead he shifted to his law firm and all the cases he vividly served as counsel.

He said with unapologetic assurance, it was the pro bono case he had fought for over two decades, the Geronimo Pratt case that was his proudest and most paranoid experience.

Mr. Cochran would detail the wire tapping at his residence and office, him being followed, and most importantly, a pact he made with Geronimo.

I remember what he said like yesterday. Mr. Cochran told me that the day he agreed to fight all the way with the Black Panther Party leader, it was through a glass where Geronimo was detained. Mr. Cochran put his hand to the glass and Geronimo put his hand where Cochran's was located, and they made a brotherhood pact.

I confessed that I was always interested in law, but the learning about the realities of an unjust system, discouraged my efforts. He said it was never too late as we wrapped up our conversation. If I were to free a Geronimo, I would clearly understand.

The last time I heard from Mr. Cochran was an endearing thank you note for the Ndebele doll I gave him when I went to South Africa. He would die several years later.

Now those brothers are dapping each other in another dimension.

Justice was served. You will forever be in our hearts and in struggles all over the world.

Waking Up to Smell Jasmine Tea Leaves

Excuse me everybody, I had to take a much needed vacation. Blogging, working, just getting married, writing my dissertation and paying the bills is a beast. So I decided to rest during the shortest month of the year and catch up on some sleep and time with Mr. EcoSoul.

Well, I sort of kind of rested. This year I attempted to plunge into volunteering for programs dedicated to our historical achievements but got slapped with 28-days of Negro-ism. It seems that the more we "progress" the more we "digress" on basic humanity movements, like knowing our history and being proud of ourselves. And at least being on time for a black history event.


It seems as if Post-Obama has caused a decline in the presence of Black History celebrations. I didn't know his inauguration meant the decline of a much needed rememberance of how deeply embedded the contributions and presence of people of African descent in the US, and throughout the world. Unfortuantely, this year was light weight, but our children live in virtually ignorance of black folk.

We've got so much work to do; especially with the forcing of restructing public education, and anti-public education bullies such as Green Dot and Parent Revolution that pose as organizations for educational change; when they really are private sector venture capitalists pushing for the privatization of schools and not parent-child interests.

And speak of revolution, it is boiling into a bitches brew across the globe. Like the lot of you, I know you have been watching this Jasmine Revolution and hoping that the Tea Party doesn't start any shit.

Nevertheless, revolution is here. And everyone goes through it. I hope folk in the Mid-East/North-Africa region understand that revolution is also filled with chaos. For those who want structural change that will uplift the people, there are 10 times more people who want the power to shift to another hand, another monopoly that can disguised as the "people's choice". Revolution ain't free. It ain't pretty, and it doesn't smell like the fresh aroma of jasmine leaves, but more like the fertilizer that helps it bloom.

But change has arrived, right on our laps---gyrating and popping like a Magic City skripper---gifted, talented and double-jointed, and waiting for the explosion of freedom.

So what I'm saying is, hello world again.

Blog On, Eco Soul

Under the Layers of Rubble in Haiti

This above photo is actually part of a Voodoo ceremony in Haiti. I was just tired of seeing the disparaging photos. I am having Hurricane Katrina flashbacks.

Where do I start with Haiti? Similar with the question of people who are attempting to help, we are also asking, “Where do we start,” with this forgotten and politically scourged country.

The layers of rubble of which many are buried is an excellent analogy to Haiti and its complicated and disturbing history on the island, and with the rest of the world.

For many years, Haiti's declaration as an all-black island that accepted any black of the world to become a Haitian citizen, there have been embargoes against it from every slave holding country.

But that is just one of the many layers that is Haiti; however, I must stress, the rubble does not represent chaos or rubbish, but the complexities that still are untwined.

Though there is much sorrow, this is an excellent time for us to put pressure on the United States to change the immigration laws for Haitians.

Also, this is an opportunity for us to regain a semblance of our humanity by helping others in our time of need.

Additionally, we need to be conscious about ensuring that this tragedy wakes us up that we are all connected. The misery in Haiti is our misery.

As well, I must say, no country has backbone like Haiti. Literally from shambles, ingenuity, and unmatchable will this country that has been shunned by so many still exists.

The last thing I must say is “Shame on America” and “Shame on black people in the Western Hemisphere,” that have turned their backs on a country that single-handedly played a part in emancipation of African slaves.

If we would have been more invested in re-developing a country that gave so much for freedom, Haiti would not be in this situation.

Shame on the Dominican Republic who fucks Haiti regularly and acts like they are not cousins (and are actually white or whiter or more Latin) on an islant that they share with Haiti.

Shame on Jamaica who shunned Haitian refugees and Haiti when it’s former Prime Minister hosted ousted Haitian president, Jean Bertrand Aristide after the coup.

Shame on the West Indies who pillories Haiti.

Shame on African-Americans who absolutely have no clue about Haiti and are still attaching Haitians to AIDS.

I say this because five years ago I was a part of a relief aid to Haiti that deflated like a woman’s breasts. After a whole bunch of political crap between African-Americans who were trying to get their name in lights for this effort, the Haitian representative struggled to get the supplies out of Haitian customs because local authorities wanted huge payoffs for the containers that were shipped.

And so we dismissed the situation, including myself.

Haiti once again became this ugly dot in our minds that was best left alone.

We stopped demanding that more development go into Haiti.

We did not pay attention to the protests from Haitians who complained that UN military from Brazil and Pakistan were raping women and girls.

We did not continue to put more pressure on demanding that Christian missionaries stop using Haitian orphans, especially boys in the sex tourism trade and for their organs to be sold in a black market for body parts in first world countries.

And here we are watching in horrific silence making small donations to God knows where and shaking our heads.Get up and do something dammit.

Oh yeah, by the way, fuck you Pat Robertson you racist devil worshipper.

And one more thing, do not forget the bankers testifying on Capitol Hill today. Interesting how an incident can divert the other.

Blog back, EcoSoul