The B.L.A. ( Black Liberation Army ) 1970s to 1980s History

After the social upheavals of the 1960s failed to trigger the vast systemic changes many protesters sought, the early 1970s saw a number of militant groups form secoret underground cells that pledged to use violence in an attempt to fight for civil rights, end the Vietnam War and, in the minds of the hard core, trigger a violent revolution in the streets of America.

While groups like the Weather Underground, the Black Liberation Army and the Symbionese Liberation Army were vehemently anti-war, their core motivation was rallying the black community toward open revolt. It was a time when police brutality was rampant—far worse than today, by most measures—and white police officers rarely were prosecuted when they killed black civilians. The underground groups of the ‘70s thus made police their first and most frequent targets. The Weather Underground did so with bombs, until one went off accidentally, killing three of its members, leading the group to disavow murderous violence.

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But it was the Black Liberation Army, known as the BLA and a violent offshoot of the Black Panther Party, that posed the greatest threat to police. Loosely led by the Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver, then in exile in Algeria, the group emerged in May 1971 with a pair of attacks on New York policemen that left two cops dead; there were later ambush attacks on police in San Francisco and Atlanta as well. The BLA’s most notorious attack, however, came in 1972, when it carried out perhaps the most gruesome assassination of police officers in the history of New York, killing two patrolmen, Greg Foster and Rocco Laurie, on an East Village sidewalk. Officially the killings remain unsolved. This is the untold story behind them.



At 9:30 in the morning on December 20, 1971, in Queens, two patrolmen spied four people in a green Pontiac—one woman and three men—parked in front of a Bankers Trust branch on Grand Avenue at 49th Street, acting suspiciously. When the cruiser approached, the Pontiac pulled from the curb. Following at a safe distance, the officers checked its license plate and discovered the car was stolen. When the cruiser lit its rolling lights, the Pontiac took off, racing to the corner of Flushing Avenue and 57th Street, where it turned southwest, toward Brooklyn. As the chase continued, someone in the Pontiac rolled down a window and lobbed something toward the cruiser. It was, of all things, a hand grenade—an M-26 fragmentation grenade to be exact, the kind used by the U.S. Army in Vietnam. To the officers’ amazement, it exploded beside the car, wrecking it. As the officers leaped unhurt from the burning cruiser, the Pontiac roared off toward Brooklyn, where a few minutes later its occupants jumped out, rushed toward a man at a Sunoco gas station and stole his car. Later, the man identified Joanne Chesimard, who had been with the BLA since its foundation that spring and had taken part in its training camp outside Atlanta, as one of his assailants. The NYPD immediately issued a 13-state alarm calling for her arrest.

In the Black Liberation Army’s first-ever phone call to the press, a caller to United Press International took credit in the name of the Attica Brigade of the “Afro-American Liberation Army’’—exiled Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver’s name for the BLA—saying, “We have more grenades, and we will be back.”

The police dragnet would explain why Chesimard, the groups other leader, a 28-year-old ex-Marine named Ronald Carter, and four comrades swiftly relocated to the Miami area. There they rented an apartment in the suburb of Hollywood and quickly robbed a bank in Miami, running out in less than five minutes. According to Thomas “Blood” McCreary, one of only three members of the group still alive, the Carter-Chesimard group took its cash and began making plans to sharply expand the BLA’s reach, creating a string of safe houses across the Midwest. Within days they had left Miami, scattering out to rent apartments in Cleveland, Milwaukee, St. Louis and Kansas City. Carter and McCreary then returned to New York, where they met with other BLA leaders, who agreed that the group’s immediate focus should be freeing BLA members who had been captured in New York and Detroit.

“We were going to break them out,” McCreary recalls. “I went with Assata to Detroit and looked things over, but it was clear it would never work. It was obvious we could never get near them.”

Afterward, members of the cell rendezvoused at their new Cleveland safe house, a set of three apartments on East 84th Street. Once it became clear there was no easy way to free the prisoners, two new plans were sketched out. Both involved actions in New York. “Cleveland was our new home,” McCreary remembers, “but New York City was to be our battleground.” All through the first days of 1972, BLA members shuttled back and forth between Cleveland and New York; after another BLA group was broken up following a shootout in North Carolina, they eschewed cars and began traveling by Greyhound bus. The drawback was the Pennsylvania State Police’s penchant for boarding busses to search for drugs. “Every time they came on board, you know, we were strapped (with guns),” McCreary recalls with a shiver. “Those were some pretty hot moments.”

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In short order the Cleveland cell grew in size to ten, as McCreary tracked down four soldiers who had lost their way, including an especially violent 20-year-old, Twymon Meyers, who he stumbled across one night in the East Village, and a new recruit, Henry “Sha Sha” Brown. In Cleveland, they quickly went to work on an audacious plan that originated with Eldridge Cleaver and his aides in far-off Algeria. Black guerrillas had launched a civil war in the South African country of Zimbabwe, and the white-led government had responded with a string of indiscriminate killings. Cleaver suggested they attempt to storm the Zimbabwean consulate in New York.

“We wanted to make a signature statement in New York, something that would get us noticed internationally,” says McCreary. “So we scouted out (the consulate); it was off Park Avenue in the 50s. We went in. We could see it was gonna be too much trouble. Too much traffic, it just didn’t work out. So we found out (the diplomats) all lived in homes on Long Island, like in a compound. The place was guarded by these huge dogs, Rhodesian ridgebacks. So we go out there to poison these dogs, and needless to say, it didn’t work. And so we went to the alternate plan. And I don’t want to talk about that.”


The night of January 27, 1972, was freezing, frigid winter winds whistling down the garbage-strewn streets of the East Village. Snow was on the way. Down on Avenue B, two young patrolmen were walking their beat. Greg Foster, who was 22, was black. Rocco Laurie, a year older, was white. The two had served together as Marines in Vietnam and, as close friends, had received permission to be partners, patrolling one of New York’s most dangerous and drug-infested neighborhoods.

The two were walking south along Avenue B around 10:30 p.m. when they noticed a car parked in front of a hydrant. They ducked into a luncheonette across the street, the Shrimp Boat, and asked the owner if he knew the car. He stepped outside, glanced at it and shook his head, no. Satisfied, Foster and Laurie turned and began to walk back north. As they did, three black men passed, parting to allow the officers to walk between them. One of the men wore a long black coat, another a green fatigue jacket and a black Australian-style bush hat.

A moment after the officers passed, the three men turned and drew pistols, a .38 automatic and two 9-millimeter automatics. Foster and Laurie were a few strides away when the three men began firing directly into their backs. Foster was hit eight times and fell in a heap onto the icy pavement. Six bullets hit Rocco Laurie. All but one struck his arms and legs, but the last pierced his neck, and he staggered forward, clutching at his throat before dropping to his knees and falling, slowly, on his side. As the two men lay dying, their three assassins marched calmly toward them. A witness later claimed one of the shooters hollared, “Shoot ‘em in the balls,” and as the trio stood over the fallen officers, all three again opened fire.

Three bullets were fired directly into Greg Foster’s eyes; two more were shot into Rocco Laurie’s groin. When both men lay still, two of the assassins reached down and wrenched loose their pistols. They then ran toward a waiting Chrysler, while the third man, apparently intoxicated by the moment, reportedly danced a jig over the dead man’s bodies, firing his pistol into the air Wild West-style. Startled to be left behind, he ran off alone, disappearing into the night.

The whine of police sirens echoed within minutes, and the first officers to respond, several answering a disturbance call two blocks away, were quickly on the scene. The sight that met them was stomach-turning. Greg Foster’s head had been destroyed; a sludge of blood and brain matter formed a three-foot long puddle around his corpse. Rocco Laurie had been shot to pieces, bullet wounds up and down his body. An ambulance took Laurie to Bellevue, where he died. Almost everyone who responded had the same thought: These were planned assassinations, no doubt by the same people who launched the first police attacks in New York eight months before, this so-called Black Liberation Army. It took only a few hours to confirm it. Fingerprints found in the getaway car suggested the assassins were Ronald Carter, Twymon Meyers and at least one other member of the Cleveland cell.


The Foster-Laurie murders presented New York Mayor John Lindsay’s administration with much the same dilemma it had confronted after the first attacks the previous May. Within hours, in fact, a series of debates erupted within the police department and the mayor’s office. Were these in fact planned assassinations, or something else? If they were the work of the same group behind the attacks in May, as was widely assumed, did this mean there actually was a genuine Black Liberation Army? Was there really a nationwide black conspiracy to murder policemen? And if so, should the public be told?

What police knew was this: Ten officers had now been attacked and six killed in a nine-month span in New York, San Francisco, North Carolina and Atlanta, seemingly all by onetime Panthers claiming to be a Black Liberation Army. Some of these attacks were linked, some were not. Many in the NYPD believed this constituted a legitimate national conspiracy. But others, including several aides in Mayor Lindsay’s office, felt the killings were unrelated. There was no black army, they argued. This was the work of a few disgruntled Panthers borrowing a discarded Panther term to make it appear as if there was.

The pivotal figure in these debates was a newcomer to the NYPD, a deputy police commissioner named Robert Daley. Daley was a writer for New York Magazine who had attracted the attention of Police Commissioner Patrick Murphy while writing a profile of him; when Murphy offered him the department’s top public-relations job, Daley accepted. He was a divisive figure, a publicity hound who, as the Times noted later, “was always mugging for the cameras.” What Daley loved most was a good detective yarn, and the story of the BLA was one of the best he had seen. Gunsmoke had barely cleared over Foster and Laurie’s bodies when he began arguing that the NYPD had an obligation to go public with its suspicions that the murders constituted a planned assassination by a national conspiracy of black militants.

This kind of talk startled aides to Mayor Lindsay, who had announced his campaign for the presidency a month earlier; Lindsay placed second to George McGovern in the Arizona caucuses just two days after the Foster-Laurie murders. Talk of black terrorists loose in the streets would undercut his candidacy, inflame race relations and have every cop in the city looking askance at young black men. Lindsay’s press secretary, Tom Morgan, made clear he didn’t want to see a single word about black conspiracies in the press.

Swarmed by reporters the morning after the murders, the chief of detectives, Albert Seedman, went along, pooh-poohing the conspiracy angle. But the next day, a Saturday, the UPI office received a handwritten communiqué, signed by the “George Jackson Squad of the Black Liberation Army.” Mailed the previous day, it referenced “the pigs wiped out in lower Manhattan last night” and promised: “This is the start of our spring offensive. There is more to come.”

This was too much for Daley. That same afternoon—even as citizens in far-off Arizona were voting—Daley strode into an East Village precinct house and, standing before a bank of microphones, raised Rocco Laurie’s blood-drenched shirt for all to see. He called the murders an assassination, carried out by a conspiracy of urban guerillas—black urban guerillas. “Always in the past the police have been quiet about this conspiracy because of fear of accusations of racism,” he said. “But it isn’t the black community that is doing this, it is a few dozen black criminal thugs. … It’s terribly serious, much more serious than people seem to think. The police are the last barrier before chaos.”

Suddenly the rhetorical cat was out of the bag: The mayor’s people were apoplectic. But the New York newspapers, sensing a story too hot to handle, downplayed Daley’s dramatic press conference; the Times buried the story on Page 35. Talk of a black conspiracy then ebbed for several days as reporters focused on the officers’ funerals, massive affairs, hundreds of uniformed officers lining Fifth Avenue in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. But Daley would not let up. In off-the-record chats all that week, he told reporters there was a true national conspiracy, that the NYPD’s intelligence, gathered over the previous seven months, showed there really was a Black Liberation Army with hundreds of would-be assassins divided into revolutionary cells. For the most part, no one believed him; no one, at least, printed more of his theories. It was all too inflammatory, too far-fetched.

Finally, a week after the murders, a Times reporter cornered Commissioner Patrick Murphy. All evidence, Murphy admitted, suggested the Foster-Laurie murders were in fact not the work of a national conspiracy to kill police, but of roving bands of militants—“crazies,” Murphy termed them—who moved from city to city, murdering policemen. Daley, however, went much further. He told the Times there was a BLA, “nationwide in scope,” adding, “We have here a very, very dangerous and criminal conspiracy. The public really doesn’t seem to be aware of it. The time is over when the Police Department should keep its mouth shut on this kind of thing.”

Working with incomplete information, neither man was entirely correct; the BLA was far too disorganized, far too decentralized to be called a true national conspiracy. But it was more than “roving” bands of “crazies.” Still, Daley would not be deterred. Over the vocal opposition of the Manhattan District Attorney, Frank Hogan, he persuaded Murphy to hold an unusual press conference on Wednesday, February 9, in which Murphy detailed the BLA’s involvement in not only the Foster-Laurie murders, but the May attacks and the murder of policemen in San Francisco and Atlanta. He named nine BLA figures sought by police, including Ronald Carter, Joanne Chesimard and Twymon Meyers. Prosecutors had adamantly opposed going public, arguing it would complicate any case they brought. The mayor’s office objected as well, finally persuading Murphy not to use the word ‘conspiracy.’


While political debates raged in Manhattan, Carter and his eight comrades pored over New York newspapers, following the investigation. After two weeks, they began to fear they had remained in one place too long. “So we took a vote,” Blood McCreary remembers. “We decided to go to St. Louis.” A safe house there was already in place. On Monday, February 14, they rented a U-Haul truck, which the group crammed with furniture, books, mattresses and personal belongings. The next day they left in a three-vehicle caravan for St. Louis. “On long trips, I drove,” says McCreary, whose family was originally from South Carolina. “I had the southern manners, you know, ‘Yes sir,’ ‘whatever you say, sir,’ which we needed at toll booths or if we got stopped. Our younger guys, Twymon and them, they didn’t have the manners. If a cop car stopped us, they always wanted to shoot.”

They reached the St. Louis safe house without incident. “It was late afternoon,” says McCreary. “Later we decided to go looking for out-of-state newspapers. Four of us went: Me, Twymon, Ronald Carter and Sha-Sha Brown. We drove downtown looking for a newsstand. That was a mistake. Seemed like everything was closed. Then I saw the cop’s car.”

It was 9:30 p.m. when two St. Louis patrolmen, cruising North Grand Avenue in a black neighborhood, spotted a green 1967 Oldsmobile sporting, of all things, a set of cardboard Michigan license plates. The cruiser lit its rolling lights. McCreary was behind the wheel. “I said, ‘We got lights,’” he remembers, “and Ronnie leaned forward—he was in the backseat—and said, ‘Be cool, just pull over.’”

One officer hung back while the second walked to the drivers-side window. “We had all been taught that, if you get stopped, the first thing you do is roll down all the car windows,” McCreary says. “That way, if you have to shoot, you don’t want glass exploding all over you. So we rolled down our windows. I took out my wallet. When he came to the car, I had everything in my hand. Everything he needed was in my hand. But you know, it wasn’t right. The car had Michigan temporary plates. It was registered in Florida. My driver’s license was my alias, Frank Reece of Windsor, North Carolina. Poor cop, he was as confused as anything. (He says) ‘I’m going to have to ask you guys to step outta the car. And you know, I was doing everything I could to get outta this. I kept saying, ‘Why is that necessary? Why?’

“We all had on shoulder holsters,” McCreary says. “Twymon was beside me in the front. I saw he had the nine millimeter between his legs. In the trunk we had like seventeen different guns, an M-16, a bunch of Browning nine-millimeters. I had a .357. Sha-Sha had a nine-mill. I had been through several situations with Twymon, and I knew that when he was about to shoot, he always started rocking. Rocking back and forth. And I realized he had started rocking in his seat. I’m talking to the cop, and I feel Twymon pulling at my sleeve. He wants me to lean back so he can shoot the cop. I know he’s about to shoot, and I’m trying everything I can do to make this cop go away.

“The cop keeps saying, ‘Get out of the car.’

“I keep saying, ‘Officer, why is that necessary? All our papers are in order. Why is that necessary?’

“And finally, you know, he had enough. He said, ‘Nigger, get out of the fucking car!’ And when he said that, I just leaned back and all I saw then was red and blue streaks of fire going past my face. Twymon was shooting, and then, well, the whole car kind of exploded.”

The officer beside the car fell, struck in the stomach and legs. As the Olds roared off, he fired all six shots in his revolver. As luck would have it, two narcotics officers were on a stakeout a block away and heard the shooting. They gave chase. Spying their pursuit, McCreary mashed the accelerator, hitting speeds close to 100 m.p.h. as the Olds zigzagged through narrow streets toward the Mississippi River waterfront. By the time he got there, there were four police cars behind him, their sirens echoing through the downtown streets. When one approached his fender, he swung the steering wheel violently to the left. The Olds veered into a vicious left turn, turning completely around, until it hopped a curb, all four tires blown, and came to rest against a high chain-link fence bordering a vacant lot.

When the car stopped, McCreary turned to face Ronnie Carter, only to find him slumped forward, a sick gurgling noise coming from his throat. He had been shot in the chest; an autopsy would reveal he had accidentally been killed by a BLA bullet fired by Sha Sha Brown. McCreary leaped outside. A hail of bullets drove him toward the chain-link fence. “We were trying to get to the trunk,” he recalls. “If we could’ve gotten the M-16 or the 30.06, we would’ve gotten away.”

Up and down the wide boulevard, policemen were crouching behind their cruisers, firing. All three BLA men ran to the fence. McCreary turned and provided covering fire as the others, Meyers and Sha-Sha Brown, climbed it and vaulted into the vacant lot. When he ran out of ammunition, McCreary threw down his pistol and surrendered. The police captured Brown a few blocks away, bleeding from a wound in his wrist. Only Twymon Meyers somehow got away, disappearing into the night.

In the first confused hours after the incident, not even a week after Murphy’s press conference, there was nothing to link it to the BLA; both McCreary and Brown gave false names. What triggered a barrage of early-morning phone calls to New York was the discovery that a pistol Brown had thrown down had until two weeks before belonged to Officer Rocco Laurie. This changed everything: For the first time the NYPD felt obliged to tell all it knew. At a press conference two days later, Murphy called on the White House, the attorney general and the FBI “to give the highest priority to the hunt” for the Foster-Laurie assassins and the BLA. After Murphy spoke, the NYPD’s assistant chief inspector, Arthur Grubert, detailed the attacks on police in New York, San Francisco and Atlanta and gave reporters the most reasoned, lucid overview of the BLA to date.

He noted: “Intelligence fails to identify a formal structure of a firm organization known as the Black Liberation Army. It is more likely that various extremist individuals, 75 to 100 in number, are making use of the name Black Liberation Army in order to give some semblance of legitimacy to these homicidal acts. These individuals form and dissolve and reform in a small groups, or cells…”

The NYPD might not want to call the BLA a true “army,” but what it described sounded martial enough. The Times’ skepticism, for instance, began to fall away. The headline on its front page story Feb. 17 was: “Evidence of ‘Liberation Army’ Said to Rise.” It was at that point, with its notoriety near a zenith, that the BLA went utterly silent. Not a single word would be heard from it again for months.

The Chesimard cell would remain at large another 18 months, eventually triggering a final confrontation with New York police by launching a series of ambush attacks on New York patrolmen in early 1973. Chesimard herself was captured after a shootout on the New Jersey Turnpike that May. Other soldiers and cells were eliminated in a string of riotous shootouts that lasted the rest of the year, culminating in the death of the last significant BLA soldier, Twymon Meyers, in a firefight with NYPD detectives on a Bronx sidewalk in November. A successor militant group known as “The Family,” made up of veterans of the BLA and Weather Underground, managed to break Chesimard out of a New Jersey prison in 1979 and smuggle her to Cuba, where 36 years later, now known as Assata Shakur, she remains the highest profile American fugitive still under the protection of the Castro government. The Foster-Laurie killings remain officially unsolved, in large part because two of the three men believed to be responsible—Meyers and Twymon Meyers—were soon killed. A third suspect, now in his 70s, remains under investigation to this day.

Forty-five years later, the kinds of police behavior that so enraged the BLA, especially the killings of unarmed black civilians, has returned to the headlines. But while there were riots in Ferguson, Missouri, and the killing of two officers by a troubled man in New York, public reaction has been largely devoid of the kind of retaliatory violence we saw in the 1970s. The main reason for the difference, one suspects, is that today’s activists have learned from history. Violence against police in the ‘70s brought little but death and condemnation. It’s a protest model that few are likely to follow again anytime soon.

Bryan Burrough is a special correspondent at Vanity Fair and the author of six books. This article has been adapted from his recent book, DAYS OF RAGE, which published April 7, and reprinted by arrangement of Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Random House, Inc. Copyright (c) 2015 by Bryan Burrough.

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Ebony Magazine February 1976 The Republic of New Afrika in Where Are The Revolutionaries

Ebony Magazine Archives February 1976 The Republic of New Afrika Campaign to Free What Citizens Called “ KUSH “ The Western Half of The State of Mississippi From White Minority Rule Began To Earnest in March 1971 in Jackson.

Dr Mutulu Shakur – The New Afrikan Independence Movement isn’t New / it’s Old As Slavery


Imari Obadele ( Republic of New Afrika ) President on CointelPro

#ImariObadele #GaidiObadele #malcolmites
#malcolmx #republicofnewafrika

Demand Herman Bell’s Freedom / Parole Hearing February 2018

Herman Bell has been to the New York state parole board 7 times and been denied 7 times. His next parole board appearance will be in February 2018, when he will be 70 years old. At this next appearance, we hope that Herman will have a better chance of being seriously considered and therefore released. New regulations governing parole hearings mandate that an applicant’s risk of recidivism be considered as a “guiding principle” of the hearing. Herman has the very lowest risk score, based on the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision’s measures. In addition, six new parole commissioners were added to the Board and several, though not all, of the older, law-enforcement connected ones have been retired. The new commissioners are mostly from social service and reentry backgrounds. Personal letters of recommendation and community support can play an important role in Herman’s next hearing.

On September 5th, Herman was brutally assaulted by a group of correctional officers at Great Meadow Correctional Facility. As is most often the case in these incidents, Herman was initially charged with assault on a guard. In fact, Herman had done nothing to provoke this attack – and, furthermore, showed restraint, non-violence, and discipline in the face of brutality. In 95% of the cases in New York where a prisoner is charged with assaulting a guard, the prisoner is convicted and sentenced to box (Security Housing Unit) time. However, the charges against Herman were dropped within a few weeks, as letters of support poured in from all over the world. This is a stark reminder that, while Herman poses no danger to society, his continued imprisonment as an elder subjects him to extreme danger. He needs to come home.

How you can help:

Herman has accepted full responsibility for his part in the Black Liberation Movement. His years of excellent accomplishments in prison show that he has taken deep responsibility to the broad community and to creating a better, more peaceful society. He has paid a great price – 44 years of imprisonment, thus far. He is going to the New York state parole board for the eighth time in February, 2018 and deserves to be paroled, to come home to his family and community.
1 – Your letter should “accentuate the positive.” Rather than pointing out the injustices of prior parole appearances, the letters should state that Herman Bell will be an asset to the community if released.
A – Those who have met/know Herman should speak about their impressions of him and why he will be an asset and lead a law abiding life after release. Those who have known him a long time should speak of how he has matured over the years of his imprisonment.
B – Those who have not met Herman should state how they have become aware of him (through writings, etc.) and also reiterate their belief that he will be an asset and lead a law abiding life.
C – Those who know Herman and/or only know of him should offer to make available whatever support they have in re-integrating him back into the community (jobs, counseling, medical, educational).

2 – Please write your letter to the attention of the New York State Parole Commissioners — on professional letterhead, if possible.
3 – Please indicate how you know Herman, or if you don’t know him personally, how you know of him. The “Re:” line of your letter should be “Herman Bell, 79C-0262.”
4 – Please sign your letter and mail to:

Tyler Morse & KB White
Parole Preparation Project
c/o Law Office of Michelle L. Lewin
168 Canal Street, 6th Floor
New York, NY 10013

Letters Due By: January 15, 2018
Herman very much appreciates your efforts and your support.

Haki Kweli Shakur ATC NAPLA NAIM MOI 1-14-52 ADM

Demand Sundiata’s Freedom, Support Sundiata Acoli Freedom Campaign/SAFC 2018

Happy Birthday Sundiata Acoli In September 2014, a New Jersey Appellate Court ordered the release of Sundiata Acoli, resting its decision on the eligibility requirements under the New Jersey Parole Act of 1979. The New Jersey Parole Board immediately announced it would appeal the decision and request a “Stay” of Sundiata’s release until the appeal was heard. The “Stay” was granted which resulted in Sundiata remaining incarcerated while awaiting a decision from the New Jersey Supreme Court. The case was argued before the New Jersey Supreme Court which held that the Appellate Court exceeded its authority in ordering Sundiata’s release because a procedural process had not been followed. It’s important to note that the NJ supreme Court did not disturb the Appellate court’s decision on the merits.

On November 16, 2016, the board sent Sundiata a decision informing him that it had set a Future Eligibility Term (FET) of 180 months! An appeal will again be taken to the Appellate Division that ordered Sundiata’s release in 2014. Sundiata will be 81 on January 14, 2018. Financial contributions are needed so that Sundiata’s attorney may continue to pursue his freedom. Transcripts, briefs, printing, binding are but some of the cost. The brief to the NJ Appellate court is being prepared. Sundiata needs funds-at least $10,000. I assure all of you he is most grateful for your help and sends his thanks for whatever you can contribute.

Checks or Money orders payable to: Sundiata Acoli Freedom Campaign (or SAFC)
Mail to: Florence Morgan
120-46 Queens Blvd.
Kew Gardens, New York 11415


All The Best,
Florence Morgan

Haki kweli Shakur ATC NAPLA NAIM MOI 1-14-52ADM


January 13th 1970 Soledad Assassination of W.L.Nolen, Cleveland Edwards, Alvin Miller , Soledad Prison Riot

On January 13, 1970, 14 black inmates and 2 white inmates from the maximum-security section of Soledad Prison were released into a recreation yard. It had been several months since they were last released into the yard. The black prisoners were ordered to the far end of the yard, while the white prisoners remained near the center of the yard. Officer Opie G. Miller, an expert marksman armed with a rifle, watched over the inmates from a guard tower 13 feet (4 m) above the yard. A fist fight ensued and Miller opened fire on the prisoners below. No warning shot was fired. Three black inmates were killed in the shooting: W.L. Nolen and Cleveland Edwards died in the yard, while Alvin Miller died in the prison hospital a few hours later. A white inmate, Billy D. Harris, was wounded in the groin by Miller’s fourth shot, and ended up losing a testicle. In a letter from June 10, 1970, George Jackson described the scene as seeing three of his brothers having been “murdered […] by a pig shooting from 30 feet above their heads with a military rifle.”

Blood in My Eye January 13 52 ADM

Following the incident, thirteen black prisoners began a hunger strike in the hopes of securing an investigation. On January 16, 1970, a Monterey County grand jury convened, then exonerated Miller in the deaths of Nolen, Edwards, and Miller with a ruling of “justifiable homicide”. No black inmates were permitted to testify, including those who had been in the recreation yard during the shooting. In Soledad Prison, inmates heard the grand jury’s ruling on the prison radio. Thirty minutes later, John V. Mills was found dying in another maximum-security wing of the prison, having been beaten and thrown from a third-floor tier of Y Wing, George Jackson’s cellblock, to the television room below. On February 14, 1970, after an investigation into Mills’ death by prison officials, George Lester Jackson, Fleeta Drumgo and John Wesley Clutchette were indicted by the Monterey County grand jury for first-degree murder.

Long Live The Spirit of Comrad W.L. Nolen

In the era of the 1960s and 1970s, the California Prison System was and remains mired in a cesspool of injustice fomented by a culture of institutional racism. Adding to this contradiction, was and is the multitude of Amerikkkanized offshoots (prisoners) who aided racist prison guards with terrorizing and attacking New Afrikan Black Prisoners – often gaining extremely favorable advantages, such as three or more racist lackeys (prisoners), given access to store-bought knives by prison guards, being let out on the tier for their recreational exercise period, where they would be allowed to attack the sole New Afrikan, also out on the tier for his recreational exercise time.

Comrades W.L. Nolen, George Jackson, William Christmas, Howard Tole, Alvin “Sweet Jugs” Miller, Khatari Gaulden, Cleveland Edwards and countless others not only successfully resisted these attacks militarily, but W.L. Nolen had the foresight to politcize these contradictions by filing a petition in the court, where the comrade asserted:

“Prison guards are complicit in fomenting racial strife by aiding white inmate confederates in ways not actionable in court, i.e., leaving cell doors open to endanger the lives of New Afrikans; placing fecal matter or broken glass in the food served to New Afrikans etc., as these material factors would be difficult to prove.” See W.L. Nolen, et. al. v. Cletus Fitzharris, et. al.

W.L. Nolen was one of the founders of the Black Liberation Movement in the California Prison System, along with Comrade George Jackson.

Four months later, on Jan. 13, 1970, Comrade W.L. Nolen was assassinated, shot at point-blank range by white racist prison guard Opie G. Miller. This murder was ruled a justifiable homicide, in spite of concrete evidence that the comrade was defending himself and his fellow New Afrikans from a staged racist attack on their lives, while on Soledad’s O-Wing exercise yard.

I urge the people to read “The Melancholy History of Soledad Prison” by Min Sun Yee and “The Road To Hell” by Paul Libertore in order to grasp the true historical origins of our legacy of resistance under the leadership of Comrade W.L. Nolen. CAN’T STOP! WON’T STOP!

Comrade W.L. Nolen was instrumental in shaping and molding the exemplary model of undaunting resistance that many of us New Afrikans now find ourselves emulating today.

The W.L. Nolen Mentorship Program has been constructed as a dedication towards carrying forward the legacy of Comrade W.L. Nolen.


Afrika Built Amerikkka: The New Afrikan History to Retain National Independence- Owusu Yaki Yakubu/ Atiba Shanna VWW Book 12

📝 Historical Truth Afrika Built Amerikkka: Insofar as Afrikans In amerikkka compromise a nation, our enslavement in and by the U.S. was equal to colonialism where by one nation usurps the POWER AND RESOURCES of another nation for its own ENRICHMENT!

Ancestor New Afrikan Theoretician Owusu Yaki Yakubu ( Atiba Shanna) States In VWW Book 12: “ When We begin to study Our story in this way We’ll see that the New Afrikan national reality has its roots on the Afrikan Continent since societies from which We were forcibly taken into Colonial Bondage (Slavery) had developed social structures ( Stratification, Classes ) political and economic institutions, Despite the damage caused by colonial oppression ( chattel slavery ) to these social and production relations a sufficient residue remained with/ among US to serve as the foundation for a New Afrikan national reality on the North American Continent.

When European Nations Invaded The Afrikan Continent they Invaded INDEPENDENT NATIONS or SOCIO-ECONOMIC FORMATIONS. The Invaded AFRIKAN NATIONS/SOCIO-FORMATIONS weren’t destroyed, they were transformed and for those of US forcible brought here partially transplanted — We had been Independent and we forced into national dependency, Our social and production relations were denied Freedom/Free Development And as the New Afrikan Nation took root in The North American Continent the expression of its social and productive relations were suppressed and distorted.

Enough empirical data remains available to not only study and analyze, but to reinterpret to formulate and chronicle New Afrikan History rather than amerikkkan his-story in Black face. The contemporary data must also be more correctly used. That is statistics on New Afrikan Unemployment, Wage, Differentials, Mortality Rates, Educational Shortcomings, etc. are all data demonstrating the QUALITATIVE DISTINCTIONS between the Oppress New Afrikan Nation and The amerikkkan settler-empire.

Biafra: Biafra, New Afrika, Catalonia, Aztlan, Struggle For Total Independence – Haki Kweli Shakur 1-12-52 ADM ATC NAPLA NAIM MOI

Eddie Africa Parole Hearing January 11 2018 Demand Parole For Eddie & Mike Africa

ON JANUARY 11th 2018
CALL (717) 772-4343
Fax (717) 772-4375
Tweet @ Paparole

Demand Immediate Parole For
Edward Goodman Africa Am-4974

We’re also concerned about the pending parole decision for Mr. Michael Davis #AM-4973. Mr. Davis’s parole hearing was last September, and he is still waiting to hear the decision. In his previous hearing before last, the board took five months to inform him of a denial. Again, the board appears to be taking several months. I do not understand why it takes so long to make a positive decision, considering Mr. Davis has both housing and job plans, in addition to letters and petitions from various community members supporting his parole. Just like with Mr. Goodman, Mr. Davis has spent most of his life in prison, and has a very low chance of recidivism. Please make the decision to grant him parole so he can return and be a contributing member of our community.

Phil Africa Never Forget The Minister of Defense Died in The Slave KKKamps of Amerikkka January 10th 2015

On The Move Never Forget The Minister of Defense of The Move! Political Prisoner Phil Africa Died in The Slave KKKamps of Amerika on This Day January 10 2015

Phil Africa: Never forget what the system/government/prison industrial complex and law enforcement did by letting him a political prisoner die in a Pennsylvaina prison on this day, January 10th, This The 2nd time the government has let a Move Activist die In prison Merla Africa Remember her name as well!!! The fact that Phil was isolated for the six days before he passed–and that the prison refused to acknowledge that he was in the hospital–is beyond suspicious.

Phil took his commitment and work as a revolutionary very seriously, but was often smiling, laughing, and giving people hugs and encouragement. It’s this system’s intention for MOVE people to die in prison. The MOVE 9 never should have been imprisoned at all, and according to their sentence they should have been paroled over six years ago. The death of Merle and Phil Africa rests directly at the feet of this government!

Haki Kweli Shakur – August Third Collective NAPLA NAIM 1-10-52ADM


Phil will never be forgotten and this is not the end he is dearly missed but his strong example should inspire everyone to fight harder for the freedom of the MOVE 9 and all political prisoners. This latest government treachery will be the fuel needed to motivate people to step up the pace for this revolution. LONG LIVE PHIL AFRICA! LONG LIVE MERLE AFRICA! FREE THE MOVE 9! LONG LIVE JOHN AFRICA!


#themoveorganization #move #PhilAfrica #Philadelphia #pennsylvania #PoliticalPrisoners #FreeTheMove #TheAfricas #TheJerichomovement #RichmondJerichoMovement #georgejacksonuniversity

The Afrikan Origin of Super Heroes, Deities, God’s & Goddesses, Comics, In All Cultures

Historically, heroes – super-powered or not – come in all shapes and sizes. But what about colors? If we allow your standard history book and Hollywood small and silver screen productions to answer that question, the overall answer would be that the color is only one – white. Black heroes, it seems, do not exist.

But nothing could be further from the truth, especially for the sharp-witted student of world history or even popular culture. For such a person – though not without long-lived hard work and patience, intense study and research, and steel-spined dedication – would discover that throughout time immemorial, the Black hero – real and imagined – repeatedly appears and impacts culture as well as individuals who either welcome or disregard his or her heroic appearance, words and/or deeds.

Speaking of words, some scholars now agree that the very word “hero” comes from an African (Black) word and an African god. The 19th century scholar, Gerald Massey, states that the word “hero” comes from the Egyptian, “ma haru,” meaning “the typical warrior” or the “true hero.” Whereas another scholar states that the word “hero” is derived from the Latin name of a Greek word for the African god, Heru or Hor, who most Egyptologists call “Horus the hawk, the avenger.”

Interestingly enough, the hawk is an ancient and sacred bird of Africa, particularly Ethiopia, and what the late but legendary African world history scholar, Dr. Chancellor Williams, calls “Ethiopia’s oldest daughter, Egypt.”

Furthermore, based on the testimony of the Greek historian, Herodotus – often dubbed the “father of history” – and other scholars past and present, the very names – if not the very same gods, Greek then Roman, under different names – of the gods from Greek and Roman mythology came from, or were heavily influenced by, the ancient Egyptian and African mythology which predated them.

Those African-derived Greco-Roman gods would consequently serve as the backbone of today’s multi-billion dollar superhero comic book and movie industry.

Obatala, God of Yoroba mythology.
But the unmatched impact of Black heroes, real and fictional, would not stop in Greek and Roman mythology or even in Western society today. It would encompass both Asia and the Far East too. Whereas there is little, if any, hardcore evidence that King Arthur truly lived, in the Asian country of Saudi Arabia, there is evidence that over 1,500 years ago, there lived a courageous, 6th century, Black or Afro-Arabic warrior-poet and lover named Antar. History has dubbed him the “father of knighthood … [and] chivalry” and “the king of heroes.” Greatly admired by the founder and prophet of Islam, Muhammad, he is still widely celebrated for his poetry and warrior spirit throughout the Arab world today.

Those African-derived Greco-Roman gods would consequently serve as the backbone of today’s multi-billion dollar superhero comic book and movie industry.

Afrikan deities(Gods/Goddess) Are The origin of other races deities/prophets/ -Haki Kweli Shakur

Then, in the Far East – China, specifically – during the 9th century, there lived a writer named Pei Xing. Although there is virtually no proof that he was Black, during the Tang Dynasty of said century he wrote what some have called “China’s first martial arts short story,” entitled “Kunlun Nu.” It means the “Negrito,” “little Negro” or “little Black” slave and its hero is an enslaved Black man who can fly and has incomparable martial arts skills – just as in the traditional Chinese martial arts films of the 1960s and ‘70s, if not in earlier and even in modern-day movies.

Then there’s Japan, where this ancient but little-known proverb was found: “For a samurai [warrior] to be brave, he must have a bit of Black blood.” Another version says: “For a samurai to be brave, he must have half Black blood,” meaning one of his parents must be Black.

We also find in Japan a noted Black warrior who historians have called “the paragon of military virtue,” a Japanese general and the first person to bear the Japanese title of sei-i tai shogun – meaning “barbarian-subduing generalissimo.” His name was Sakanouye Tammamura Maro, sometimes spelled Sakanouye No Tamuramaro.

Furthermore, let’s not forget about the only “thoroughly documented amazons in world history,” the women warriors of Dahomey, who were West African women often serving as the king’s bodyguards and who, unlike the Grecian “amazons” and the comic book “amazon,” Wonder Woman, truly lived.

And what about the beautiful, fictional or factual, Black warrior-queen, Califia – after whom the state of California is said to be named; or Nzinga, a lioness-hearted Angolan warrior-queen, who fought against the Portuguese for decades to keep them from enslaving her people? Nzinga lived. Xena, the warrior-princess, did not.

Nor let us ignore the Black steel-driving man, John Henry, who not only – according to legend – beat a steam-driving machine with his hammer in his hand, but – according to one scholar – serves as the model for both Superman and Captain America, who is called the “first avenger” in the trailer for the movie to be released July 22.

Then there’s the Black Frenchman, Alexandre Dumas père, who wrote both “The Three Musketeers” and “The Count of Monte Cristo,” which both influenced fictional characters such as Mickey Spillane’s private eye, Mike Hammer, Ian Fleming’s super spy, James Bond, and characters created by the cowboy novelist, Zane Grey.

But what about the gun-slinging, outlaw-catching – catching between 3,000 and 4,000 outlaws – greatly feared, highly respected, often disguised, Black deputy marshal – serving for over 30 years – Bass Reeves? Says one scholar, Reeves may have served as the model for both the Lone Ranger and the Rooster Cogburn characters in the novel and movie, “True Grit.”

And let’s not fail to acknowledge the literal and literary hijacking, if not outright theft, by movie productions of African people’s centuries-long struggle against racial oppression, especially the Civil Rights Movement. Examples of such productions, if not parodies, are the “Planet of the Apes,” “Matrix” – an idea which allegedly was written by and stolen from a Black woman named Sophia Stewart – and “X-Men” movies.

And not one movie has been made about the late Henrietta Lacks, whose legendary cells are considered to be the world’s “first immortal cell lines,” reproducing on their own, adding billions to the coffers of medical researchers and research companies, and having been instrumental in the developments of the polio vaccine, in vitro fertilization, gene mapping and the possible cure for cancer, if not AIDS. It’s her mutated cells – the He-La cells, if you will – that should be the subject of a major motion picture, or several of them.

Truly heroic, African-centered people should make movies about her, her poverty-stricken family and the other Black heroes and she-roes, real and imagined, that may or may not have been mentioned.

For they, like Robert F. Williams – the Black, Marine Corps trained weapons expert and stalwart, armed self-defense advocate and major but little-known Civil Rights Movement activist – clearly indicate that Black heroes do exist, should be studied and known and their lives should be written about and filmed for the small or silver screen by African people. It’s important for us to restore what the Afro-Puerto Rican bibliophile, Arthur Schomburg, once said “slavery took away” – our sense of humanity, self-worth and undying willingness to work together and improve the overall dismal plight of the world’s 1 billion-plus African (Black) people – as crafted by anyone’s hand, mind or faith – come hell or high water. Such people are the real heroes – walking, talking and doing superheroes.

This is dedicated to Brother Obadela Williams, who suggested research on this topic over 20 years ago.

© 2011 by J.D. Jackson, better known as Hawk, a priest, poet, soloist, journalist, historian and African-centered lecturer who can be reached at

Mark Essex New Afrikan Martyr August 12 1949 – January 7 1973

Mark Essex joined the Navy in January 1969 with aspirations of one day becoming a Dentist. Two years later he would gun down 19 people, including 10 police officers in what become one of the bloodiest shootouts in New Orleans history and the deadliest day ever for it’s police department.

Upon joining the Navy Mark Essex experienced his first bout with racism getting into fights with white sailors whom he felt directly harrassed and offended him. Because of these constant battles he received disciplinary action. Shortly afterwards he was befriended by a Rodney Franks, a fellow disenfranchised sailor from New Orleans and a wannabe militant. Franks introduced Essex to Black Panther literature, instantly a change occurred in his personality.

Fed up with the Navy after less than two years, Mark Essex went AWOL at the end of 1970. Hate become his motivation and that hate was for all white people. He was discharged from the Navy in Febuary 1971. After a 3 month stint in New York, immersing himself in the literature of the Black Panther Party, further supplying the hate that was brewing deep inside of him. The party’s publications taught tactics for urban guerrilla warfare, referred to police officers as “pigs”, suggested the best weapon for the urban guerrilla – one of their weapons of choice was the .44 Magnum carbine rifle – and stressed head shots for quick kills.

Essex called Franks in New Orleans, who also was discharged from the Navy, and told him he was leaving Kansas and had his sights on the Crescent City. In August 1972, Mark Essex packed up his hatred, his rage, and a .44 rifle and made his way to New Orleans.

Black Panther Mark Essex

Mark James Robert Essex killed 10 people and wounded 13 others in the United States on January 7, 1973.

Mark James Robert Essex was born in Emporia, Kansas. His friends remembered him as a quiet, happy person, who had talked about becoming a minister. Essex joined the Navy, where he was subjected to racism from whites. He was given a general discharge for unsuitability on 10 February 1971, for “character and behavior disorders.” After his discharge, he became involved with black radicals in San Francisco, California and later joined the New York Black Panthers.
New Year’s Eve, 1972

At the age of 23 and living in New Orleans, Essex began targeting police officers. On New Year’s Eve 1972 Essex parked his car and went down Perdido Street, a block from the New Orleans Police Department. He hid in a parking lot across from the busy central lockup and used a .44 Magnum to kill cadet Cadet Alfred Harrell. Lt. Horace Perez was also wounded in the attack. Interestingly, Harrell was black, although Essex said he was going to kill “just honkies” before beginning the Howard Johnson attacks. Essex evaded custody, and later returned, killing Officer Edwin Hosli Sr.
7 January 1973

It was 10:15am, 7 January 1973, when Essex shot grocer Joe Perniciaro with his Ruger .44 Magnum carbine. Essex was making his way to The Downtown Howard Johnson’s Hotel on 330 Loyola Ave. Gaining entry from a fire stairwell on the 18th floor, Essex told three startled black hotel employees not to worry, as he was only there to kill white people. In the hallway in front of room 1829 Essex found a 27-year-old vacationing Dr. Robert Steagall and his wife Betty. After a struggle with Steagall, Essex shot him in the chest. He then shot the wife of the doctor in the back of the head. In the room, he soaked telephone books with lighter fluid and set them ablaze under the curtains. Essex dropped a red, green, and black African flag onto the floor beside the bodies of the couple as he left. Down on the 11th floor, Essex shot his way into rooms and set more fires. It was on the 11th floor he shot and killed Frank Schneider, the hotel assistant manager, and shot Walter Collins, the hotel general manager (who died from his wounds in hospital three weeks later).The police and fire department quickly arrived. Two officers tried to use a fire truck’s ladder to enter the building, but were shot at by Essex. As more police arrived, a crowd started to gather. As the police exchanged fire with Essex, the crowd would cheer after Essex’s shots. Attempting to rescue trapped officers, Deputy Chief Sirgo was shot in the spine by Essex, and died.Seeing the story on TV, Marine Lt. Gen. Chuck Pitman offered the use of a Coast Guard helicopter to assist the officers. The helicopter was loaded with armed men and sent up. Essex and the helicopter exchanged many rounds over many hours. Essex managed to hole himself up in a concrete cubicle that would protect him. Right as he hit the helicopter’s transmission, Essex was barraged with fatal gunfire. An autopsy later revealed more than 200 gunshot wounds.

Before the attack, the television station WWL received a handwritten note from Essex. It read:

‘Africa greets you. On Dec. 31, 1972, aprx. 11 p.m., the downtown New Orleans Police Department will be attacked. Reason — many, but the death of two innocent brothers will be avenged. And many others.

P.S. Tell pig Giarrusso the felony action squad ain’t shit.


After the smoke had cleared, a tally revealed that Essex had shot 19 people, including 10 police officers.