At age 17, I married my high school sweetheart, graduated from high school, got a well-paying job at a major aircraft company and became a devoted father, all in one year—1965. I guess it would be correct to say that we were well on our way to becoming your typical “American Negro” family. But then, something changed. Later that year (Aug. 1965), the Los Angeles “Watts” revolt broke out. This revolt (the beginning of waves of uprisings all over the country) had a cathartic impact on me. It was the culmination of years of civil rights protest and legal frustration over racial discrimination against Blacks in this country. I watched on television as dogs and water hoses were turned loose on nonviolent protesters in the South. As I watched the horrible images, I became filled with rage. I was angry and at the time, I couldn’t understand why those civil rights demonstrators wouldn’t fight back.
In my mind, I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted to be part of a more confrontational movement to end racial discrimination. Therefore, I sided with other young people who had rejected Martin Luther King Jr.’s philosophy of “nonviolence” and adopted a more militant posture.
Thus, it was inside this social consciousness and tumultuous climate that I decided to join the cultural nationalist organization “Us” in Los Angeles. I became a Simba Wachanga (Young Lion). And, I became a “warrior.”
At the time of the shootings I was a warrior for the “revolution,” and I was willing to die for the cause. This warrior mindset is essentially militaristic and confrontational. It is “commandist” and combative. It is a mindset that finds justification in violence and accepts casualties of war over preservation of life. It was a mindset that I am still paying for today.
It happened just inside the cafeteria doorway. A heated argument, some profane words, a tussle between four angry young men. The first shot silenced the revolutionary chatter. More shots rang out as frightened students scrambled for cover, leaving me wounded in the shoulder and two Black Panthers, Alprentice “Bunchy” Carter and John Jerome Huggins, dead on the floor of UCLA’s Campbell Hall, room 1201.
In 1969, I was tried and convicted of “conspiracy” to murder these two Black Panthers. One of the men, John Huggins, was the 24-year-old husband of Ericka. She was at home with their three-week old daughter when she first heard about the killings.
Subsequently I was sentenced to “Life” in prison. I started serving my time in Soledad before being transferred to San Quentin State Prison. Five years later, in 1974, I escaped from San Quentin and fled the country to South America. I lived there in self-imposed exile for 20 years.
Throughout my journey (both inside and outside the U.S.), I have had many brushes and direct encounters with acts of violence. I have been a perpetuator and a recipient.
What I now know: all violence, no matter which side you are on or how it is justified, eventually consumes the human spirit and usually undermines the intended purpose.
About three years ago I began corresponding with Ericka Huggins the wife of John. She and I had been on long, arduous journeys of the mind, heart, and spirit as we prepared to meet each other. Initially, I was frustrated with my desire for dialogue and reconciliation. It was difficult trying to communicate from a prison cell, and I honestly did not know how to proceed.
I was anxious and unsure of Ericka’s reaction. For years, I had contemplated what I would say and how I would say it if I were to meet face-to-face with John or Bunchy’s family. However, I could only try my best to convey to Ericka my thoughts through a letter, and let the woman the campus shooting affected most know how sorry I was that it ever happened. I wanted to offer Ericka Huggins, John’s widow, my sincere apology for the warrior mindset that contributed to the deaths of two human beings. And, after two years of correspondence I got my chance to do it in person. In September 2012 I sat down with Ericka for the first time since the January 17, 1969 UCLA killings.
On December 21, 2012, a week after the horrific Newtown murders at Sandy Hook elementary school, Ericka and I participated in a Restorative Justice Symposium at San Quentin State prison. Facing a packed audience of prisoners and outside guests, we told our stories and talked about the spiritual power of forgiveness and the need for Truth and Reconciliation.
In future columns, I will be revisiting and exploring the restorative justice dialogue between Ericka and myself. I believe it is a dialogue that can heal, educate, inspire and transform. I hope that it will be a model of dialogue and reconciliation for the younger OGs.
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A Question on Leadership
My name is Dwayne Sullivan, and I am 51 years old. I have given your question about OG leadership some serious thought. Before any OG can tell a young person anything, I think the OG has to be together himself. He has to be someone who is respected, respectable, and credible. OGs cannot just expect young people to automatically accept or follow advice from someone older. That just ain’t happening.
I am not trying to be self-righteous or judgmental towards OGs or in any way imply that many of these youngsters do not need some serious discipline in their lives. With absolutely no doubt, plenty of them certainly do! Rather, I am suggesting that OGs lead by example.
To me, leading by example is the most effective quality of any leadership. As an OG, this is what I observe and try to model. I do not spend a lot of time preaching to them or instructing them on how they should or should not behave. My point is, young people learn more effectively from what they see OGs do rather than what they hear them say.
