San Quentin News

Written By Incarcerated - Advancing Social Justice

The stark reality of prison, COVID and the public perception

by

Illustration by Orlando Smith

The screams of “Man Down!” (the incarcerated emergency medical call) rattle around the various San Quentin housing units. The alert starts the sounds of correctional officers loud boots hitting the pavement and their keys jingling adds to the chaos and the panic when the emergency alarms go off.

Medical nurses arrive, covered from head to toe in Personal Protection Equipment (PPE) resembling a sci-fi movie, to administer aid. This scene has played out for months within the prison.

COVID-19 has truly hit San Quentin hard. Twenty-six incarcerated individuals and one correctional officer have died and thousands of others have been infected with the virus transmitted in our community.

Even in these times of crisis, it feels that we (the incarcerated) always have to prove our humanity, our rehabilitation and our willingness to make amends.

The calls for early releases, to curb the surge of COVID-19 and death, has set off an array of emotions from joy of family members and prison reform advocates to fear and indifference from some of the general public.
How did we get here? It has been almost 30 years of constant lawsuits. I do believe some government officials want prison reform and that must be balanced with the concerns of the general public.

But I must say that it has mainly been the incarcerated and our advocates, who have humanized life within California and the nation’s prison system. We (the incarcerated) had to fight for our religious rights (services, artifacts, grooming standards), or access to the courts. We even had to fight to end the indefinite use of solitary confinement and win adequate healthcare—not something special, just adequate.

In 2011, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that California is required to reform prisons to provide constitutionally sufficient physical and mental care to incarcerated people. It’s almost a decade later and “that can” seems to be continually kicked down the road. The cases went from Plata, Coleman vs. Gov. Jerry Brown to Plata, Coleman vs. Gov. Gavin Newsom.

Now we are in the mist of a deadly pandemic and approaching flu season. The criteria of who may qualify for early release are very narrow. The debate centers on non-violent offenders versus those who have committed violent crimes.

However, the facts are rarely discussed or considered, mainly because of the type of crimes attached to the individual. According to CDCR’s own recidivism study, more than 50% of prisoners paroled after completion of a determined sentence were convicted of a new crime within three years compared to only 5% of lifer parolees who were convicted of a new crime within three years.

A study by Stanford University between 1995 and 2010 found that of 860 murderers paroled in California, only five returned to prison for new felonies, but none that required a life term, such as murder.

So it pains most of us who have done the internal work—those who have worked through the childhood traumas and accepted accountability—to still be considered politically “risky” and not for safety reasons.

We also accept the victim/survivor rights; we believe in their voice. We learned this through participating in our self-help groups. It’s not for us to tell people who have been harmed how they should feel. We must respect the process. We just want to restore what we can.

As the coronavirus spreads and becomes our new reality, our fears of death are real. All we hope for is for society to remember whatever the deed was, most of us weren’t sentenced to death by the state.

SQ’s Sgt. G. Polanco passes from COVID-19

by

Sergeant G. Polanco

Sad news: West Block has lost another guiding light. On Sunday, August 9, Sergeant G. Polanco died from coronavirus. Polanco, 55, a West Block unit Sergeant, is among the growing death list in our San Quentin community.

We have lost 26 [29 by printing] of our incarcerated peers, friends, and associates to this deadly disease. Polanco became the first correctional officer to die of the illness at San Quentin.

The daily interactions between guards and prisoners are always complex: from the hardliners (on both sides) who view each other with disdain to the humane, who try not to lose their true selves in this environment.

Polanco was in the humane category. In a place of constant uncertainty, stress and toxic personalities—once again, on both sides—Polanco will be remembered as a fair and impartial person and officer. Polanco had the ability and skill to de-escalate any situation with his smile and years of experience. He would respect the rights of the incarcerated.

Sgt. Polanco with his friend

If we anticipated we had something coming, he made sure that we would get it. But if you broke the rules, he would give you what you’d got coming, too. Polanco was never away or isolated from the housing unit. He was always available to listen to grievances or just have a casual conversation.

“I remember when Sgt. Polanco would work West Block, we would talk in the rotunda, where I played my guitar, about politics, old school music, and travel,” said Aaron Taylor, former SQNews Sports Editor. “In those conversations, it was just two middle-aged men talking about life, not a correctional sergeant and an incarcerated person.”

“Polanco will also be remembered for being one of the first to volunteer and help sponsor the incarcerated “Sign Language program” where incarcerated men learn signing and become mentors to the incoming deaf population.

“Polanco was always interested in connecting to the human—which isn’t normal in CDCR—but also not an outlier at San Quentin,” said Taylor.

Sgt. Polanco with his wife

Polanco embodied leadership and what it takes to be of service to your community and nation. He comes from a military family and a line of correctional officers. His uncle Lee Polanco, a military veteran and former San Quentin correctional officer, retired and became the prison’s Native American Chaplain. Polanco’s son is currently in the military.

As the coronavirus continues to ravage San Quentin, while the administration attempts to get a handle on the situation, it shows that the illness does not discriminate between guards or the incarcerated.

Sgt. Polanco will be missed not just by his co-workers, but also by some of the men in blue, whom he counseled, gave support during rehabilitative programs and debated sports trivia with.

Rest in Peace, Sergeant.
Community is Community

Sgt. Polanco with his son and wife

The #STOPSANQUENTINOUTBREAK coalition

by

Participants in front of the prison’s main gate

Major protests, media appearances and a growing social media campaign are being led by former San Quentin prisoners, families of the currently incarcerated, prison reform advocates and some government officials.

“We (the coalition) continue to agree with public health experts who have said that at least a 50%reduction in the incarcerated rate is necessary for public health safety,” said James King, former San Quentin resident, member of the Ella Baker Center for Human Justice, and state campaigner for the Oakland-based organization, #STOPSANQUENTINOUTBREAK.

The campaign is “not just for people inside the prison but people outside of prison,” King continued.

Assemblymember Ash Kalra speaking to the crowd

King paroled from San Quentin in December after being found suitable for release by the Board of Parole Hearings. King worked as a lead clerk for the Prison University Project (recently renamed as Mt. Tamalpais College), the institution’s college program.

Adnan Khan and Eric “Maserati-E” Abercrombie, two former San Quentin residents, took to the airwaves via social media and radio. Both men bought awareness to the prison’s COVID-19 outbreak in a podcast interview with Brie Williams of the Geriatrics and Palliative (GeriPal) Care blog.

“Physical distancing is impossible in prison and jail,” said Khan on the broadcast. “They’re not built for it. Walkways are three feet wide. Bunk beds where you can feel all your neighbors’ breath.”

“To compound the issue, prisoners are afraid that if they get sick they will be put in The Hole (solitary confinement). So they don’t admit when they’re sick,” Khan and Abercrombie added. “The major response should be decarceration. Reduce the crowding in our overcrowded correctional facilities.”

Since returning home, the pair has worked tirelessly to bring awareness to the community.

“Many people think of prisons as disconnected from society, like a cruise ship,” said Khan. “But for every two people in a correctional facility, there’s about one person who works in the facility and lives in a community. The workers are bringing out whatever they’ve been exposed to in prison.”
Khan and Abercrombie produced short films and public service announcements through FirstWatch, a film-making program at San Quentin before paroling.

Khan is the executive director of Re:Store justice, a justice advocacy organization.

Abercrombie is a singer/songwriter whose music can be heard on the Fox Sports documentary Q-Ball and the San Quentin podcast Ear Hustle.

In July the #STOPSANQUENTINOUTBREAK coalition movement reached the gates of the prison. Chants of “Free Them All” and banners calling for action waved in the background. The coalition held a press conference that included these elected officials: State Sen. Scott Wiener, D-San Francisco; Assemblymembers Marc Levine, D-San Rafael; and Ash Kalra, D-San Jose.

Some of the officials called for a continued monitoring of the COVID-19 outbreak inside California prisons. “We must sustain attention here at San Quentin and at every facility where people are sentenced for time and locked up across the state of California,” said Assemblymember Levine. “We must sustain this attention because unfortunately COVID-19 is not going away, so we can’t let our guard down.”

San Quentin’s COVID-19 outbreak ballooned to more than 2,000 positive cases and the death of 26 prisoners and one correctional officer.
Activists and family members are calling for release of those incarcerated to make it easier to control the spread of the virus inside the prison, and bringing the medical care within the system into compliance with the constitutional standards that were court-mandated.

James King arriving at the press conference

The activists are not naïve of the challenges and possible lack of political will to have major releases. But the returning citizens who have become agents of change urge Gov. Gavin Newsom and CDCR to follow that data.
“The science of people aging out of crime, as well as the CDCR’s own risk assessments that have identified tens of thousands of people as low risk for recidivism or violence, should be the criteria,” said King.

Jody Lewen, Prison University Project executive director, weighed in on what is needed during these times of trials in her July COVID-19 update letter:

What we need right now is political leadership that 1) directly addresses the public’s misguided fear of anyone who has been convicted of a serious violent crime; 2) proactively seeks out real strategies for safely housing and supporting thousands of people as they return from prison…and, above all, 4) transforms the state’s sentencing laws.
“What we do not need are legislators, advocates, or members of the media who seek to craft sensationalistic scandals out of deeply entrenched systematic problems or sidestep collective societal failures by, for example, calling for the heads of the leadership of San Quentin or CDCR.

Lewen added that things at San Quentin would be dramatically worse if San Quentin did not have its current warden.

“There must be space in this society for the humanity of every single person,” said Lewen. “The coming weeks and months will likely challenge us in unprecedented ways to respond to the question of why the lives of people in prison—including those who may have committed extreme violence—have value and meaning.”

King concluded, “We stand by ready to help facilitate and use our resources to facilitate safe entry.”

Letters To The Editor

by

Letter-to-the-Editor

San Quentin News,
Just wanted to give you a shout-out for the article on Mental Health Week. I’m so glad that this has been brought to focus with the CDC. This is something long coming. People only see and hear what prison life does to a person, when there is more that can be done besides prayer, hope, love. I know this because your article has my brother’s name on suicides: Jesse Hernandez. He was a big brother that I looked up to, and is still missed so much it hurts.
Thank you again.
Susan Jarcki


Dear Susan,
We thank you for your kind and inspirational words. San Quentin News will continue to raise your brother’s name and the rest of our fallen brothers and sisters.
We don’t always hear the effects this loss has on the family.
If it’s not too painful, San Quentin News would like to tell your story.
Thank you.
Marcus Henderson

Good morning.
I have been following your website since learning of your news organization and journalists through a story on race relations in prisons that aired on NPR.
I’m especially thinking of you all and your community, now as the COVID-19 virus threatens all communities, but especially those where individuals are not able to isolate in place.
Are you receiving safety supplies?
Sincerely,
Bryan
Grand Rapids, Mich.


Hey, I just wanted to say, you guys are doing a badass job at the San Quentin News! I love reading this every month; it helps us (family and friends) know what’s up with all of you guys…Good job, keep on doin what yo doin’. Stand tall and keep yo head up!
Angel Paradise

When New Year Arrives For Native Americans

by

“Rich in Culture, Rich in Tradition” read a blazing red banner at San Quentin’s annual Spring Pow Wow. The February 28 event was to celebrate the incoming Native American New Year.

“When the flowers begin to blossom it signals to us the New Year has arrived,” said Hector Heredia, SQ Native American chaplain, beaming with joy.

In North American indigenous cultures, the New Year is at the end of January or the first part of February, based on constellations and moon phases, according to a Manataka American Indian Council website article. The New Year is the time to celebrate the return of the sacred foods. According to some tribal tradition the first food that was created was the salmon and the second food was the deer.

Family, guests and prisoners filled San Quentin’s visiting room for the festivities. Indian sun, hoop and fancy dancers twirled and stomped around the visiting area to bless the event, as the scent of sage purified the air. The coronavirus scare and its associated deaths were not lost on the large crowd’s minds. The native elders chanted the “Black Wolf” song, a sacred prayer to honor the medicine men and ancestors, as the colorful tribal dancers moved around the pounding ceremonial drum.

“It’s the ceremony of life and death,” said Michael Paul Littlevoice, a visiting fancy dancer. “The drum and song is to honor our medicine people who are dwindling.”

Littlevoice said he’s from the Ponca tribe, but the “Black Wolf” chant comes from one of the oldest clans of the Choctaw tribe. Littlevoice, dressed in colorful rainbow regalia and eagle feathers, travels around the country performing the traditional buffalo and horse dances. The dances are for purification and healing as the steps are intended to banish evil.

“I don’t dance for entertainment,” said Littlevoice. “I dance for you all and your families’ healing. Dance is prayer and prayer is the key to life.”

Lee Planco, 82, a visiting elder, spoke about Native Americans’ struggles to institute religious services and to uphold Indian rights within the nation’s correctional systems. Examples are: sweat lodges, opposing grooming standards  (cutting off their hair) and performing sacred rituals.

“We have to honor the ones who have fought for these things,” said Planco, who is a veteran, retired correctional officer and chaplain. “It took us seven years to get a sweat lodge in a Nevada prison. I had to tell their administration that I fought for this country and that includes the freedom of religion. They thought about it for a second and said OK,” reflected Planco.   

Planco and Heredia, both military veterans, have a have a long history of Indian advocacy work. They both were a part of what they call the “Longest Walk.” In 1978, Native Americans walked from San Francisco to Washington, D.C. to protest 11 bills that were before Congress at that time. The bills would have limited rights to tribal government, hunting, and fishing. They also would have restricted access to social services by closing Native American schools and hospitals.

The 3,000-mile march started at Alcatraz Island in San Francisco. The marchers were a mixture of non-native and Native Americans. The group of more than 2,000 would stop along the route and hold “teach-ins” about native culture, beliefs, and practices in various cities and towns, according to the Global Nonviolent Action Database.  The trip took five months, but after more than 12 days of demonstrations and rallies in the D.C. area, Congress rejected all 11 proposed bills.  

“Don’t take for granted the things you have,” Planco said to the men in blue. “We never had jails or prisons in our ancient world. So get out and don’t come back here—get out and honor your mother.”

Gregory “White Eagle” Coates, a San Quentin resident, performed a song on his cedar flute honoring all women.  Visiting Hoop dancer Eddie Medril taught the prison residents the hoop dance.

“The dance tells a story of creation and honoring your ancestors,” said Medril. “When people walk as an individual it’s easy to forget their foundations. But when you start to look back at your ancestors, you can say I come from that— and that will give you the strength of more than you.

“Then you will know that you are a part of an empire and become unstoppable,” Medril added.

The magnetic sounds of the pounding drums bought out San Quentin’s new acting Warden, Ron Broomfield. Warden Broomfield joined the festivities and shared words of encouragement and inclusiveness. He has been making the rounds at prison programs and services.

The New Year celebration ended with a feast of salmon, the sacred food, and fry bread.

“Today was awesome,” said Joe Renteria, an SQ resident. “I believe everyone should experience this. If you look for your roots, you will find peace with the ‘Great Grandfather,’ just like a lot of us lost Indians do.”

Advocates in Oakland push to end LWOP

by

Participants gather after the event for a photo

California has an estimated 5,000 people serving life without parole (LWOP), and their plight is almost never discussed—especially the way the sentence affects female prisoners.

A campaign to drop California’s use of LWOP received a public airing late last year. Kelly Savage, Tammy Cooper-Garvin, Brandi Taliano and Susan Bustamante shared their pain and the trauma of serving a LWOP sentence with a packed audience.

The Oakland event marked the first time the women were able to participate in a town hall meeting similar to one that first created public awareness of their situation. Then-Governor Jerry Brown commuted the women sentences.

Their stories and those of others still imprisoned are described in an audio storytelling project titled “A Living Chance,” released through the California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP).

“The event was eye-opening; people really don’t know what LWOP is,” said Laverne Shoemaker, another panelist, whose sentence was commuted. “Once I was in a group of 23 San Francisco police officers, I had to explain and I mean really break it down to them what an LWOP sentence is and what a life sentence is.”

In criminal cases involving “special circumstances” a person may be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole instead of condemned to death in the penalty phase of a trial. The sentence is not restricted only to the person who pulls the trigger, but also to anyone else who was a participant in the crime as well, under California’s “felony murder rule.”

The advocates are fighting to have LWOP eliminated from the state’s penal code. They argue that it is worse than the death penalty, because it is really a living death sentence.

“I was praying that I wasn’t going to get the death penalty,” shared Taliano. “I was praying for LWOP, ironically—it seemed like the lesser of the two. Then I go to [prison]… and my counselor says, ‘do you understand that you’re going to die in prison?’ And it hit me. It literally hit me.”

Shoemaker said she was distressed to discover that many law enforcement officers have no idea what LWOP means, “I was frustrated and couldn’t understand it, because they really did not know. I had to ask them are you guys freaking kidding me? Am I being punked? They were really, like, shocked and flabbergasted.

Drop LWOP group addressing the audience about the struggles and problems they are facing

“I could see the confusion—they were perplexed and had mixed emotions that they could potentially be a part of giving someone ‘the other death penalty,’” added Shoemaker.

“We also needed to bring awareness to intimate partner battering,” Tammy Cooper-Garvin, told SQ News. “When I tell my story it makes me feel better and I pray that I am helping someone.

“There are many layers to my story and I get emotional when I tell my story, because I can still feel that little girl who wanted to be loved.

“I don’t regret coming to prison,” added Cooper-Garvin. “I needed to be incarcerated for that period of time to work on myself, and to show society that I was a changed woman who valued, and respected others, and also valued myself. Taliano and Cooper-Garvin both joined the Long Termer’s Organization, while incarcerated, a group of like-minded people serving LWOP supporting each other. They credit the program for helping turned their lives around.

“Prison taught me how to be a better person, it showed me how to deal with life,” said Cooper-Garvin. “I went to many self-help groups. I wanted to know what was different from me and my siblings. I knew I wanted to change, so I surrounded myself around positive lifers.

“I also knew I was a LWOP and that I had to make a life for myself. I didn’t have a good life in the world but with change I could have a life in prison, so I took full advantage of what CDCR had to offer,” added Cooper-Garvin.

With a second chance at life, the women are taking their stories and plight to Sacramento, lobbying for policy changes legislator by legislator. With support of other reform organizations such as CCWP, All of Us or None, Legal Services for Children and many others, the women are giving their time, energy and resources to change the narrative for all incarcerated and those finishing their sentences and returning home.

“We’re working on things like getting fair wages for all the incarcerated,” said Shoemaker. “We’re also trying to get the gate money raised to $1,000 (currently the funds upon release are limited to $200, unchanged for decades). We’re fighting for things that will make your conditions better in there and make your transition easier in the free world,” added Shoemaker.

CCWP hosted the “Drop the LWOP” event. Adrienne Skye Roberts moderated the affair and has work tirelessly to bring the “A Living Chance” campaign to Californians and legislators through the audio stories, portraits and postcards of the women who are still serving the LWOP sentence.

The newly released women thought they were supposed to die in prison. They felt they were held in bondage and captive to their shame and guilt, but have made that transition for success.

“If I could achieve my freedom anyone can,” said Cooper-Garvin. “It was hard work for me and it will be hard work for you also, but the pay-off is truly worth it.

“We may think people are closed minded about giving us a chance and it is just the opposite— they welcome us with our past because many see the good in us,” she concluded.

Adrienne Roberts examines portraits of female LWOPS

What role does society play in the development of felons?

by

Entrance to Pasrchman State Penitentiary in Mississippi

Be it California or Mississippi, when news of suicides, murders or riots reaches any prison population the feeling is always the same: “damn”—if it’s spoken or not. Especially if you’ve been through it or witnessed these things.

Society might think “there goes those violent monsters acting up again.” What is rarely discussed is that we are a product of the society. Most of us incarcerated and are Americans, and America is filled with double standards (we’ll get to that later) and most of the time breeds intolerance.

Black people and others are still suffering under racism, and we don’t have to go back to slavery to see this. Black people can’t BBQ, sell water or lose cigarettes without the police being called. A Black man was even arrested for eating a sandwich at a San Francisco BART transit station platform. We can’t even sit in our own homes without being shot and killed.

Have we ever talked about collective trauma? It’s not just individuals who suffer. It’s whole communities. Our immigrant community is being detained, and kids are/have been separated from their parents—OK, more trauma. Our President even ordered the assassination of a Iranian general using violence in the name of stopping violence.

Have we been raised to be intolerant against any and everyone who is not like us (on both sides)? Has violence been shown as a way to solve our problems? Is this learned behavior?

We witnessed our President say that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue in broad daylight and not get charged. Damn! That’s a criminal threat, or what we incarcerated call a “terrorist threat,” and people in here are doing three to five years, if not a life sentence, for a statement such as that.

During President Trump’s House impeachment trial started by the Democrats—more separation—Trump was alleged to have attempted to strong arm, bribe or leverage—or whatever a good word choice would be (quid pro quo)—to get the Ukrainian president to investigate his rival, excuse me, his possible political opponent, for his own advantage.

Once again, there are hundreds of thousands of people serving long sentences for attempting to do a crime. But what really was most interesting to those incarcerated was how the Republicans, Trump’s “homies” (supporters), kept touting that all the evidence against him was just hearsay. Wait, wait, wait—how many people are sitting in U.S. prisons and jails convicted on hearsay evidence? And I haven’t yet mentioned the venomous call to reveal the name of the whistleblower. Trump’s supporters came just short of calling the confidential informant a “snitch.”

When the smoke cleared Trump was impeached in the House (by his rivals) on “Abuse of Power” and “Obstruction of Justice.”

But, he was acquitted by the majority Republican Senate. Imagine that! a jury of one’s peers. I think most people incarcerated would have loved to have their friends, supporters or homies on their juries. It wouldn’t be hard to guess the outcome.

Now let’s talk about prison violence and reform. When people are sentenced to 800 plus years, what is expected? They have officially written their lives off and wonder what they have to live for or if they will ever see the streets again. Add to that, they are incarcerated in harsh and questionable conditions.

Colonel Allen Allensworth, founder of a town in central California

by

Colonel Allen Allensworth

After slavery African Americans took their skills and begin to build thriving cities. Blacks in California were no different.

In 1908, African Americans in California built a flourishing town called Allensworth, an accomplishment seldom taught or discussed. Colonel Allen Allensworth, founded the community in a rural area in Tulare County 30 miles north of Bakersfield.

The town served as a depot station on the Santa Fe Railroad line from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The soil was fertile and the water seemingly abundant, according to history.net.com.

Within a year, 35 families were residing in the town and by 1912 the population grew to 100. Alwortha Hall was the first baby born in the town. The settlement had two general stores, a post office and comfortable homes. A school was built that also served as the center for the towns social and political activities. The public library held more than a 1,000 book.

Between 1912-1915 Allensworth generated nearly $5,000 monthly from their business ventures. Their voting registration records listed an array of occupations from colonists, farmers, storekeepers, carpenters, nurses and more.

Allensworths grain ware- houses, cattle pens and large poultry farms served the needs of the community and the railroad post. It had a 10- room hotel at 75 cents per night that included a restaurant. A cement manufacturing enterprise, plaster and carpen- try shops. The town also produced sugar beets. These successes was a way to prove to the White establishment that Black people were capable of self-determination and self-respect, said the article.

Allensworth became a member of the county school district and a voting precinct that elected Oscar Overr the first African-American justice of the peace in post-Mexican California.

The town consisted of 900 acres. It provided youth ser- vices such as: the Owl Club, the campfire Girls, the Girls Glee Club, and the Children’s Saving Association. The Glee Club became internationally known singing at various little White towns throughout the nation.

Colonel Allensworth lobbied the California State Legislature for an education- al institution for the town similar to Booker T. Washington’s Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. Allensworth envisioned a training and technical school for black youths in California and the Southwest. The town was on its way to becoming one of the greatest Black cities in the U.S. if not the world. But the school bill fail due to op- position from other Blacks in Los Angeles and San Francisco, who believed that a Tuskegee-like institution would reinforce educational and residential segregation.

The town began to face several more crises that led to its eventual decline. The Santa Fe Railroad never supported the Black community through hiring for the rail line, according to the article. The company built another line to neighboring Alpaugh allowing most rail traffic to bypass Allensworth. The railroad company also refused to change the rail line name from Solito/Solita to Allensworth. These act deprived the town of the lucrative carrying trade.

The death of Colonel Allensworth sealed the fate of the town. In 1914, Colonel Allensworth was ran over by two White youths on a speeding motorcycle. He died the next morning. Without.

His spiritual guidance and leadership, the community disintegrated. By 1920, the lure of jobs in Oakland further decimated the town’s population. But the colonel’s dream did not die. In 1976, the state had acquired the land and the Department of Parks and Recreation developed a state historic site.

While Allensworth existed less than 20 years it provided an opportunity for Black men and women to transcend race-based limits and thus control their own destinies.

N.W.A helped set the stage for modern hip hop music

by

Ice Cube,

N.W.A – Rap Group (1987-95)
The N.W.A rap group was at first criticized as a misogynistic hip hop crew that glorified drugs and crime. But the Compton-based rap group bought the political and social issues of California’s Black youth to the mainstream and coined the term “ gangsta rap.”

Their explicit lyrics were occasionally offensive, but their music spot-lighted California’s gang crisis, illegal drug trade and police abuses from a street perspective.

The group spawned hip hop icons, such as Easy-E, Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Mc Ren and many others. In 1988, the group released Straight Outta Compton with the highly controversial song F@#k tha Police, which brought attention to police brutality and racial profiling.

The song sparked howls of protest from law enforcement agencies. Some police agencies refused to provide security for the group’s concerts. Milt Ahlerich, an assistant director of the FBI, sent a letter to Ruthless Records, the company co- founded by Easy-E through Priority Records, warning the rappers that “advocating violence and assault is wrong and we in the law enforcement community take exception to such action.”

However, the FBI’s letter only helped draw more publicity to the group. The letter has a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, according to Wikipedia.

Straight Outta Compton became one of the first albums to have the Parental Advisory label that read, “WARNING: Moderate impact coarse language and/or themes.”

Dr. Dre,

The group was banned from many mainstream radio stations. In spite of that, the al- bum went double platinum and the group has sold more than 10 million units in the United States alone.

The songs Express Yourself and Gangsta Gangsta were also big hits, portraying the anger and worldview of the innercity youth.

But it was the group’s first songs, Boyz-n-the-Hood and 8 Ball, that explained to the world how the Black and Brown communities had to navigate California’s 1980s gang culture. The song Dope- man captured the inner city drug epidemic and war on drugs, with lyrics like “You sold crack to my sister and now she sick.”

Those songs were released in 1987 on N.W.A and the Posse—the group’s first compilation album. The album reached number 39 on Billboard Magazine’s Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart.

Eazy-E is credited for assembling N.W.A and co-found- ed Ruthless Records, with Jerry Heller. N.W.A originally consisted of Eazy-E, Dr. Dre and producer Arabian Prince. Ice Cube came later from the rap group C.I.A. and DJ Yella joined as well. Yella and Dre were both former members of the World Class Wreckin’ Cru, a working group of DJs and producers. The two provided the high production values for Ruthless Records.

In 1991, the group’s final studio album together, Efil4zaggin (Niggaz4Life spelled back- wards), made its debut at number one on the Billboard 200 sales charts, becoming the first hardcore rap album to do so.

Soon afterward the group disbanded, due to financial disputes. Ice Cube filed a lawsuit against band manager Jerry Heller to gain a larger share of the profits for Straight Outta Compton, arguing that he (Ice Cube) had written most of the lyrics for the project. The case was settled out of court.

Ice Cube went solo and dropped AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted (1990) and Death Certificate (1991), which featured the scathing diss record No Vaseline, a response to N.W.A’s 100 Miles and Runnin, a diss record towards Ice Cube. Both of Ice Cube’s albums went certified platinum. His lyrics highlighted harsh socio-political commentary and storytelling and he was accused of being anti-White and anti-Semitic. It featured songs like Black Korea and My Skin Is My Sin.

Arabian Prince, MC Ren, Ice Cube, Easy ‘E’, DJ Yella and Dr. Dre.

Ice Cube transitioned into acting and business ventures. He starred in Boyz n the Hood (1991), and he wrote and starred in the Friday film series. Also, he was featured in Barbershop. He founded Lynch Mob Records and was part of the rap group Westside Connection. Currently, he has founded Big3, a three-on-three basketball league featuring re- tired NBA players.

Ice Cube’s contributions pushed the boundaries of lyrical content for mainstream music and film. He still is listed among the best rappers of all time.

Dr. Dre also become a platinum-selling solo artist in his own right, releasing The Chronic (1992) album under Death Row Records and Dr. Dre Presents the Aftermath and 2001 in 1999 under his own record label. He is credited for popularizing the West Coast G-funk music era. (Michael Harris, co-founder of Death Row Records, is a former editor in chief of San Quentin News.)

Dr. Dre left Death Row Records and founded After-math Entertainment and Beats Electronics. He has produced albums for and overseen the careers of many rappers such as 2Pac, Eminem, The D.O.C., Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, The Game, Kendrick Lamar and Anderson Paak.

He is regarded as one of the top music producers. He has won six Grammy awards, including Producer of the Year, non-classical. He is ranked number 56 on the “100 Greatest Artists of All Time” list by Rolling Stone. In 2018, he was ranked the third richest figure in hip hop, with a net worth of $820 million.

Dr.Dre has also appeared in the films Set It Off, The Wash and Training Day.

Eazy-E was known as the “Godfather of Gangsta Rap.” In 1995, he died from AIDS. However, he helped set the stage for rappers owning their own record labels. He built Ruthless Records, with acts such as N.W.A, Bone Thugs in Harmony, J.J. Fad and singer Michel’le.

MC Ren released several gold and platinum-selling al- bums,includingKizzMyBlack Azz and Shock of the Hour. Ren and Eazy-E resolved their estrangement shortly before Eazy-E’s death in 1995 after two years of not talking to each other.

The other group members finally reconciled to do more music together in the later years.

In 2015, the N.W.A biopic Straight Outta Compton was released by Universal. The film grossed more than $200 mil- lion worldwide and received positive reviews.

N.W.A ranks number 83 on the “100 Greatest Artists of All Time” list by Rolling Stone. In 2016, the group was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Not bad for some kids out of Compton and South Central Los Angeles.

Highlighting an early Californian abolitionist

by

Mary Ellen Pleasant

The Southern States are the usual focus of discussions about African American freedom struggles before the Civil War. But California had its own prewar struggle against racism and slavery.

Unlike Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks or Harriet Tubman, Californian Mary Ellen Pleasant’s name is rarely discussed. But Pleasant has been hailed as the mother of the abolitionist movement in California during the Gold-Rush era, according to Gold Chains: The Hidden History of Slavery in California, a web-based series created by the ACLU of Northern California.

Pleasant was a self-made millionaire and civil rights leader. Like many others, Pleasant and her husband moved to San Francisco seeking to make a fortune during the Gold Rush.

Pleasant began working as a cook and she would reportedly eavesdrop on wealthy customers’ conversations in the hopes of over- hearing valuable bits of information about financial transactions.

What she learned helped her make a substantial fortune. She built a strong, diverse portfolio that included real estate, railroads, restaurants, and boarding houses. She was known as a wise investor and became one of the richest women in the city, according to the ACLU report.

Abolitionist John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry in Virginia might have been partly financed by her, according to some historians. The unsuccessful 1859 raid was led by both Black slaves and White abolitionists.

Pleasant also supported and gave shelter to fugitive slave Archy Lee, who was on the run from his slave owner.

Lee, a young Black man, brought to California from Mississippi by slave owner Charles Stovall, became a legal celebrity of his day. Lee escaped his slave master and waged a successful legal battle for his freedom that went all the way to the federal courts.

In the fall of 1857, Stovall, the slave master, arrived in Sacramento with Archy Lee and opened a school. Stovall hired Lee out as a laborer and pocketed his wages. California was technically a “free” state, but the law allowed visiting slaveholders to enter with slaves so long as they did not settle permanently.

“Lee fled when he learned Stovall was planning to return to the South,” reported the article. Lee hid at the Hackett House, a Sacramento hotel owned by two African American men who were local abolitionist leaders.

Lee was hunted down and Stovall had him arrested. The African American community rallied and held church fundraisers and collected thousands of dollars to pay for Leeʼs legal defense.

Edwin Crocker, the prominent civil rights lawyer, argued that Stovall had violated California’s law because he had established residency and was not just passing through.

Stovall claimed Lee was “property,” worth $1,500, and insisted California authorities had to obey the federal fugitive slave law and return Lee to him. The judge ruled against the slave master and in favor of Leeʼs freedom

But the pro-slavery California Supreme Court over- ruled the decision. Lee was immediately re-arrested. Peter Burnett, one of the justices at the time, went on to became California’s governor. The article said Burnett had on at least one occasion tried to ban Blacks from the state.

The court ruling said that although Stovall had broken the law, the Supreme Court justices were making an exception for him due to his inexperience and poor health. Lee was ordered sent back to Mississippi.

The court decision sparked widespread outrage. The Black community and their white anti-slavery allies went on high alert, because they expected slave master Stovall would try to smuggle Lee out of town by boat before an appeal could be filed. The anti-slavery group began patrolling the San Francisco harbor.

Stovall was in the process of sneaking Lee aboard a ship when the police arrested them both, according to the report. One of Lee’s supporters had managed to get a court order from a sympathetic judge and stopped the kidnapping, just in time.

Lee was eventually set free when a federal judge overturned the California Supreme Court ruling to keep him enslaved. Lee went on to join an expedition of African Americans leaving California to resettle in British Columbia.

Pleasant’s own wealth could not shield her from racism. In 1866, a conductor barred Pleasant from boarding a streetcar in San Francisco because she was Black. She sued and the case went all the way to the California Supreme Court.

The court ruled that segregation on streetcars in California was illegal. However, the damages awarded Pleas- ant in a lower court were re- versed by the Supreme Court.

Pleasant dedicated her entire life to fighting racism and supporting the advancement of Black people. Even as a young adult she had worked on the Underground Rail- road, assisting enslaved people to escape the South.

Translate »