At a time historically when conversation is for the most part a lost art, I am amazed that the only people talking are those trapped next to each other on flights or in prison cells on lockdown, or on sinking ships once the last lifeboat is filled. Conversation is not the penalty for isolation, but often it feels such.
Thursday, May 29, 2025
Unyielding Resistance: Perspectives on Political Prisoners and the Lifelong Pursuit of Freedom@ Bay Area Book Festival
I just finished listening to a book: I Am Maroon (2024) by Russell Maroon Shoatz. He was a political prisoner in Pennsylvania. He served 50 years. I corresponded with him once. I asked him if he wanted to send a letter to a Black Panther comrade who made it into exile, Pete O'Neal in Tanzania. Emse Pete escaped capture and relocated in Arusha, Tanzania with his wife, Mama Charlotte and their son and daughter. I was traveling there and Maroon sent a letter to him through me.
I am recommending this book to Black men, especially Black men just getting out of prison who think they have figured their lives out. I am recommending this book to men who converted to Islam behind bars. I am recommending this book to angry men, men who feel powerless, to men who find themselves blaming others for their behavior.
As you read the book, there is a lot to get through before enlightenment and transformation. Maroon is steadfast and resolved to become a better human being, but this resolve takes time. The twenty years in solitary confinement (ages 50-70) is helpful and productive.
Maroon makes tangible amends; however, his notable retribution lies in his work with other men inside. They have study groups, called seminars, and learn to discuss ideas and draw conclusions about the material which is relevant to the situation that landed them inside locked up doing time. The prison silences him, but the seed, planted has taken root. It flourishes and continues to bear fruit in his physical absence.
I love the creativity employed by those who will not allow a system to steal their freedom. My friend, Robert H. King, Angola 3, would always say that we're all serving minimum sentences when we reflect on the cost we pay to stay physically free. Sometimes people lose what's most important: dignity, self-respect, trustworthiness.
Maroon's life is a test tube, a social experiment allowed to ripen and explode. The world was not ready for this freedom fighter, the man had heart and intelligence. Once he matured, he was buried alive.
Freedom is not for the meek, but we descendants of captives and runaways know this already.
Maroon teaches us to stay ready: physically, mentally, emotionally and most important spiritually.
There is a lot of violence in this story. Misogyny and patriarchy juxtaposed with structural racism and white privilege across all institutions are also a form of violence.
No one respects Black life, least of all Black people. No one respects the Black woman, least of all Black boys who become men -- Maroon's peers.
Maroon is the child of parents who moved north for an opportunity to be free. However, plantation breath lingered in their nostrils.
Gang culture normalized the aberrant behavior. Power articulated values. His transformation is slow, yet this is the 1960s and from Civil Rights to Black Power, change is coming.
It is a page turner, a sit on the edge of your seat story. It is cinematic. Maroon is a great storyteller and the narrator does a good job (in the Audible version).
There is domestic violence so if you're a survivor like me, you might want to just read part 4, specifically chapter 32, Quilombo, where Maroon makes amends.
This is a man's story. Assata Shakur wrote about this time from a woman's perspective. Safiya Bukhari's posthumous, The War Before: The True Life Story of Becoming a Black Panther, Keeping the Faith in Prison & Fighting for Those Left Behind (2010), is another perspective.
I think his audience is the youngster who needs guidance at a pivotal point in his consciousness and human development. His audience is also the old head who is stuck in truncated thinking.
Maroon clearly spells out a rite of passage program he successfully launched in Pennsylvania prisons that spread across the country. It's not called this but if you read the afterward, it is so.
The move from captive to freethinker is subtle. It is active and Maroon models over and over-- do not surrender, do not give up. Setbacks are not deterrents.
His book is the topic of a panel discussion at the Bay Area Book Festival May 31-June 1, in Berkeley.
I spoke with Sharon Shoatz and her brother Russel Shoatz III about the impact his life had on theirs and how why they decided to continue Maroon's work to liberate Black people. They are both panelists Sat., May 31, 12:30-1:30 p.m. PT at the Bay Area Book Festival.
4 Queens@Michelob Ultra Arena in Las Vegas, NV Concert Review
The show opened with Glady Knight; this woman has such range and vocal control evident in her long notes and pitch. She was amazing. She was so happy, several times she bent over from the waist in joy and laughter.
She moved across the stage during her set, the vocalists standing and sometimes seated. One woman had blue hair which matched the artist's deep blue tux.
Knight's career like so many artists of that day, tells the story of a people. Griots or Jali, these artists write what they too live. These songs are special, these women are special because they chronicled a history as they participated. We can sing along because theses songs sing us too.
"If anyone would ever write my story. . ." Knight sings. "[We] are, [Black people are,] the best thing that ever happened . . . to [one another]." We are "the best thing . . ." to ourselves. We have to remember this. Acceptance comes from within.
Others might exploit our best thing, but only if we allow the exploitation. Free people know their worth and do not allow others to use them.
These powerful artists, women revolutionaries all on one stage is the thing that will get us to tomorrow. A sold out show says we collectively know it's true. Today is another tomorrow but it's the same yesterday: capitalism, racism, melanin envy, hatred.
Las Vegas has such appeal because it's a fantasy. It is an adult Playland. Oakland's Ferryland is celebrating its 75th anniversary and there is a new exhibit at the Oakland Museum of California.
Most Black people cannot afford a Las Vegas 24 hour fantasy escape; however, these songs continue to get us through one day into the next one. The art is freely given and easily accessed.
Reflections
Let's start with what worked well. Hands down, without argument, concerts with old school folks who rock gray hair, support hose and walking sticks are the best.
These folks remember the lyrics to songbooks, have stories to tell about when and are not ashamed to let the music move their bodies in a dance that has no name.
My people are chill even when several folks at a recent concert and I mean several people tell them, "You are in my seat."
There were lots of Seat 1s, just one Section 207 though. More than one person stepped to us demanding we move. Each time the person was wrong.
During the intermission between sets, the man in front of us left and when he returned a couple were in his seats. He told them they were in the wrong section. They apologized and moved on. No one got angry. Only grown folks have this kind of maturity. We earn it by living so long and we want to continue the living part of longevity so grown folks know how to sidestep conflict.
My sister and I didn't work at the arena Friday night, but the lost patrons made us hungry for tips.
Another plus for concerts like this is the vibe. The men were not annoying. I think because 66+ year old Black women are invisible. We don't cloak. We just effervescent, a cascading vanishing vision. I was with my sister who dressed for herself-- comfortable. We both rocked sneakers đź‘ź. Sneakers travel far. Comfortable shoes are something we learned to wear. What's on these feet screens out predators.
My brand might be just the thing that tells would be muggers to move on. I don't know. Liquidated, I don't seem to be worth much. Underestimation is my superpower.
When the sound grew frustrating, I wish the artist's would have talked to us about their lives and why they said yes to this tour. They must love the work to take on such a venture at an age when laurels make a cushy pillow.
Of course they told us they love us, but they couldn't see how many we were. We were too many for intimacy, the kind of intimacy the smaller rooms these artists grew in stature and craft in, allowed. If this is the nature of performance today, how do artists like Knight and her sisters who know another reality recreate such intimacy in such behemoth settings?
Nonetheless these women's songs were their resistance. These songs were the underground railroad to personal and collective freedom. These songs were, and continue to carry the message . . . an updated version of Steal Away. Black women pack bags and walk away from "what no longer serves." No need to steal anything, her sovereignty is paid up.
Current politics simmered unaddressed in the room, yet these remarkable women were a counternarrative to what's going on. We didn't allow circumstances to dampen the mood, rather took inspiration from the collective diva soundtrack. There was something for everyone. No woe or injury too small for healing. Like a mega church these ministers administered soothing medicine.
I stepped to the altar ready for healing and I took away much to keep me going and to renew my faith in what's possible when God is on your side.
Yes, the Black woman is still God.
Food, beverages, snacks...oh my!
I was so hungry, and for those familiar with concession monopoly know we cannot even carry water past security. I bought a bottle for $7. A chicken sandwich with fries was $14. My friend's beer was $21.
I am just saying, and for the old folks who still spend cash, they went hungry.
So anyhoo, a nice woman blessed me with a chicken paddy. That's all I could eat. I ate it slowly. It was reconstituted, but edible. I bless the chicken many edits away from the paddy. It was just what I needed to enjoy the concert. Yummy is what my blood sugar said to the edible protein.
Oh, did I mention our seats? They were superb except for the speakers that cut off our center stage view.
Yes, patience is for my crew. We rock Patience. When you live past a certain age, patience and gratitude are invitational companions. I have been riding with these two since 55.
Our seats were in the balcony, but close to the stage. We'd bought our tickets online a couple months ago. We lucked out despite hidden fees like taxes. The Divas are in Oakland Saturday, May 10, and LA next week.
Now for the downside.
I hope the sound improves at the next venue. It was horrendous, especially for Gladys Knight who didn't have her own band.
Stephanie Mills, Patti Labelle and Chaka Khan did, but their people didn't control their sound.
These women might think about hiring a sound engineer, the next time they travel together. My son-in-law might be available with notice. Holla.
I have been to concerts where the artist travels with a resident sound engineer. It makes all the difference.
The first three women conjured Yemanja, the diety associated with fresh water and the womb. They wore variations on a blues theme. From light-enhanced azure, cyan and tiffany to teal and ocean spray tones for the goddess mother who traveled into an often hostile world, those worlds and their masters who would capture Black bodies whose melanin graced children would build nations. Uncompensated to date, it is such women who remind us that our ancestors survived a holocaust, a Maafa. We became a new and improved version of an invitational species.
Bitterness is not a drink on tap here. We are more than the journey, yet the journey shapes us.
Peoplehood is invitational. Every body who walks on two legs is not one of us.
The women sang of love and power, forgiveness and reciprocity. They sang of home, the home within.
Self-love was a theme as the Divas collectively scored a legacy inherited by most in the arena. Our numbers didn't even come close to these women's collective performance years, awards, and blood equity. Ase Ladies.
In their late 60s, 70s and 80s even technology could not damper the fact that we were in the presence of a collective wonder-- successful Black women. These elegant, lovely women had made it in an industry that did not love them back or cultivate nurturing spaces for them to recharge and regroup. They represent survival, overcoming and what courage looks like, that is, to have a vision and a dream for oneself.
Loss, these women know personal loss. Each artist had a sizzle reel which included video. If I remember correctly, Gladys Knight had a panel introduce her. Photo montage only documents the story. These histories live in these women's bodies, bodies that illustrate a story which is why such living presentations are so important.
Chaka Khan had on lace stockings with a shimmy sleeved jacket. Multiple camera gave us closeups.
Knight had on an elegant tux while Ms. Stephanie dressed to move in her floor length sleeveless dress. Ready to party, Mills danced through her impressive set. Then again, at 68, she is the youngest headlining legendary artist.
The music was really loud. I was happy to have earbuds. However loud doesn't mean good. Knights' musicians raced through familiar ballads and drowned out the singer. All the instruments seemed to be on monotrack which meant we could not hear potential blending and creative mixing. Is was all one big noisy mess.
Up next, after Knight, Mills arrived with a cast who could play that tune, all of them because they were family. What was impressive was the level of talent. Mills' musicians were amazing craftsmen.
Her vocalists included her son, whose solo, like those of the other choral members was outstanding.
Labelle, third artist, dressed in a long coat and tailored widelegged pants, looked beautiful. Her pianist also served as her conductor. In a white tux, he reminded me of the late, Bill Bell, who created the jazz music department at the College of Alameda, where I retired after 25 years. I like watching orchestration.
Labelle's team also guarded her safety when she invited men from the audience to sing and then dance. She gave flowers to men too. I wonder what that was about on Mother's Day weekend. There were no stories about Black mama's or mamas period despite the Yemanja energy.
It was hot on the stage Labelle said more than once. She changed into a red suit with black embroidery on the lapels and collar. Was she channeling Oya to bring a breeze or EsuLegba to open the way and get her through?
I would have loved a song with all the women. I almost feel like going again just to see how the tour develops. This was a preview show, first on the tour which continues through June first. Another significant day, June 1st is Sojourner Truth's freedom birthday.
I hadn't remembered Mills in her role as Dorothy in the Wiz. "When I think of home..." Yes, where is home for each of us?
The Black Power fist salute was the closing image for Mills whose vocalists also raised fists.
While Khan's visual mix looked like veves and sacred altars for the warriors. She wore black. The song, "I'm Every Woman" closed the evening. I mean what else can one say?
Concert links from YouTube.com/wandaspicks
Chaka Khan was born March 23, 1953 in Chicago, Illinois.
Not many people travel for art, but this writer does. . . travel that is, and so will many who are able to see the Alice Coltrane, Monument Eternal exhibit at the UCLA Hammer Museum which closes May 4.
I drove from the Bay last Saturday afternoon, April 26 for the closing Turiya Rising performance the following day, Sunday, April 27. I arrived at 9 p.m. and was up the next morning for church. After a wonderful sermon, my hostess and I returned to her home for lunch then headed to the museum. We were early enough to get tickets. My friend volunteered to hold our space in line while I went into the gallery, which was full. https://hammer.ucla.edu/programs-events/2025/turiya-rising-performance-series
Later, as we sat in anticipation of the program I felt such gratitude to be able to feel Alice Coltrane's gracious vibes.
The Turiya Rising Sunday evening salons were a part of the exhibition since opening in February with conversations with Swamini Turiyasangitananda's daughter, Michelle Coltrane and musical performances among them one featuring Brandee Younger on Alice Coltrane's golden harp, a gift from Coltrane's husband that arrived after his physical departure (or death). Each performance curated by Ross Chait and Erin Christovale was presented in celebration of Coltrane’s legacy as a musical innovator and as an ode to her Sunday services at the Sai Anantam Ashram. Recorded, look for the performances on the Hammer Museum YouTube channel sometime soon.
Ash Rucker, artist and therapist's performance April 27, was as beautiful as it was restorative, a healing musical even poetic meditation on what Turiya Alice Coltrane called the "silver cord"--the connection between we and the wombs that bore us.
So lovely.
Ash, choreographer, led her audience in a meditation, while the curator played keyboard. Other artists joined the two on trumpet and vocals and spoken word.
This tribute surrounded us. Seated standing I/we felt among the chosen. Alice Coltrane's portrait smiling approvingly over collective shoulders.
To close the evening, Michelle Coltrane, daughter and other family joined Ash and company members on stage and led us in her mom's tradition--three 🕉.
Two days later there was a symposium. Tuesday, April 29. It was a rare treat to listen to the whirling conversations and musings on Turiya Alice Coltrane.
After the symposium, there was a closing concert. I got a ticket but not a seat this time. As I walked into the performance space I heard Yoruba invocations as the masked performers moved among the audience: Esu-Elegba. . . the Egun or ancestors. One woman tapped a staff on the floor as she moved. She told me later it was Ogun's.
Iron, water, fire. . . What was burning within each present that needed to come out?
The artist on the stage played singing bowls, woodwinds and other percussion as the representative elements or orishas created a tropical storm.
Once again Turiyasangitananda's spirit was conjured. It wasn't much of a stretch considering her large portrait within view. It was all ritual ancestor reverence. Given what we learned about Turiya Alice Coltrane's life, her contribution to creative Black music conjured from a spiritual depth evident in Turiyasangitananda's eyes and serious yet lovingly sweet smile. Her ascension was not easy, yet she made it. We look at her family, her living legacy-- four children and their offspring both biological and chosen.
We look around the gallery at her many albums. We see her religious texts and scriptures in cases throughout the galleries as well as photos with her beloved John and children. There are videos from the Ashram she founded, which burned down in an earlier California wildfire. What a haven gone, yet she lives. This exhibit witnesses her extraordinary life and gifts.
In recorded footage we see Turiya playing the organ and everyone singing. Such happiness.
Anyhoo, the exhibit features abstract work, sculpture, paintings, mixed media installations, plus large scale photos of Turiya Alice Coltrane playing her harp, consulting with John, and alone as sage. There are so many awesome videos and listening opportunities to be in her world. Even for a short while such habitation is a transformative opportunity to witness and change.
She was more than a reflection of her husband's greatness. She was great when they met.
I drove to LA to see, to witness. Pilgrimage is something I believe in. When I get a call I try to honor it. God on the line, right. Have to answer.
I learned of the exhibition at an InsightLA meditation I attend in the morning. It was February. I looked at the programs on Sunday and choose to attend April 27. I liked that the artist used movement to address trauma. Lucky for me, the symposium was postponed to April 29.
I hadn't know tangerine was the color of spiritual leadership either. Turiyasangitananda wore such robes. I love this color and wear it often.
I learned Tuesday about another exhibition at the Getty that also closes May 4. May 4 is my auntie's birthday. She died last March.
Turiya wrote about the silver cord. MarĂa Magdalena Campos-Pons, featured artist at the Getty Museum in LA, also reflects on the mother-daughter cord in "Behold."
The Afro-Cuban artist's retrospective is an emersive experience. I only had two hours which was not enough time. I think I needed a couple days. It's closing Sunday!
Campos-Pons’s work is conceptual sculpture both material and cinematic. She uses film, photography, collage, and sound to illustrate themes that touch her life such as her spiritual orgins. . . Santeria, ancestor reverence, the Maafa, immigration woes and the ever resilient motherline.
She and her mother were separated for eleven years. The artist couldn't go home, yet she and her mother spoke daily by phone. Now, it is those conversations prepared in advance when they were separated that sustain her now.
A piece with photos shows the connection between mother and daughter despise physical disconnect. Blues and pale yellow are a palette Compos-Pon applies philosophically to her visual musings. Yemanja and Osun blessings evident.
Compos-Pons's journey is pictured in literal footprints and in a video simply called "walking."
I loved the ritual objects, the mobiles featuring butterfly eyes for Breonna Taylor. I also liked the multiple photomontage with the artist as samurai. She has Chinese ancestry and African. Both Africans and Chinese were exploited laborers in Cuba.
One of my favorite pieces is the artist floating upside down in a blue sea. The sea is made from a tapestry of photo squares, maybe Polaroid photos?
I was racing through the exhibit and I am writing this without notes. Forgive me, just don't miss the exhibition.
There are linked artist comments patrons can listen to to learn more about selected artwork.
I like work where artists center themselves and Campos-Pons does this. The exhibit is also creative ethnography. Campos-Pons is compared stylistically to Carrie Mae Weems and to Lorna Simpson. I'd also mention Faith Ringgold regarding her storytelling collage. Ringgold utilized multiple mediums, not just textiles. So does this artist, who weaves threads cinematically. There is a beautiful collage that reminds me of Mildred Howard's work. The floor as canvas for ritual art like veves. Compos-Pons has multiple portals with shifting images and sounds like pouring liquid, rocks and other sounds. Pictured are photos and videos of the artist perhaps as a child, mothers and grandmothers; hands making food, pulling seeds from a pomegranate, flower petals, ribbons and in one portal we see feet walking and in another cloth embroidered, folded and stacked and placed on a young girl's head.
Save time to watch the complete cycle. Oh, also save time to watch the initiation into Ifa. It's 30 minutes.
Another room has three videos and the artist's notebooks. One of the pieces I watched a year ago in a course I was taking. I remembered it because the dress worn in the performance is in the gallery.
So much work! So much wonderful work. MarĂa Magdalena Campos-Pons is such a treasure. She lives!
