It has been my experience that because of institutional and individual racism

Native Son
, by
Richard Wright. Soon after I got on his case about something, telling him he
could do anything he put his mind to, he complained, “Man, you’re more like
a professor than anything dangerous.” Kenny was very interested in
educating himself and became a good friend and comrade. He and I would
end up living on the same tier for 20 years. In the eighties, we gave ourselves
African names. Kenny took the name Zulu Heshima; Zulu means “heaven” in
the Zulu language and Heshima means “honor” in Swahili. We called him
Zulu. I took the names Shaka, after the great warrior and monarch of the Zulu
Kingdom, Shaka Zulu; and Cinque, after Joseph Cinque, the slave who led
the revolt against slave traders on the ship 
Amistad
. For me, taking African
names represented freedom, to be born again, to take back my African
heritage. We called them “freedom names,” representing our liberation. Since
we’d only read Joseph Cinque’s name and never heard it spoken aloud, we
pronounced it “Cin-cue.” King started calling me Q. I called King the name
he selected for himself, Moja, which means “one” in Swahili. One King.
Sometimes at night I wrote in my cell. I don’t consider myself a poet but
when strong emotions ran through me I would sometimes put them in a
poem. It was a way I could express what was inside me. In 1978, I wrote one
of my first poems, called “I Wait.”
6×8 cell, and I wait!
I wait for revolution, and I wait
For unity, and I wait for peace!
I wait while people shoot up dope,
And while people smoke down grass!
Yes, I wait, am I a fool?
I wait, I wait and I wait!
People party down, and I wait!
I wait while people do the boogy,

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Robot, bus stop, and hustle our lives away!
I wait while people drag ass!
Education, agitation, organization,
I’m still waiting!
Justice! 
I’m waiting
and I wait, and wait, and wait!
Gates flying open, people running,
Jumping, screaming, laughing, and
I wait!
Can I be wrong to wait?
I even wait for answers that never
Come, foolish huh! But I wait!
I’m waiting for justice for those
Murdered, pigs killing our youth,
And I wait for it to stop!
People waiting for food stamps,
hunger stalks, waiting for medical
aid, bodies die! Decent homes cause
there’s too many rats, roaches, and
snails, I’m still waiting!
I wait for truth in schools, I ask
for truth, and I’m told to
WAIT!
I wait while youth dies from my body,
death stalks my soul, and I wait!
I wait while revolutions of liberations
sweep across the world, Amerikkka, I’m
Waiting!
I wait for black man and woman to discover
love, I wait for them to discover it, yes,
I wait! I wait for the embrace of family,
sound of father, brother, black men, and son,
and I still wait! Seconds turn to years, years
turn to centuries, and I wait!
WHY!
In 1979, Herman and I happened to be outside on the CCR yard at the same
time. We were in pens next to one another, so we could stand at the chain-
link fence between us and talk instead of calling out across the yard the way
we normally did. We asked each other if we were doing the right thing. Was
it worth it to go through all the suffering we’d experienced? Should we
change anything? Did we have regrets? We both came to the conclusion that
everything we’d been through was necessary. We knew that we were not
locked up in a cell 23 hours a day because of what we did. We were there
because of who we were. Sacrifice was required in order to achieve change.
Neither of us had any regrets. We never talked about it again.
Around this time, Goldy was released from Angola. Months later we

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heard he died on the street using dope.

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1980s
Nelson Mandela taught me that if you have a noble cause, you are able to carry the weight of the
world on your shoulders. Malcolm X taught me that it doesn’t matter where you start out; what
matters is where you end up. George Jackson taught me that if you’re not willing to die for what
you believe in, you don’t believe in anything.

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