He stops again, considering. “This is the reason for all the dialogue. The history. The politics. Breaking down the facts and moving toward a civic philosophy. It’s like we’re working our way through a maze, and the walls—the very boundaries—are our ability to perceive what’s real. To be objective. To gauge the truth of it all. To truly understand how we got to this point.”
This time he stops because Lil Chris is nodding. “That’s why it’s so important to call it like it is,” Lil Chris says.
“Right,” Rise smiles. “To call it accurately. To shake off the distortion of bias and the feeling of having been victimized. The irony of these awakened offenders who’ve left so many victims in our own wake. There are two phases of reality, Lil Chris. A static reality. Something more than still-life, but less than motion. The static is the separation from our family. The locked doors. The cages. The life sentence.
“The second phase, though. The movement. The evolving situation. The building is what we are about. And the people we engage in this discourse. Those that are attempting to redeem the time—they need the part we play in this. Those incarcerated, and that mass of confused and struggling souls that are only doing a little better than us in society. The work we do to enable ourselves. To inform our perspective. To concentrate all of our efforts in this music we have and give is how we infuse this incarcerated life with worth. It’s how we give our individual lives meaning. This is us saying, ‘Yeah, over here, too. This life matters.’”
Rise stops again. So alive in the moment.
Lil Chris smiles. He’s following him. “The music, huh,” the C’ster says. Nodding once more. “This life matters.”
Rise collects himself. Prepares to move on.
“This is the age of information,” he says. “That’s what’s so important about the music at this particular phase of the struggle for social improvement. The issues need to be articulated. The people need to be given a clear and honest picture of our situation as it is. Not griping about the decision, but rather, understanding our options now. Understanding how best to play our position now. We speak that reality to them.
“Lil brother, unlike any other kind of music, hip-hop has the potential to communicate the complex principles of politics, empowerment, and self-enrichment. Because of the length of each verse. The wordiness of it all. The singsong fashion that teaches and informs, usually without the listener being mindful of the process … this is crucial in our predicament. Because the more people we enflame, the stronger we all become.”
“And people learn faster when they don’t know they’re learning. I feel you.” Lil Chris is starting to peep game.
A little later, the college students come back in from their mini tour. Rise and Kaylina get at each other and shuffle through more conversation. Rise knows that the odds are against anything ever coming of it. Such is a reality of prison life. He and Kaylina exchange addresses, kick it for the rest of the day. When the seminar is over, they part ways.
Then life resumes. The moment passes.
Rise and Lil Chris walk out of the A Building and head back down the walk towards their respective dormitories. Soon they pass the sliding cast-iron bars of the MPO. The Education Building. They encounter No Love and Mansa. They move toward Rise and Lil Chris, headed to the treatment center.
“What’s happenin’?” Lil Chris calls out as they approach.
The tension between Rise and Mansa is immediate, obvious, and palpable. They eye each other acutely. With studied stances, they front one another. Mutual respect and distaste is scribbled all over their features.
Rise speaks first. Tactful. “How long you been back in population, Mansa?”
“Why ask me a question you already know the answer to?” Mansa is straight and direct. That’s not always a good thing.
“Say, man! Why y’all ain’t wait on me?” C-Boy catches up with the crowd. Pulls his baggy jeans up and reaches for the rolled-up Bugler cigarette behind his ear. He glances at Rise and Mansa, who are still staring each other down. Then turns to Lil Chris to ask for a lighter.
“Say …” C-Boy drags on the square as he touches it to the lighter’s flame. “Check …” He exhales, blowing a stream of gray smoke. “Did y’all look at the bulletin board in y’all dorms this morning? They got open mic night comin’ up.”
“What’s happenin’ with that?” Lil Chris asks.
“Lyrical Warfare,” Mansa answers. At this, he steps away.
No Love daps Rise, Lil Chris, and C-Boy off before he turns to leave.
Rise strikes out walking in the opposite direction. He never looks over his shoulder. Lil Chris and C-Boy are left standing there. Tryna figure out what the deal is.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
One Revolutionary Zion
(stress that)
Words of a visionary Lion
(we said that)
Come on
Speak directly
Now hear from your affiliate
Nawl, hold up
See y’all
Go’n respect me
THEY COME TO IRON HIM up early. About 5:45 a.m. In the cool of morning, a quiet hope at the base of his throat. His belly all but empty. Can’t eat. Eyes wide open.
Riding solo in the back of a white state van with tinted, reinforced windows, a man and a woman up front. Regular prison personnel, both Black. Maybe mid-30s to 40s. The mood easy. Hip-hop and R&B on the radio station, and he made sure to sit far in the back by the rear speakers so as not to hear their quiet conversation. And to be alone with his own thoughts.
They take the ferry out of Angola. This sense of eerie beauty and awe as they shuffle across the strong flowing waters of the Mississippi. The dotted white froth of its currents.
At the back of his mind is the thought of sinking, handcuffed and shackled, locked in that container, and he can’t swim. But, just as quickly as they drive up on one bank, they drive off on the other side.
After that, it is the dawning horizon, the treelines and empty pastures. Southern crop fields and rural homesteads. The steady rhythm of the tire treads over smooth black backroads and the passing miles.
For miles and miles, he doesn’t think of the courtroom and what lies ahead. Oh, he tries to drill himself at first. On the issue, ineffective assistance of counsel. And the precedent, Strickland. Teague. The supporting statutes and case law. But his mind won’t hold it. He knows he knows it. Has drilled it enough already, by himself and with Gary Law. That circle of inmate counsels. He’s well prepared. And the sights, the landscape are too much to ignore. Been too long since he’s seen the like. Traveling. Instead of marking step on that prison farm. So as the miles pass he drinks it all in.
The rhythm of the road beneath them changes somewhat as they turn onto I-49. The steady bump of the interstate, the slate course ahead. The officers turn the radio up a bit. The free world begins to welcome them. The upbeat DJs and traffic reports sizzle in and out as they move through Louisiana’s more populated parishes. The hustle and bustle. You can just feel the pulse of it all speed back up. Like returning to civilization.
They arrive at the courthouse in Monroe, its stacked red brick and flat top. Intricate horticulture. Bushes trimmed low and neat, lined in orderly rows. It’s like he can feel the weight of an indifferent world close back in on him. The air becomes compact, stifling. Cool. Yet there is a difference from the last time he experienced this. He’s grown now. And well enough in tune with himself to recognize the humanity of the people he passes as he moves through the ordered halls. It’s no longer foreign and mysterious. He sees the drama for what it is. The social roleplay walked out by people that are really no different than him. All reasoning with life’s choices. Some careful, and others careless. The arrangement the same. A scene he’s held in his mind’s eye for more years than he cares to think about. Though, really, it’s all he can think about.
Just as I knew it would be, he thinks as he steps toward the courtroom. Its frivolous decor. The sounds of w
ell-worn wood on wood, hinged on metal. He can feel the moment’s escalation. Embraces it. He lays eyes on the judge, mindful of what’s at stake. Knows how chancy and subtle, how sensitive the opportunity. Knowing he has to rise to it. In that moment, he is who he is. Everything he is and all it took to become. More than simply Oschuwon Hamilton. In that moment, he is Rise.
Then it is over. In and out, like a warm breath. He is out of the building, back in the van, and on the highway before he can really mark the passing. Like swimming up through the deep, only to break the surface for a heartbeat before being pulled back. There just long enough to live. He hopes it was enough.
Umm, sagacity
Won’t you yell
Rise, brother, one struggle
When you call for me
We are
Worldwide mob figures
Go-gettahs
Ever heard of a smart gorilla?
We herbal healers, huh?
I migrated to the isle of
Madagascar
Colonized cultivatin’ berries
And figs
My base addicts pimp your rigs
Eight CCs of true enlightenment
Mainline it smack it and dig!
Bang it!
Man, I wanna make a play on how it feels when the high first hits you, Chris thinks. The narcotic lift-off. Tie that in to a music-gets-me-high concept. Ahhh, let me see…
Let the rhythm get inside.
Set your mind free … mind gone…
Na, I don’t wanna use mind twice, he thinks. Least, not like that.
Try this…
Let the music beat a rhythm
Wit’ your heartbeat
No, No, No. Hell no!
Let the rhythm mark time
Wit’ the motion
My melodic self-love potion
We will survive
And that’s more than a notion
Nawl, too corny. He thinks. Needs some edge…
“Rise! I know you heard me callin’ you,” Lil Chris is more anxious than angry. “You got that chorus I asked you to write to?”
“No, it’s somewhere in the dorm.”
“Did you write to it?”
“I’m writin’ right now.”
“Oh! Okay, lemme hear what you got?”
“Stall that. This is somethin’ else.”
“What else?”
“Some other stuff.”
Lil Chris’s patience just snapped. “Man, come on with the bullshit! Why you playin’ games?”
“Kid, I told you. This ain’t a game—”
“Yeah, but you ain’t told me nothin’,” Lil Chris shoots back. Insistent.
Now Rise is getting agitated. “Not now, lil homie. I’m zoning.”
“Man, break bread. I’m through just understanding. I wanna know what’s happening. ‘The board.’”
Rise lifts his head and looks at Lil Chris. A question in his expression. Refusal in the set of his jaw. Agitation in his sitting posture. But, there is resolve in Lil Chris’s stance. He ain’t going nowhere. “Break bread,” he reiterates.
He was so involved in what he was writing, Rise only now really takes in the scene around them. Tries to come up with the best way to respond to the lil brother.
The sky is clear-cast. Real sunny. A few sections of roaming fluffy whites. Beneath, the horizon is lined with trees as far as the eye can see. The woodland enclosure reinforces the notion that they have been separated from the rest of the world. Isolated. Closed in, in the middle of nowhere. Damn.
From his position on the dormitory ledge, elevated about four feet off the ground, Rise looks past Lil Chris. Farther out in the prison yard, several different sports team practices are going on.
On the other end of the second football field, a circle of old cats are exercising. Doing their aerobic thing. Toward the fence, the Wolfpack, the prison’s only all-white sports team, is practicing their brand of volleyball.
This ain’t livin’. They’re just trying to stay healthy. To survive these dark days. To last until better days come.
“What’s the primary purpose of leadership?” Rise asks all of the sudden.
“Huh?”
“What’s the basic function and responsibility of leadership?”
Lil Chris thinks. “It kinda seems to me like you’re asking a, ah … you know, that thing when you already know the answer to your question—or a, a question you not lookin’ for an answer—”
“A rhetorical question.”
“Yeah—”
“Well, look. You might be right. Check this out. I just wanted to hear what your perception of the subject is. But check, the people never really pay attention to the true causes of their struggles.”
Rise eyes Lil Chris. “Just think about that statement.” He pauses. “People don’t even take for granted that their leaders have their best interest in mind. They simply don’t think about it. The whole concept of political action—and the process of moving and shaking that goes with it—is foreign to our thought process. It’s not that we don’t care. The fact is, the majority of us, especially our family members on the streets, are so caught up in simply making it from day to day that we don’t even have time to consider politics. Yeah, Momma kept food on the table, but she was so preoccupied with keeping her head down. With keeping her grind on. She rarely had a chance to stay up on what those people were doin’ that were standin’ over her head—”
“—Alright,” Lil Chris interrupts. “I’m feelin’ that, but what that got to do with what I asked you? Come on, man. Break br—”
“—How many times I have to tell yo—”
“—How many times I gotta tell you ’bout callin’ yo’self talkin’ down to me?” Lil Chris holds his ground.
Rise just looks at him. Lets the silence separate them from the budding altercation. “Listen, there is a very distinct difference between having a strong will and being obstinate. Watch how you handle the information you come across. Now, think about that on your own time.
“Leaders not only have the responsibility of leading the whole of the people in a direction conducive to change and progress. They also are responsible for keeping up with the government that stands over our community. Doing whatever they can to work not with, but between the two groups to create a political climate that allows the governing body to control just the parameters of the community, not the lives of its people.
“This leaves the people open to take advantage of reasonable opportunities to better their day-to-day living. The stronger the people get in a democratic society, the stronger the government gets. The stronger the government gets, the better it will be at regulating and assisting with the problems the community faces. In other words, the people’s standard of living is based on their productivity. Good leadership arranges their surroundings so they can be as productive as possible. This done, a productive people empowers their government to better serve them.”
“Okay. That’s the same shit that T. Guy was teaching us in political science class. It’s like a cycle.” Lil Chris already knows all this. He makes his statement with a dismissive air, bordering on arrogance. He leans casually against the ledge, gazes out past the fences toward the treeline. He pulls a blue-green pack of Bugler tobacco from his pocket. Hand rolls a cigarette right quick. So damn cool.
“Listen, I’m trying to help you make the connection. I’m playin’ you to pocket these conversations,” Rise pushes. Attempts to assert a moment of clarity. “Most of us steal, kill, and sell drugs not just to survive. We commit these seemingly senseless acts for a reason. They make perfect sense when you factor in the raw need to provide. For our young families. For our dysfunctional families. Disabled, disadvantaged, altogether unfortunate families. Often, we make these dire decisions before we know enough to understand our needs. Even though all we know is raw need, before we understand why we’re in need in the first place. The reach for fast money only proves how immediate these needs are.
&nbs
p; “The prisoner usually gravitates towards economics, politics, and leadership in general in an effort to understand raw need. To get to the root of it. To understand what happened to us. Before us. Why there’s all this need in the first place. Having made what we believed to be rational decisions to address raw need, finding ourselves in prison, we wanna finally know—why were our choices so limited? More importantly, what can be done to change that? This is what sends the conscious criminal mind to politics. This is what pushes us to get involved. Our own brand of activism. We ain’t posturing. This ain’t playing politics. This is us identifying and addressing the contributing factors. This is us learning how to answer the call of raw need.”
Rise watches him. He’s becoming a soul-jah before his eyes, every day. Still, he’s just cruising. Lil Chris is not developing half as fast as he could be. The trick to the process is consciousness. When we are conscious, we get a picture in our head of the world around us, who we are, what we are, and who we need to become in this proper context.
This picture becomes our road map. By knowing what we’re aiming for, our decisions come faster, more definite. This is what speeds the process up. The benefit is a solidified growth. You not only get there, you know how and why you went there. And where you’re going.
“Lil Chris,” Rise says. “I’m sure you’ve heard it said that God looks after two—”
“—Little children and damn fools.” He cuts Rise off.
“Yeah, but did you know how they are provided for?”
“Shhh, I don’t know. Ahh, what it is … ah, divine intervention,” Lil Chris grimaces.
“Yeah, but how?”
“He makes a way for them.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. How?”
“Man, he works through people.” Rise pauses to let that soak in. “The people who don’t know become the responsibility of those who do.”
“Oh, I know that.”
“No. You knew it once I brought your attention to it.”
This Life Page 18