PROUDFLESH: A New Afrikan Journal of Culture, Politics & Consciousness

Anthony Buissereth

This is a brand new century and we need a brand new spirit and a brand new style. I make a special appeal to young people. I am not only asking you to work hard to free all Political Prisoners, I am asking you to party hard to free all Political Prisoners. I am asking you to raise your voices wherever you go and to chant, to rap, to sing for the liberation of Sundiata Acoli and all Political Prisoners. I am asking you to bring the spirit of freedom to discos, to nightclubs, to house parties, wherever young people gather. While you are partying and having fun, I ask you to think of political prisoners, and when you're getting down to the music I ask you to chant his or her name. I want you to chant “Free Sundiata,” I want you to chant “Free Mumia,” “Free Leonard Peltier,” and so on. I want you to chant the names of every Political Prisoner still behind the walls.

--Assata Shakur, “Happy Birthday Sundiata!”

The atmosphere was electric, even blocks from the venue. Just past the gas station, I could see throngs of people standing on the corner. I passed the incense-man first and next I was lost in a sea of dreadlocks and Afros, heads all holding fans with the phrase “got color?” on them. Everybody was “natural.” Most wore it with purpose.

As I approached the entrance of the Brooklyn Cafe, I could tell that the show had already begun. The heat from inside hit me like a freight train when I got to the doorway; it was sweltering. I walked in, got a program, tried to find a place to stand. Hundreds of people were packed into this club. All looking to hear something moving, something profound, something righteous; at least I was. It was Black August.

Is there such a thing as revolutionary partying? What would it look like? Feel like? Sound like?

Now in its sixth year, the Black August Benefit Concert seeks to make revolution irresistible (as poet-of-the-people June Jordan once said, famously). This year’s show featured a variety of acts from the overtly political dead prez, and People Army, to the more “commercial” Keith Murray. Ticket revenue from the show would help finance campaigns to free Political Prisoners throughout the United States. Many of the artists traveled around the globe with the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement (MXGM) to spread consciousness through music. This year they appeared in Atlanta, Chicago, Oakland and Havana, Cuba.

Sundiata Acoli, Assata Shakur’s old comrade and co-defendant, was the Political Prisoner in focus at the show. Literature on his case was highlighted in the program. This was political education in practice.

Throughout the show, emcees roused the crowd to chant; things like “Free Mumia” and “Free Sundiata.” Fred Hampton, Jr. also appeared on stage to give the crowd an inspiring one-minute greeting that left the audience yelling “Black Power.” Monifa Bandele, executive director of MXGM, reminded us that Black August is not just about the show; it’s about the work, to free Afrikan people.

Black August—a time of study, reflection and growth—was founded by the Black Guerilla Family (BGF) after the assassination of a number of BGF freedom fighters. The BGF was created in the late 1960s by George Jackson and other Black prisoners of San Quentin State Prison in California. Unlike most so-called “prison gangs,” the highly organized BGF is known for its expressly political activity. It exists in most federal and state prisons in this country today.

To the BGF, August represented a time of great Black strength and great Black sacrifice. It’s when Haiti revolted, when Nat Turner rebelled, when the Underground Railroad began, when Marcus Garvey was born, when we marched on Washington, when Watts was ablaze, and when Comrade George was assassinated (not to mention when Attica blew up in response…).

Black August, which began in 1978, required revolutionary contemplation and structure. Participants would not only live with the reality of unconcealed racism but would deny themselves things in the name of respect and remembrance. The practices were clear: Wear a black armband on your left arm. Study revolutionary work. No TV. No radio. Fast from sunrise to sunset. No drugs. No alcohol. Regular exercise. Self-imposed discipline reigned.

Twenty-five years later, Black August reminds us that there’s a whole lot of moving which must be done. But there’s a rift between the so-called “unconscious” masses and the “conscious elite” which defeats the purpose of the month, as well as growth for Black people as a whole.

At the club in Brooklyn, the mood of the crowd was mixed. There was the “conscious elite,” obligated to attend, just to save face; the organizers (Thank you!); the drunken partiers; and a small number of folk struggling with consciousness, those who live Talib Kweli’s “Get By.”

But our most common notions of Black consciousness are fractured. There is for many a strict code of conduct and specific expectations based on superficial trends, if not explicit self-righteousness. “Conscious” individuals applaud themselves for their coifs, relish in their appointments to elite Babylonian universities, take pride in their sophisticated diet, and love to have self-congratulatory soirées with their “conscious comrades.” What about the masses, though? Sounds like only a few will make it to the “promised land,” because “revolutionaries” who are “self-anointed and self-appointed” don’t party. How “unconscious.” No?

“Conscious” folks have consciousness and what it takes to be revolutionary all screwed up. Consciousness, to them, is much like the 100-meter dash; rapid-fire movement. Yet, in practice, consciousness is a journey with stumbling blocks, twists, turns and challenges that will leave the travelers in continuous flux. While on the journey, travelers notice there are elements of consciousness in all Black beings; it’s distinguishable only by the level of deliberate commitment. That’s why the voyage is righteous in itself.

There should be no distinction between partying for the cause and partying ’cause there’s a party. And the party in Brooklyn ain’t stop ’til three in morning! We were inspired. That night we were told to move something because we need a revolution. The lineup: Goapele, Boot Camp Click, Keith Murray, Jeru The Damaja, dead prez, People Army, Talib Kweli and Erykah Badu. All urged the forward progress of Black people—keep pushin’. Black August is a start. This is not the end. It ain’t over till it’s over…

Copyright © 2004 Africa Resource Center, Inc.

Citation Format

PROUDFLESH: A New Afrikan Journal of Culture, Politics & Consciousness: Issue 3, 2004