A VISIT IN THE MIDST OF BLACK AUGUST (2006): BAHIA, BRAZIL

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

ISSN: 1543-0855

Issue 5 (2007)

Nicole Edwards

Black August was established in the California prison system in the early 1970s by men and women of the Black Liberation Movement. Black August holds great significance in the African tradition of resistance against white supremacy in the United States. Some revolutionary events that took place in August include the Nat Turner rebellion (1831), the beginning of The Underground Railroad (1850), the birth of Marcus Garvey (1887) and the March on Washington (1963). The most significant event to the founders of Black August was the assassination of George Jackson in August (1971).

The Black August Hip Hop Project is an international cultural-activist exchange founded by MXGM, Stress Magazine, and Students for Jericho. Black August strives to support and politicize the culture of our generation and use it to aid the struggle for human rights.
-- Www.MXGM.Com

I had heard about the 200-plus racial “distinctions” that exist here—more than 200 levels of confusion built on the Willie Lynch principle. Interestingly, this country has the same racial issues that exist in both the other “Americas.” What is meant by “different races” in this context is that the Portuguese categorized Willie Lynch’s fascist idea of racism so wildly and neatly that Brazil is now the shining example of the field dedicated to that study—anthropology, that “handmaiden of imperialism.”

Historically, this is all quite parallel to my own specific history. White colonial rebels fought against their homeland next to Africans for the control of land in Bahia, Brazil. That was for survival. Then, the white rebels fought the Africans to continue the practice of enslavement in Brazil. That was for power. Indigenous groups of the land fought on both sides, but overwhelmingly with Africans. Some groups of Indigenous and African peoples fled to the mountains. That was also for survival, and maybe more. The resulting mix of people, their socio-political values, and their violent past are what fill the present of this Portuguese colony-plantation. Apparently, survival is not enough.

There is always at least one group that remains quite clear on where they stand. Invariably, they are the ones found fighting for survival against poverty and “law enforcement” in Rio, Bahia, Chicago, DC, Nicaragua, Colombia, Zimbabwe, London and South Africa. They are found among Black folks. The self-proclaimed displaced African, indigenous to another time and place. People deemed outlaws—but by whom? The usual suspects.

I have come with a small group of women and a few men dedicated to both the struggle for the release of political prisoners and the spiritual guidance of the Yoruba faith. In so many ways, Bahia, then, is home. A couple of the women on our trip are the daughters of a political prisoner in the U.S. who has been behind the wall for more than thirty years. In that time, they have not been able to embrace their father once. Mass murderers have more freedom. The Injustice System is ridiculous, and yet it remains intact.

One beautiful brother who has served in a community organization for generations shared with us the continued struggle of Africans in today’s Brazil: Police brutality runs rampant. People are jailed without cause or because they are poor. Black neighborhood communities have been pushed to the outskirts. The favelas (ghettoes) have little transportation in and out (depending on the time of day convenient for the needs of the middle class, of course), among other things. United Nations “non-governmental organizations” or NGO’s plead the cause for Blacks in poverty proclaiming to be their saviors. They then thief the grant money and run. Many housing structures remain partially built with sawdust in one corner and no wall on the opposite site of the room. Still, folks make due. All around the world, the same song.

Blessed by Ogun, this same brother attempted to save another man who was being beaten senseless in front of news cameras by the cops. He was convicted and sentenced to time even though his protective protest against police brutality was recorded on television. In prison, he found a good friend from his past. When the brother was released, he kept returning to the prison faithfully twice every week to meet with former fellow-inmates.

Another man, a doctor assigned to this particular prison (who was no doubt considered near the top of the race chain) was faced with the task of trying to enter and earn the trust of the inmates.

Enter the Son of Ogun

This brother agreed to do this only under specific conditions, on the condition that he have access to the entire prison and that the men have the ability to have certain freedoms. They struck a deal. The doctor got some co-operation. They allowed some measures that would help keep the men physically healthy. The men were now allowed to occupy their time in a way that provided them with a means of sustaining themselves and their families.

This son of Ogun offered to give us a tour of the “reformed” prison. Just outside the barred area was the land of “trusted inmates” and guards. There were housing compounds which are best described as “the projects-meet-the plantation.” The same barrack dwelling applies, with more green land. After what seems to be a couple green miles, there is a bakery selling delicious goods. Yards away stood the mouth of the prison, which looked like white stucco with a few bars for teeth.

When we walked through the grid of rickety iron blue-barred doors, it was like entering the barrio. Graffiti paintings lined the walls. The smell of the bakery just outside the barred compound wafted over to us. We were told the men inside these compounds had baked them. Men were carving wood, playing cards, sewing soccer balls … for profit and time off their sentences. They have a store on the first floor where visitors can make purchases. We learned that they order their own materials and have them sent to the prison and are able to make further profit via a store co-owned by a prisoner and his wife.

It was quite the comfortable sweat shop. These men made more inside prison walls than they had ever been able to make off “honest” work outside of it. This was a minimum-security Big House. So many of them would never have been convicted of crimes had they any opportunity like the program created within this stucco-barred barrio.

I wondered why they were not salivating over the image of a woman. When I went to visit a good friend in prison, up North, back in the States, men were itching to see a girl in a skirt. We were told later that these men are allowed frequent visits with their loved ones—as part of the deal. Officials say that the more frequent the visits from family, the less likely there will be outbreaks of violence.

In fact, the guys were very concerned with being good hosts. We were not just entering their workplace, after all; we were visiting their “home.” They did Capoeira, played futbol, and discussed the Injustice System—inside and out of this space—with us. We had a thorough view of the warehouse sections of the prison, the church, and the various “apartments.” We learned that they also had a boxing ring on the grounds outside.

Like good Southern men, the guys even brought out a sound system with mics so we could talk, sing and rap together while enjoying their “home-made” ice cream (which, I am convinced, was the best I ever had). The snacks they provided were all-natural and delicious, and I couldn’t help but wonder if these guys would even accept the unnatural food Black folks are subject to in other colonial/neo-colonial countries of note.

Black August. . . . It was an ironic reunion of sorts. Displaced Africans coming from the U.S. and the Caribbean meeting with other Displaced Africans in Brazil to discuss life and struggle and such--behind bars. What could be expressed through Black body language went un-translated . . . The Black August International Hip-Hop Project, that is . . . Interestingly, the only ones who looked unhappy were the armed guards, a couple of snipers who stood like disgruntled scapegoats sweating on the top of a great white wall, over-dressed and underpaid. . . . of the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement (MXGM). It was a shame. They seemed mad they couldn’t make it to the “party” – they had to work. Free ’em all!

Citation Format:

Nicole Edwards. “A Visit in the Midst of Black August (2006): Bahia, Brazil,” PROUDFLESH: A New Afrikan Journal of Culture, Politics & Consciousness: Issue 5, 2007.