Trials of A Political Prisoner
a letter from Nanon M. Williams
submachine gun in hand, he was free
for a while. I guess that’s more than
most of us can expect.”
- George Jackson
9 August 1970 –
April 1, 2007
…After fifteen-years in prison, I have watched the court system remain a powerful tool of repression. Sure, we need only look at the trials of George Jackson, Angela Y. Davis, H. Rap Brown, Fleeta Drumgo, John Clutchette, and countless others . . . Trials of political prisoners have never been about the alleged crime, but understanding the political nature that has incarcerated millions, killed thousands, thousands more pursued, and untold numbers dogged by police on a daily basis. The legions of victims created by our court system have broken the trust, faith, and belief that American is the land of equal opportunity. We need only to look into America ’s prison institutions to find the answer.
In becoming a prisoner, we are denied rights and privileges of citizens. Even when our debt to society is paid, these rights are never fully restored. Many will never have a chance to cast a vote for an elected official; many will be asked about felony convictions for a job interview; many can never seek certain careers that are cut-off from their grasp, and many will never escape persecution from the law and society as a whole.
It is not to say that people who commit crimes should not be held accountable, but crime itself must be looked at. Not what happens, but the “why’s.” Whenever children know that there are hurdles in their path to acquire the same goals as everyone else, their struggles are political by nature. Politics is ultimately about the intent of governing people, and government means: the right to use legal force against its citizens. That force has been used covertly and overtly for how long? It should be no wonder that before children of color ever come into contact with the law, they know how to flee the law. It has become instinctive for Blacks and Hispanics to fear people in uniforms with guns. Why? Why don’t they see them as people who protect their communities? It is because most Blacks and Hispanics know someone in prison: a father, mother, uncle, aunt, cousin, brother, sister, or just a friend? Television teaches the masses that the enemy is the criminal or prisoner, but so many children today on some level separate reality from television. It’s sad that they may not be able to separate the existence of super heroes from the possession of power, but they can see that the hustler on the block is not such a bad guy. That’s not the same guy they just watched on “Law & Order!” I mean, hell, that hustler may be their friend’s father who just brought home groceries.
What we define as “criminals” fits into our psychology as citizens, but these definitions do not easily fit within our respective social arenas. Instead of quarantining crime, we see entire communities quarantined. We see more police in the ghetto than we see in upscale neighborhoods. Does it mean crime is less in neighborhoods with nice loans and white picket fences? Certainly not! By using law enforcement agencies to watch over the poor, in essence our prisons end up warehousing America ’s poor. Our kids today know more about prison lingo than they do about what’s going on at universities. There are more Black men in prison than there are in college.
At some point, a political maturity emerges in our prisoners. Too many understand how the laws of the land work against them, not for them. They learn that first lesson at trial. While prosecutors seemingly have unlimited resources to use their own experts, create their own witnesses through plea bargains and what-have-you, the defendant has no experts he/she can afford, no deals to offer, and in most cases an attorney is appointed by the state. They quickly become aware that the state-appointed attorney is going to satisfy who is paying their salary, and certainly it’s not the defendant. Later that day, or next week, judges have them in line to defend someone else! Don’t rock the boat, and surely we’ll keep you in line. The defendant can’t help but to look at the economics surrounding the situation, and see that the outcome is determined by dollars and cents. That makes it political and makes “justice” just a term. The word “justice” implies an indicated goal. “Justice was served,” does not apply to poor people. That has become a sad fact.
So when we refer to someone as being a “political prisoner,” it means someone who is aware of the political nature of their incarceration. It doesn’t mean that they are failing to accept responsibility. In fact, it’s just the opposite. They’ve taken on the responsibility to develop a consciousness for themselves and others, and like some -- we can look at the Mumia Abu Jamals, Leonard Peltiers, and Gary Grahams (aka Shaka Sankofa) -- who have worked to mobilize, organize, and educate the people. That is the responsibility accepted by those who claim to be political prisoners. They are simply aware of the intended goals of our judicial system as a whole.
Today’s political prisoners play a role in the much needed advance of revolution. That term above scares the hell out of people, but it shouldn’t. To revolutionize means to change. Every time we fight for something, stand for something, or dare to do what is right (not what is popular), we become revolutionaries. We become someone that stands for the people. We become someone who dares to have courage, despite the odds.
In Struggle,
Nanon M. Williams
About Nanon Williams:
Nanon Williams is an incarcerated writer, activist and outspoken leader for social justice. He has impacted the lives of many through his newsletter, the Williams Report and his three books, Still Surviving, The Ties that Bind Us, and The Darkest Hour. Nanon is also an active supporter of other prisoners, an activist against the death penalty and an organizer on other prison-related issues. He has received the National Coalition Against the Death Penalty’s Youth Activism award and has been featured as an expert on issues of incarceration and the death penalty in several local and national publications including The Nation and F.E.D.S Magazine. Nanon finds solace in capturing the one thing we all hold sacred -- freedom.
Nanon Williams has been in prison for 15 years, the majority of which was spent on death row, for a murder that he did not commit. He was sentenced to death in 1995 while still a teenager -despite the fact that the police were in possession of the gun fired by another suspect, who was present at the crime scene, and a tape recording in which the suspect admitted firing his gun at the victim. This suspect was the main witness for the prosecution and had his capital murder charges dropped in return. During Nanon’s initial trial, his attorney failed to conduct independent ballistics testing and to investigate the existence of essential witnesses to prove his innocence. The prosecution based its case on false testimony and botched ballistics testing. Nevertheless, Nanon was sentenced to death.
In March 2005, the U.S. Supreme Court declared the death sentence to be unconstitutional for juveniles. Based on that decision, Texas had to change Nanon’s sentence to "life in prison." In Texas that means prison until death. Nanon will not be eligible for parole until he has spent 40 years in prison and Texas hardly ever grants paroles. In April 2005, Nanon Williams' case was denied in Federal Court. Nanon is currently appealing the federal court’s decision and waiting for a retrial in the Fifth Circuit Court, which is based in New Orleans , Louisiana . For more information about Nanon Williams and his case as well as how you can support his campaign for freedom, visit the web site of the Nanon Williams Support Association at www.nawisa.org.
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