From The Partisan Defense Committee Archives

Workers Vanguard No. 1003	25 May 2012

Solidarity with Longview ILWU and Its Supporters

Our article “Protest State Vendetta Against Longview ILWU and Its Allies!” (WV No. 998, 16 March) urged unions, both nationally and internationally, to protest the vindictive prosecution of some 100 members of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union (ILWU), mainly from Local 21 in Longview, and their supporters. As the article noted, this anti-union vendetta “is a shot at all of labor, aimed at creating a chilling effect on trade unionists who were inspired by the power ILWU members brought to bear during their fight against EGT union-busting in Longview.” Union locals from California, New York and Wisconsin sent letters. International solidarity was expressed by unions in Canada, France and Germany. The Partisan Defense Committee—a class-struggle legal and social defense organization affiliated with the Spartacist League—and its fraternal organizations internationally issued an appeal for unions to send protest letters to Cowlitz County prosecuting attorney Susan Baur.

In its letter, the Northern Region of the German Locomotive Engineers recalled the fines and restrictions on the right to strike that had been imposed upon them in the heat of a contract battle in 2006-07. The Oakland Education Association, one of several unions from the San Francisco Bay Area that sent protest letters, wrote: “The motto of the ILWU is ‘An Injury to One is an Injury to All.’ We concur with this viewpoint and are sending a donation to Local 21 to be used in the legal defense of their members and supporters.” In its letter, the New York chapter of the Coalition of Black Trade Unionists demanded “an end to this persecution” and that all charges be dropped.

WV is publishing in this issue a letter from the wife of one of the persecuted unionists, who was president of the Cowlitz County Central Labor Council (see page 4). While that unionist, Jeff Washburn, was convicted, at least six others facing similar charges were acquitted in jury trials. Prosecutor Baur subsequently dropped a number of misdemeanor cases. But she threatened to file trumped-up felony charges against others—including Local 21 president Dan Coffman—in order to pressure them to plead guilty to misdemeanors that juries might have acquitted them of. The ILWU has rightly characterized this now-standard prosecutorial ploy as a “form of extortion.” Those opting to cop a plea have been sentenced to hundreds of dollars of fines and many hours of community service. Felony trials against at least two ILWUers are still pending, and Baur continues to threaten to file additional felony charges.

Two unionists, including ILWU Local 21 secretary-treasurer Byron Jacobs, have been sentenced to jail time. Jacobs was one of two courageous ILWUers who came to the aid of Ladies Auxiliary members under attack by police during a protest against an EGT-bound train on September 21. The two union members were tackled and forced to the ground, where the cops shot pepper spray directly into their eyes. This brutal attack was caught on video and later posted on YouTube. Yet Jacobs was charged with three felony counts! Baur only agreed to drop these frame-up charges if Jacobs pled guilty to three misdemeanors. He was sentenced to 20 days of jail work release, $500 in fines, one year’s probation and an “anger management” assessment. Local 21 member Ronald P. Stavas was sentenced to 22 days in jail after pleading guilty to felony attempted burglary and four misdemeanor charges. Dozens of ILWUers rallied at the Cowlitz County jail in solidarity with Stavas when he began serving his sentence on April 11.

The union-hating climate fueled by Baur and Cowlitz County sheriff Mark Nelson has encouraged additional attacks on Local 21. On April 9, the union hall was broken into, robbed and vandalized. Thousands of dollars of damage was done, and the words “scabs” and “ILWU fags” were scrawled on the wall with red spray paint. A significant amount of cash was stolen from the local’s safe, as well as blank checks, credit cards and other financial records. The union is offering a $2,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible. Local 21 also had to replace a union billboard publicizing the ILWU’s long history in the area after it was defaced by graffiti.

Playing its role as the enforcer of anti-union laws, Barack Obama’s National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) has pursued its own vendetta against the ILWU. It went to the federal courts and obtained a restraining order last September against the union for “aggressive picketing,” which resulted in some $300,000 in fines. The Labor Board also issued a complaint against the union based on unfair labor practice charges filed by both EGT and the Pacific Maritime Association (PMA) during the Longview battle. In the April issue of the union’s newspaper, the Dispatcher, the ILWU International announced a settlement with the NLRB on this complaint. The PMA is reportedly objecting to the settlement, the details of which are not yet publicly known. The Dispatcher estimates that it will take up to two years to resolve the ILWU International’s appeal of the fines levied by the federal courts. As such, the fines could well be hanging over the union’s head as it faces off with the PMA when the coastwide longshore contract expires in 2014.

In the face of the anti-union offensive against the militant labor struggles waged in Longview last July and September, the ILWU International leadership backed off. It retreated to filing a lawsuit in the capitalist courts that charged the city of Longview, Cowlitz County and their top officials, including Sheriff Nelson, with violating the union’s “respective officers and members’ rights under the Constitution and laws of the United States and Washington.” While it is in the interests of the working class to defend all democratic rights, which have been increasingly curtailed, the battle of Longview was not a question of defending such civil liberties as freedom of speech and assembly. It was one of mobilizing the power of labor against the EGT union-busters, who are backed by the forces of the state. The laws of the United States are designed to uphold the interests of the capitalist owners—and the state, namely the courts, cops and military, enforces them against workers in struggle.

If the working class is to effectively organize to fight in its class interests, it must wield its ability to stop production and shut off the flow of profits. There is a vital need to revive the traditions of effective labor solidarity, not just in words but in deeds. 

From The Boston Bradley Manning Support Committee Archives (November, 2012)

Dorchester (Ma.) People For Peace To Honor Bradley-December 10th

Dorchester People For Peace Annual Awards Dinner- December 10, 2012 -6:00-9:00 PM Vietnamese –American Center, 42 Charles Street (Fields Corner Station on Red Line), Dorchester (Boston), Massachusetts

Over the past several months as the Private Bradley Manning case has gained more publicity as a trial date has approached (scheduled now for mid-winter 2013) his cause has been aided immensely by an open declaration of support for his freedom by three Nobel Peace Prize Laureates Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Mairead Maguire, and Adolfo Perez Esquivel. In one of those ironies of history they are asking a fellow Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, U.S. President Barack Obama, to release current Nobel Peace Prize nominee Private Manning from his jails.

That is the high political profile end of the support for Private Manning. But down in the anti-war trenches, down where the questions of war and peace are matters of personal, and life or death, interest there is also growing support for Private Manning’s cause. An example of this is Private Manning ‘s selection this year as a recipient of a Peace Prize from the Dorchester People for Peace, a grassroots organization with long time and long worked at roots in that multi-cultural working class neighborhood of Boston. This may not have the prestige of the Nobel Peace Prize but Private Manning should cherish it just as much. Join DPP in honoring Private Manning on December 10th. A representative of the local Bradley Manning Support Group (and member of Veterans for Peace, a strong supporter of his defense) in Boston will accept and pass on the award to Private Manning.

From The Boston Bradley Manning Support Committee Archives (November 7, 2013)

Markin comment:

As three former Nobel Peace Prize winners speak out for freedom for Private Bradley Manning no one should miss the irony that Private Manning, currently nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize himself, is being held in the jails of a former Nobel Peace Prize winner, U.S. President Barack Obama. President Obama pardon Private Manning now.

**************
November 7, 2012

A message from Nobel Peace Prize Laureates Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Mairead Maguire & Adolfo Perez Esquivel

International peace demands honoring whistle-blowers like Bradley Manning.

As people who have worked for decades against the increased militarization of societies and for international cooperation to end war, we are deeply dismayed by the treatment of PFC Bradley Manning.

We have dedicated our lives to working for peace because we have seen many faces of armed conflict and violence and we understand that no matter the cause of war, civilians always bear the brunt of the cost. With today's advanced military technology and the continued ability of business and political elites to filter what information is made public, there exists a great barrier to many citizens being fully aware of the realities and consequences of conflicts in which their country is engaged.

Responsible governance requires fully informed citizens who can question their leadership. For those citizens worldwide who do not have direct, intimate knowledge of war, yet are still affected by rising international tensions and failing economies, WikiLeaks releases attributed to Bradley Manning have provided unparalleled access to important facts.

Revealing covert crimes in Iraq and Afghanistan and corporations' pervasive influence in governance, this window into the realities of modern international relations has changed the world for the better. While some of these documents may demonstrate how much work lies ahead in terms of securing international peace and justice, they also highlight the potential of the internet as a forum for citizens to participate more directly in civic discussion and creative government accountability projects.

Questioning authority, as a soldier, is not easy. But it can at times "be honorable. Words attributed to Bradley Manning reveal that he went through-a profound moral struggle between the time he enlisted and when he became a whistle-blower. Through his experience in Iraq, witnessing suffering of innocent civilians and soldiers alike, he became disturbed by top-level policy that undervalued human life. Like other courageous whistle-blowers, he was driven foremost by a desire to reveal the truth.

PFC Bradley Manning said in chat logs he hoped the releases would bring "debates, discussions and reform," and condemned the ways in which the "first world exploits the third." Much of the world regards PFC Manning as a hero for these efforts toward peace and transparency, and he has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize as a result. Much like when high-ranking officials in the United States and Britain misled the publicin 2003 by saying there was an imminent need to invade Iraq to stop them from using Weaponsof Mass Destruction, however, the world's most powerful elites have again insulted internationalopinion and the intelligence of many citizens by withholding facts regarding Bradley Manning and WikiLeaks.

The military prosecution has not presented evidence that by releasing secret documents PFC Manning injured anyone, and they have asserted in court that the charge of, "aiding the enemy through indirect means," does not require them to. Nor have they denied that his motivations were conscientious; they have simply argued they are irrelevant. In ignoring this context, and recommending a much more severe punishment for Bradley Manning than is given to U.S. soldiers guilty of murdering civilians, military leadership is sending a chilling warning to other soldiers who would feel compelled by conscience to reveal misdeeds. It is our belief that leaders who use fear to govern, rather than sharing wisdom born from facts, cannot be just.

We Nobel Peace Prize laureates condemn the persecution Bradley Manning has suffered, including imprisonment in conditions declared "cruel, inhuman and degrading" by the United Nations, and call upon U.S. citizens to stand up in support of this whistle-blower who defended their democratic rights. In the conflict in Iraq alone, more than 110,000 people have died since 2003, millions have been displaced, and nearly 4,500 American soldiers have been killed. If someone needs to be held accountable for endangering Americans and civilians, let's first take the time to examine the evidence regarding high-level crimes already committed, and what lessons can be learned. If Bradley Manning released the documents attributed to him, we should express to him our gratitude for his efforts toward accountability in government, informed democracy, and peace.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Nobel Peace Prize, 1984

Mairead Maguire, Nobel Peace Prize, 1977
Adolfo Perez Esquivel, Nobel Peace Prize, 1980

Courage to Resist hosts the Bradley

Manning Defense Fund in collaboration with the Bradley Manning Support Network.

We're responsible for 100% of Bradley's legal expenses—nearly $250,000 so far, with a projected additional $50,000 needed through court martial.

If you'd like your tax-deductible donation to go towards Bradley's defense only, just note that with your donation today. You can also make a contribution to the Rivera Family Support Fund—see "The dire situation of Kimberly Rivera and her family" in our December 2012 newsletter enclosed. Otherwise, we'll use your contribution to support both Bradley and Kimberly, along with other military GI resisters.

Free Bradley Manning

Free Bradley Manning

The Boston Organizer

Boston Saint Patrick's Day Peace Parade 2013

From The Anti-Tar Sands Struggle

From The Class Struggle At Harvard- In Honor Of John Reed Class Of 1910

From The Partisan Defense Committee

***Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming - Markin’s 1950s Sputnik Space Odyssey-Billie Style

Billie, William James Bradley, comment:

Yah, I know I haven’t talked to you in too long a while like I told you I would. I was supposed to tell you all about my best friend over at Adamsville Elementary School Markin’s, Peter Paul Markin’s, ill-fated attempts to single-handedly close the space gap they keep talking about ever since the commies put that Sputnik satellite up in orbit last year. Some of you know that I had to put that on hold because I was still kind of broken up about something. Yah, for you that don’t know I got caught up in some, well I might as well just come out with it, woman trouble, alright girl trouble, okay. That’s over now since I discovered Elvis’ real take on the honeys, One Night Of Sin and now have a new girlfriend, well, really an old girlfriend, an old stick girlfriend, Cool Donna O’Toole, that I had, as Markin always kids me about, “discarded” when love Laura came into view. But that isn’t getting us to the Markin space odyssey you’ve been waiting breathlessly to hear about.

And I will get to that in just a second now that I think about it, or the heart of the story, but let me just take a minute to tell you this background story because it also explains part of the time for my delay in telling the story. It seems that Markin had no objection, and shouldn’t, to having his space odyssey story told but he just wanted to tell the story himself. I said no way, no way on this good green earth are you going to tell this one. By the time he got done we would all be weepy, girl weepy, or something about Markin’s tremendous contribution to space science rather than the simple truth- Markin should not be let with fifty miles, no, make that five hundred miles, no, let’s be on the safe side, five thousand miles from anything that could even be remotely used for launching rockets. Yah, it’s that kind of story.

Besides, here is the real reason that Markin shouldn’t tell the story, and I told him so. Markin, no question is a history guy. He is crazy for people like Abigail Adams, and her husband and son, the guys who used to be Presidents, John and John Quincy, back in the Stone Age, and who Adamsville is named after, one of them anyway. He also knows, although I have no clue why, about old times in Egypt, Pharaoh and his quirky slave-driving ways, the Pyramids, you know mummies and stuff like that, from going to the Thomas Crane Public Library branch at school and walking, walking can you believe this, over to Boston to the Museum of Fine Arts to check out their mummy stuff, and tombs and how they dressed and all that. Yawn.

Markin is also crazy for reading, not stuff that is required for school reading either, and writing about it, a book guy, no doubt. Get this, he just told me about a book of short stories that he was reading about by a guy, an Irish guy, a chandelier Irish guy, Fitzgerald or something like that, who wrote stories about rich kids, very rich kids, rich guys with names like Basil mooning over rich girls. And rich girls with names like Josephine swooning over guys. Nothing big about that but like I told Markin how is reading that stuff going to do anything for you, for us, trying, trying like crazy to get the hell, excuse my English, of the projects. He’s a cloudy guy see, even if he is my best friend.

But here is something funny, and maybe makes this reading stuff of some use sometimes. Markin read in the Foreword, who the hell, excuse my language again, in this good green earth reads the Foreword, that one of the stories, one of the Basil stories wasn’t published because the publishers didn’t believe back in the early part of this century that ten and eleven year old boys and girls would be into “petting parties.” Jesus, and I make no excuse for saying that, where have those guys been, and what planet. Definitely not down here with us poor project boys and girls. Hey, I might even read that story come to think of it to see if petting parties are the same with rich kids. So history and book reading. Does that sound like a guy who can tell a space story, a nuts and bolts space story. No leave this one to old Billie, he’ll tell it true.

I don’t know about you but I was not all that hopped up about space exploration, space races, or Jules Verne although I will admit that I was a little excited about the idea of those space satellites going up in the sky, those that started with the Soviet Union’s first object in space, Sputnik. But when they started sending robots, monkeys, mice, and small dogs I lost interest. I figured how hard can it be to do the space thing if rodents can make the trip, unmolested. Besides I had my budding career as a rock star of the Elvis sort to worry about so other kinds of stars took a back seat.
No so Markin. The minute he heard, or maybe it was a little later but pretty soon after, that Sputnik had gone up, that it had been the Russkies who were first in space, he was crazy to enlist in the space race. I swear I had to stop talking to him for a few days because all he wanted to talk about, with that certain demented look in his eye that told you that you were in for a lecture like at school, was how it was every red-blooded student’s, make that every red-blooded American student’s duty to get moving in aid of the space front. It was so bad that he would not even heard me talk about the latest rock hit without saying, hey, that’s kid’s stuff I got no time for that. Bad, right.

Now this was not about money, you know going around the neighborhood collecting coins for the space program like we did to restore the U.S.S. Constitution when it was all water-logged or whatever happens to wooden ships when they get too old. And it was not about maybe going to the library to get some books to study up on science and maybe someday become a space engineer and go to Cape Canaveral or someplace like that. No this was about our duty, duty see, to go out in the back yard, go down in the cellar, go out in the garage (if you had a garage, we didn’t in the projects) and start to experiment making rockets that might be able to make it to space. See what I mean. Deep-end stuff, no question.

Now I already told you, but in case you might have forgotten, Markin is nothing but a books and history guy, and maybe a little music. I have never seen him put a hammer to a nail or anything like that, and I am not sure that he has those skills. I do know that when we were making paper mache dinosaurs in class his thing did not look like a dinosaur. Not close. But one day he got me to go with him up to Adamsville Center to the hardware store to get materials for making a rocket. Markin is nothing if not serious in his little projects, at first. At the store we get some balsa wood, nails, aluminum poles, guide wire, a knife built for carving stuff, and about ten CO2 cartridges. The idea is to build a model (or models) and see which ones have the contours to be space-worthy.

Over the next couple of weeks I saw Markin off and on but mainly off because he was spending his after-school time down in the cellar of the apartment where his family lived working on those balsa wood models. Then one day, one Saturday I think, yah, it was Saturday he came over to my house looking for help in setting up his launch pad. The idea was that he would put up two aluminum poles, stretch the guide wire between the two poles and demonstrate what he called the aerodynamic flow of his models by attaching his balsa wood models on the wire with a bent nail. Propulsion was by inserting a CO2 cartridge in a crevice in the rocket and hitting one end of the cartridge by lightly hitting it with a nail. I was to observe at the finish while he covered the start. After about half an hour everything was set to go and Dr. Markin was ready to set the explosion. Except moon man Markin hit the nail into the cartridge at the wrong place and, if it had not been for some quick leg work that I still chuckle over when I think about it (like now) my friend would have lost an eye. Scratch balsa wood models.

Oh, you thought that was the end of it. Christ no. After catching some hell from his mother (and a little from me) he was back on the trail- blazing away. This time though he kept it very low. I didn’t even know about it until he asked me to help him get some materials from that same hardware store and the drug store uptown. So here is the brain-storm in a nut shell. He said he saw the error of his ways in the balsa wood fiasco- he had used the wrong fuel and the whole guide wire thing was awry. This time he intended to simulate (yah, I didn’t know what that meant either until he told me it was like practically the same but not the real thing, or something like that) a launching like he had seen on television and in the Bell Laboratories Science films we saw at school. Okay, get this, he built, using his father’s soldering iron, a small rocket out of tin soup cans (Campbell’s, naturally, just kidding) with a tin funnel on top and flattened metal for wings. Hey, it really didn’t look bad. The fuel, I swear I do not know all the ingredients but they all came from either the hardware or drug store so that gives you an idea about something. Apparently he read about it somewhere.

So, again on black Saturday, we are off to the back field to launch the spaceship Billie (named after me, of course) into fame and fortune. We set the rocket on a small launch pad that he made; he put in the fuel from a can, and then closed it off with a fuse device at the end. I, as honoree, was to light the match for take-off. I lit the match alright except a funny thing happened-the rocket quickly, very quickly turned into an inferno, and me along with it, except I too did some fancy leg work. Christ, Markin enough. And the lesson to be learned- you had better be young, quick, and have your insurance paid up if you are going to hang out with maddened rocket scientists. After that experiment I think old Markin lost heart. The other day I saw him reading a book about Abraham Lincoln so I guess the coast is clear now. Oh yah, and at school yesterday he asked me if I had heard Jerry Lee Lewis’ Breathlessyet. Welcome back to Earth, Markin.

Poet’s Corner- Langston Hughes- “I, Too, Sing America”

…he, black warrior prince proud, sage of the darkened night, spoke, spoke curse and celebration just to keep the record, the historical record straight. He spoke of ancient Spanish conquistador enslavement down in Saint Augustine prison houses. Of ancient Dutchman and Anglo-Saxon slave markets down in fetid Jamestown. Of Middle Passage ocean dumps of human flesh, sold, sold cheap, sold as the overhead price from sweated labors. Of great bustling Atlantic world ports and hectic triangular trade, sugar, rum, slaves, or was it slaves, sugar, and rum, he was not sure of the exact combination but those were the three elements.

He spoke of Cripsus Attucks and Valley Forge fights, black soldierly fights for white freedom all parchment etched, all false, all third-fifths of a man false embedded deep in that founding document. Of compromises, great and small, Missouri 1820, that damn Mex bracero land- eating war against the ghost of those long ago conquistadores, of 1850 compromises, of fugitive slave laws, enforced, enforced and incited. Of Kansas, Kansas for chrissakes, out on the plains all bleeding, and bloody, and no end in sight.

He spoke of righteous push back, of the brothers (and maybe sisters too but they got short shrift in the account books) who made old Mister scream, made him swear in his concubine bed, night. Of brave hard-scrabble Nat Turner, come and gone, old Captain Brown and his brave integrated band (one kin to a future poet) at Harpers Ferry fight, and above all of heroic stand-up Massachusetts 54^th before Fort Wagner fight. Of Father Abraham and those coming 200, 000 strong what were they, contraband, or men. Of fighting back against the old rascal Mister down in Mississippi goddam, Alabama goddam and the other goddams.

He spoke of rascally push back against the democratic night. Of Mister James Crow and nigra sit here, not there, of get on the back of the bus, or better walk, it’s good for you, eat here, not there, drink here, not there, jesus, breath here, not there. Of race riots and other tumults in northern ghetto cities teeming with those who tired of eat heres, drink theres, stand over theres, and charted breathes.

He spoke of that good night, that push back against black stolen dignity. Of struggle, hard struggle against the 1930s Great Depression Mister night. Of no more backing down the minute Mister said, no, thought to say, get back. Of riding with the king, of the simple act of saying no, no more. Of great heroic figures risen from the squatter farms, the share-cropped farms, the janitor and maid cities, the prisons, above all the prisons. Of Malcolm and the“new negro” and the bust up of that old fogey “talented tenth” white man fetch. Of brothers (again sisters short-shrifted from the account book) from North Carolina, from Louisiana, from Oakland who said defend yourselves-by any means necessary -if you want to hold your head up high.

He spoke of ebb and flow, of hope, and of no hope in benighted the black America land …

I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes. Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed— I, too, am America.

Protest Bradley Manning's 1000th day imprisoned without trial.

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Protest Bradley Manning's 1000th day imprisoned without trial! Please join other members of the Bradley Manning Support Network on February 23rd in organizing a teach-in or protest to mark Bradley Manning's 1000th day imprisoned without trial. Please register events here, and contact our Campaign Organizer at emma@bradleymanning.org for assistance. Whistle-blowers are heroes, and deserve our support. Act now before it's too late! A Bradley Manning supporter is someone who believes in exposing war crimes, in international justice, in people's right to know what the government does in their name. (See what WikiLeaks revealed.) Bradley Manning supporters come from all over the United States and the world. They come from small towns, big cities, and everything in-between. And throughout the history of the world, it has taken people such as these to hold the government and the military accountable. The military's denial of Bradley Manning's rights to due process is thoroughly unAmerican. Outrageously, Bradley was subjected to 11 months of solitary confinement, 1000 days of prison without trial, and is now effectively being denied the ability to make a whistle-blower defense during the guilt phase of his trial. Thanks to protests organized by Bradley Manning's supporters, he was removed from solitary isolation at the Quantico marine brig in February of 2011. Bradley Manning, as well as his attorney David Coombs, has thanked supporters for these efforts. It's now up to us to organize ourselves again against military authorities who would sentence Bradley to life behind bars. Find events in your area, and/or register your own! Don't forget Bradley Manning this Valentine's Day! A little known fact about Valentine's Day is that it originated not as a romantic holiday, but as a way to honor a crusader for social equality. On this Valentine's day consider writing Bradley Manning a letter of support! Protests are being organized for February 23rd. Bradley Manning has the right to a speedy trial! Saint Valentine was imprisoned for performing weddings for soldiers who were forbidden to marry and for ministering to Christians, who were a persecuted minority under the Roman Empire. As a gay man in the military, Bradley Manning is a persecuted minority in our time. Yet, 22 year-old Bradley was big-hearted enough to look beyond his own self-interests. Bradley said that he wanted people to know the truth, "because without information, you cannot make informed decisions as a public." He hoped to promote "discussion, debates and reforms." During a public presentation made in December, attorney David Coombs stated, I hope that someday soon, Brad can go to college. I hope that someday soon, he can, in fact, go into public service. But I am confident, as I stand here today, that Brad doesn’t have to worry about making a difference in this world– he has made a difference. We think that Valentine's Day is a fitting time to send Bradley a message of thanks directly. You can send cards and letters to the following address: Commander, HHC USAG Attn: PFC Bradley Manning 239 Sheridan Ave, Bldg 417 JBM-HH, VA 22211 You can also submit a picture of yourself with a message of support to http//iam.bradleymanning.org. Bradley's attorney David Coombs has said, "the best evidence for me that I am not standing alone when I stand for Brad is a website called 'I Am Bradley Manning'. I personally have to tell you, I go to this site at least once a day. I go to this site when I need to recharge my batteries after working a long day on the case, and I just peruse the photographs – people with a simple statement in front of their face, “I am Bradley Manning.” The power of those simple words is amazing." We agree. Thank you for supporting Bradley Manning! Help us continue to cover 100% of Bradley's legal fees! Donate today.

As Bradley Manning Support Network Campaign Organizer, I will have a call this Saturday at 2pm PST/5pm EST for local activists who are putting together events on February 23 for Bradley Manning's 1000th day in prison.

The call will be structured as follows:

Introductions (10 min)

Discussion of past and future court proceedings (7 min)

Sharing ideas concerning February 23 events (18 min)

Discussion of other upcoming campaign actions (10 min)

Additional Questions & Answers (15 min)

If you wish to join the call, you will need to dial-into 1 (605) 475-4000 at 2pm PST, following which you'll be prompted to use pin number 767515. Please RSVP to me if you plan to join the call.

In solidarity,

Emma Cape

Campaign Organizer

www.bradleymanning.org

Join our facebook page: savebradley !

“God knows what happens now. Hopefully worldwide discussion, debates, and reforms… I want people to see the truth... because without information, you cannot make informed decisions as a public.” -from Bradley's alleged chat with Adrian Lamo

On Tue, Feb 5, 2013 at 2:35 PM, Emma Cape <emma@bradleymanning.org> wrote:

Dear organizer,

You're receiving this e-mail because you expressed interest in putting together an event, either a teach-in or protest, to mark WikiLeaks whistle-blower Bradley Manning's 1000th day in prison.

There are currently 16 events scheduled to happen around the world on February 23rd. A Bradley Manning supporter is someone who believes in international justice, and the people's right to know how our government uses our tax dollars. It was only because of similar protests that Bradley was removed from solitary confinement, and further actions can help save him from a life sentence at trial. Thank you for being part of this historic campaign!

I wanted to make sure you are aware of the following resources as you plan your event:

• If you want materials to use for your event, such as posters, petitions, stickers, campaign cards, and banners, you should e-mail adminctr@couragetoresist.org

• If you want to find local organizations to co-sponsor your event, this page may help get you started: http://www.bradleymanning.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/ContactsPage1.pdf

• Bradley Manning and WikiLeaks factsheets, as well as our event organizing guide and guide to working with the media are both downloadable online as well: http://www.bradleymanning.org/resources/organizing-kit

• As soon as you can, please send a short paragraph summary of your event to me at emma@bradleymanning.org that you would like publicized online and shared via e-mail with other supporters in your area. You should take photos and e-mail them to me after your event so that we can include it on the bradleymanning.org blog.

• E-mail nathan@bradleymanning.org for help reaching out to local media with press advisories, etc.

I will have a call this Saturday for any organizers of February 23rd solidarity events who would like the opportunity to speak with staff of the Bradley Manning Support Network about the court proceedings or about ideas for the 1000 days protest and other upcoming actions. This would be a great opportunity to meet local organizers from other places and to have questions addressed. If you're interested in joining this call, please RSVP to me with what time(s) work best for you on Saturday.

In Solidarity,

Emma Cape

Campaign Organizer

www.bradleymanning.org

Join our facebook page: savebradley !

“God knows what happens now. Hopefully worldwide discussion, debates, and reforms… I want people to see the truth... because without information, you cannot make informed decisions as a public.” -from Bradley's alleged chat with Adrian Lamo

From Jaan Laaman

Introduction to Issue 21

October 4, 2012

tags: Introductions

by 4struggle

Welcome to 4sm, issue 21. We are very glad to finally get this issue out, in Fall 2012. I know a lot of readers, friends and activists have been wondering what happened to 4strugglemag? This is the first issue we are putting out in 2012. It is a combined Summer and Fall issue. Normally 4sm comes out three times a year (March, July/August, November). This is the first time we have had to combine two issues into one.
Some people may have been wondering about my ability to continue working on 4sm, after the death of my son last October. Without any doubt, the death of Rick was and continues to be the hardest reality in my life. This was not the reason for the delay in issue 21. We have had medical and personal problems with key outside people. A valued precious sister (Sara), who does so much to make 4sm a reality, seriously broke her arm in a bicycle accident earlier this year.
Some material in this issue covers events from earlier in the year, but all of it remains important and pertinent. Regular readers know that 4sm always runs a section on Black August in our summer issue. Because 21 is coming out so late this summer, there is no usual Black August section. We are running some significant insight and analysis, by Mumia Abu Jamal, George Jackson and his nephew Jonathan Jackson Jr., about the events of August 7, 1970 (the Marin Courthouse Raid and the deaths of Jonathan Jackson and others on that day).
Also, because of the late arrival of this issue, we are not helping to announce and organize this year’s Running Down the Walls, which takes place on September 2. We do want people who participated in RDTW, both inside prisons and out in cities across the country, to send us words and photos of your run. We will use some of this material in the next issue.
There are many other important and informative articles in this issue. Definitely check out the reports on Occupy. Also check out the lengthy section on prisons. Finally take time to read David Gilbert’s letter, calling for discussion and action around the issue of sexist and male chauvinist attitudes and behavior in activist and radical communities. This is a serious and ongoing problem and 4sm hopes many readers will respond and begin a discussion on this.
We welcome our readers’ thoughts and responses to everything in 4sm. Send us your thoughts and best writing. Issue 22 will be out in the winter. And yes, there is another election coming up in the United States in November. The Republicans seem to be more reactionary and backwards than ever. Certainly Mitt Romney is a shameless member and advocate for the corporate imperialist 1% elite. He also would be a horror for prisoners. I was in Walpole state prison in Massachusetts when he was Governor, and I can tell you from personal experience, the Mass DOC got even worse under his rule. As for Obama and the Democrats, more war, more secrecy, more drone attacks and little real help for all the rest of us – unemployed, underemployed, still losing homes, mounting college loans and other bills, and well over 2 million people in prison. One thing is for sure, no Washington politician will secure a better future for the vast majority of the people. Both imperialist parties – Republicans and Democrats – have no plan or intention to change the inherently unequal, unjust, racist and warlike USA capitalist imperialist system. It is time for more activism on all levels – more unity and more direct action and participation of the people. Some time tested slogans seem appropriate and called for now:
Black and white, unite and fight…Less talk, more action…
All Power to the People!
On that thought, we’ll see you in issue 22.
Jaan Laaman, editor
Jaan Karl Laaman
#10372-016
USP Tucson
P.O. Box 24550
Tucson, AZ
USA 85734

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7 December 2012

Veronica Jones Memoir

Witness Helped Expose Mumia Abu-Jamal Frame-Up

“As I lay in a coma for two months in early 2007, I could hear the voices around me.... All I knew was that I wanted to live. I did not want to die, not like this. There’s a lot I want to do and say and have wanted to say for years.” Veronica Jones did live for another three years, and before she died in 2009 at the age of 48, finally got her say in an autobiography as told to her sister Valerie, which was posthumously published earlier this year. Veronica and the Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal is the riveting story of a 20-year-old mother of three and part-time prostitute who was an eyewitness at the scene of the 9 December 1981 murder of Philadelphia police officer Daniel Faulkner. This was the killing for which Mumia Abu-Jamal, a former Black Panther Party spokesman, a MOVE supporter and acclaimed journalist, was falsely accused and sentenced to death. Jones’ personal story cuts a large chunk out of the heart of the racist frame-up and decades-long conspiracy to legally lynch Mumia, an innocent man, or to keep this fighter for the oppressed locked in prison hell for the rest of his life. Several days after Faulkner’s killing, Jones told police she saw two black men run from the scene. Neither of these could have been Mumia, who was found slumped on the sidewalk profusely bleeding from a shot from a policeman’s gun. Jones’ report of two men running away would have been devastating to the prosecution scenario, which is that Mumia “must have” been the one who shot Faulkner because no one else but Mumia and his brother William Cook were on the street corner with Faulkner. But under intense intimidation from the Philly cops, at Mumia’s 1982 trial Jones recanted her account, dealing a blow to his defense. Although several witnesses saw one or more black men flee the scene, almost all of these witnesses’ accounts were kept from Mumia’s jury. However, 14 years later, Jones came forward at a post-conviction hearing and stood up to the prosecutors, cops and “hanging judge” Albert Sabo to explain how the cops had pressured her to lie at the 1982 trial. In retaliation, Sabo and the prosecutors had her arrested on the witness stand and dragged off to jail on the basis of a New Jersey bench warrant (for supposedly trying to pass a bad check!) that had been issued more than two years earlier. Jones defiantly told Sabo’s court: “You think that’s going to make me change my story. It’s not!” Returning to the hearing after being released from jail, Jones demonstratively sat with Mumia’s supporters. In her 1996 post-conviction testimony, Jones revealed how only days before Mumia’s trial, two detectives visited her in jail where she was held facing robbery charges. In her book, she describes how the sadistic cops laughed at her pleas to go to the bathroom, forcing her to urinate on herself. The cops threatened Jones with a long prison sentence on gun possession charges if she didn’t play ball, adding that her three daughters would be taken and placed in foster care. She recalled that one “detective stepped over to me only inches from my face, the whole while staring me directly in the eyes, never taking his eyes away from mine and with a straight face said, ‘We want you to tell the court that Mumia Abu-Jamal is the person that shot Officer Faulkner and we will make those five to fifteen years disappear’.” At trial Jones refused to finger Mumia but denied her initial report that she had seen two men flee the shooting. What she did say, though, was that the cops had offered her the same deal they gave prostitute Cynthia White—to work the streets without cop harassment in exchange for saying that Mumia shot Faulkner. This had the potential to blow the frame-up apart, and for that reason was suppressed by Judge Sabo as “not relevant.” The pressure put on Jones to echo White’s false account underscores the fragility of the prosecution’s case. Cops and prosecutors disappeared evidence exonerating Mumia and manufactured such fake “evidence” as a confession purportedly uttered by Mumia as he lay near death shortly after the shooting—a tale that was concocted by prosecutors and cops two months after Faulkner’s killing. White, the prosecution’s star witness, was the only one to testify seeing Mumia with gun in hand. No other witness even recalled seeing her in the area at the time. In the months leading up to Mumia’s trial, White repeatedly changed her account of what she saw. One reason the cops put intense pressure on Jones was that they feared that White couldn’t keep her fabricated story straight at trial. (For a fuller account and documentation of Mumia’s frame-up, see the 2006 Partisan Defense Committee pamphlet, The Fight to Free Mumia Abu-Jamal—Mumia Is Innocent!) The most dramatic new revelation in Jones’ book is that she was having sex with Faulkner over a period of time before the shooting. In previous testimony, Jones had made clear that she knew Faulkner and that he had helped her. Jones’ book recounts how Faulkner assisted her one night after two other Philly cops viciously raped and robbed her, recalling, “He didn’t seem surprised by my story of what happened that night.” According to her memoirs, they had sex the night of Faulkner’s shooting, when he was in a strange mood as if “something really confidential” was “going to go down out there.” Jones’ account of Faulkner’s frame of mind accords with the situation detailed in the subsequent confession of Arnold Beverly that he, not Mumia, shot and killed Faulkner. Beverly’s 1999 sworn affidavit (one of the documents in the PDC pamphlet) tells how he and another man were hired for the job because Faulkner “was a problem for the mob and corrupt policemen because he interfered with the graft and payoffs made to allow illegal activity” such as prostitution, gambling and drugs. Veronica Jones remained a visible supporter of the fight to free Mumia until her death, and for that she paid a great price. “She was determined to tell the whole story,” Valerie Jones writes in the book’s introduction, “for herself, for her family and above all, for an innocent man on death row. She believed, as I do, that Mumia Abu-Jamal is guilty of nothing except surviving that night and her own experience points to a deliberate police frame-up.” The book concludes, “The state’s determination to execute Mumia impacted the entirety of Veronica’s adult life.” The book includes a foreword by Mumia and a legal afterword by Rachel Wolkenstein, formerly a PDC counsel who was part of Mumia’s legal team in the late 1990s and continues to provide him legal assistance. In 2011, ten years after a ruling by a federal judge overturning Mumia’s death sentence, the Philly district attorney’s office announced that it would not seek to reinstate the death penalty. Mumia, who never should have spent one day in jail, now faces the living death of life in prison without parole. There is no justice in the capitalist courts! Since first taking up Mumia’s defense in 1987, the Spartacist League and the PDC have favored every possible legal action against the frame-up while at the same time stressing that fighters for Mumia’s freedom must place their reliance on the power of mass, labor-centered protest. It will take a workers revolution to smash the greater prison house that is racist American capitalism, opening the road to an egalitarian socialist society. The future American workers state will honor the memory of Veronica Jones for her brave defiance of the executioners in black robes. * * * (reprinted from Workers Vanguard No. 1014, 7 December 2012) Workers Vanguard is the newspaper of the Spartacist League with which the Partisan Defense Committee is affiliated.

7 December 2012 Accused of Lifting Veil on U.S. War Machine Bradley Manning Pretrial Hearing: Drop All Charges! DECEMBER 4—Army private Bradley Manning spoke publicly last week for the first time since he was detained in May 2010 for allegedly handing over a trove of classified documents to WikiLeaks that exposed U.S. imperialism’s schemes and wartime atrocities. Charging Manning with 22 offenses including espionage and “aiding the enemy,” military prosecutors are threatening him with life imprisonment, having decided not to pursue the death penalty. Taking the stand at a hearing on a defense motion to dismiss all charges on the grounds of unlawful pretrial punishment, Manning recounted the torturous conditions of his confinement, which one prison psychologist described as worse than at Guantánamo or on death row. The hearing is continuing as we go to press. The suffering and deprivation inflicted on Manning is meant as a message: the U.S. imperialists will not tolerate any light shed on their workings. This vendetta was also designed to break him so that he would implicate WikiLeaks and its founder Julian Assange, who remains holed up in the Ecuadorian Embassy in London to avoid extradition to the U.S., via Sweden (see “Hands Off Julian Assange!” WV No. 1010, 12 October). In the past week, protests demanding Manning’s freedom have taken place from the court site, Fort Meade near Baltimore, to Berlin and other cities. Last month, Manning offered to accept responsibility for providing, as an act of conscience, at least some of the 250,000 diplomatic cables, 500,000 Army reports from Iraq and Afghanistan and video from Baghdad that WikiLeaks made public. Shortly before Manning testified last week, the presiding military judge accepted the framework that would allow him to plead guilty to some lesser charges, which carry a maximum sentence of 16 years. Manning has not yet filed a formal plea. Even if the plea were to be accepted, Manning still faces trial on the maximum charges unless the case is dismissed and could receive a life sentence if found guilty of only one of them. The court martial is now slated to begin in March. If Manning did make available the material attributed to him in the tentative plea, he provided a major service to working people and the oppressed the world over. In seeking to galvanize proletarian opposition to the capitalist order, we welcome even a slight lifting of the veil on the imperialists’ war machine. The video Manning is accused of leaking shows an Apache helicopter gunning down and killing at least 12 people in Baghdad in 2007, including a Reuters journalist and his driver, while the pilots laugh and gloat. The war logs document 120,000 civilian deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan and a formal military policy of covering up torture, rape and murder. The cables address all manner of lethal operations within U.S. client states, from the “drug war” in Mexico to drone strikes in Yemen. With over 20 supporters attending the court hearing, Manning detailed the depravity of his enraged military jailers. His first two months in custody were spent in what Manning described as an “animal cage” in Kuwait, where he was kept isolated and disoriented. “I just thought I was going to die in that cage,” he told the court. Returned to the U.S., he was thrown into what he called “a shark-attack environment” at the Quantico Marine brig in Virginia, where he was kept for nine months. He spent at least 23 hours a day alone in a six-by-eight-foot cell with no window or natural light, forbidden to exercise, lie down or even lean against a wall if not sleeping. Even when he was allowed to sleep, he was periodically awakened by guards who also subjected him to daily strip searches and forced nudity. Quantico commanders justified their handling of Manning by classifying him first as a “suicide risk” and then putting him on “prevention of injury” status. While Manning had been driven to despair by the unrelenting abuse he suffered in Kuwait, at least 16 official reports from brig psychiatrists at Quantico concluded that Manning was not a threat to himself or others. Nevertheless, his status did not change until he was transferred to Fort Leavenworth in April 2011 amid international condemnation of his treatment. By the admission of the colonel in charge of Quantico at the time, a blind eye was turned to these reports because a staff dentist made assessments more to the liking of the brass! Court documents show that one base commander instructed staff to “do whatever we want” to Manning. The parameters of the torture regime were run up the chain of command to the Pentagon. Meanwhile, the handprint of the White House is all over the case. With a push from the Obama administration, Manning was charged under the 1917 Espionage Act, with the Commander-in-Chief himself declaring last year that Manning “broke the law.” The government is intent on painting a portrait of Manning as a traitor who aided and abetted Al Qaeda, with the judge even giving the go-ahead to prosecutors to introduce the contents of Osama bin Laden’s hard drives. The prosecution does not feel compelled to present evidence that any tangible aid was provided to an “enemy.” Rather, it argues that it is sufficient to establish that Manning knew that U.S. adversaries could access the information that was now in the public domain. Thus Washington equates disclosure of classified information by “whistleblowers,” journalists or anyone else with treason. And by the lights of the “war on terror,” an “enemy” could mean virtually any opponent of the U.S. government. It is the norm for the imperialists to accompany their depredations around the world with official silence and secret dealings. In 2011 alone, U.S. officials classified more than 92 million documents. Revolutionary leader Leon Trotsky observed in November 1917: “Imperialism, with its dark plans of conquest and its robber alliances and deals, developed the system of secret diplomacy to the highest level.” Opponents of imperialist occupations and war must be won to the understanding that it will require a series of socialist revolutions around the world to put an end to the capitalist order, which maintains itself through systematic violence and lies.  * * * (reprinted from Workers Vanguard No. 1014, 7 December 2012) Workers Vanguard is the newspaper of the Spartacist League with which the Partisan Defense Committee is affiliated.

 

***Those Oldies But Goodies- Folk Branch- Bob Dylan’s “Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues”-With Juana In Mind

Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues Lyrics

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez

And it's Eastertime too

And your gravity fails

And negativity don't pull you through

Don't put on any airs

When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue

They got some hungry women there

And they really make a mess outa you.



Now if you see Saint Annie

Please tell her thanks a lot

I cannot move

My fingers are all in a knot

I don't have the strength

To get up and take another shot

And my best friend, my doctor

Won't even say what it is I've got.



Sweet Melinda

The peasants call her the goddess of gloom

She speaks good English

And she invites you up into her room

And you're so kind

And careful not to go to her too soon

And she takes your voice

And leaves you howling at the moon.



Up on Housing Project Hill

It's either fortune or fame

You must pick up one or the other

Though neither of them are to be what they claim

If you're lookin' to get silly

You better go back to from where you came

Because the cops don't need you

And man they expect the same.



Now all the authorities

They just stand around and boast

How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms

Into leaving his post

And picking up Angel who

Just arrived here from the coast

Who looked so fine at first

But left looking just like a ghost.



I started out on burgundy

But soon hit the harder stuff

Everybody said they'd stand behind me

When the game got rough

But the joke was on me

There was nobody even there to bluff

I'm going back to New York City

I do believe I've had enough.

******
“United States," answered Fritz Taylor to the burly “la migra” U.S. border guard who was whip-lashing the question of nationality a mile a minute at the steady stream of border-entering people, and giving a cursory nod to all but the very most suspect looking characters, the most illegal Mexican- looking if you want to know. Yes, American, Fritz thought, Fritz John Taylor if they looked at his passport, his real passport, although he had other identification with names like John Fitzgerald, Taylor Fitzgerald, and John Tyler on them, as he passed the huge "la migra” U.S. Border Patrol checkpoint at El Paso on the American side across from old-time Cuidad Juarez, Mexico. Juarez, a city in passing that March, 1972 day that looked very much like something out of Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil, except the automobiles were smaller and less flashy and the graft now more expensive, and no longer guaranteed to grease the rails, the illegal rails; drugs, women, illegals, gambling, fenced goods, you name it. But just then he didn’t want to think about greasing any rails, or anything else illegal for that matter.

Fritz thought again, this time with easier breathing, whether "la migra” had looked at his passport or not, he was glad, glad as hell, to be saying his nationality, his American, gringo, Estados Unidos, call it what you will citizenship, something he never thought possible, not after Vietnam, not after all the shooting and killing of his thirteen month tour of hell (one month R&R included, a month where he thought he must have set the world record for boozing, dope-sniffing from opium to cocaine to brother and sister, reefer was the least of it, whoring, some paid some free what did it matter when a man had his wanting habits on, whoring running through the Kama Sutra and a couple of other tricks not listed in that volume that one of the girls, a white girl too from respectable parents back on the mainland who was looking for kicks, odd-ball kicks and found a partner, for a while, willing to indulge her, Angelica her name, ask her how she got that tattoo on her upper inner thigh and why, if you ever run across her in Lima, Ohio) except these last three weeks down south of the border had been almost as bad, and no more profitable, Fritz profitable. Now that he breathed gringo air, American air he could tell his story, or tell parts of it because he was not quite sure that parts might not still be inside the statute of limitations, for him or his former confederates. So some stuff was better left unsaid.

Yah, it started in ‘Nam really, Fritz thought, as he traced his life-sized movements back in time while he started for a bus, a gringo bright yellow and green El Paso Transit bus that would take him to a downtown hotel where he could wash the dust of Mexico, wash that clotting dust of the twenty hour bus ride from Cuernavaca off his body, if not his soul. Hell, he confessed to himself, a thing he would be very reluctant to mention to others, others impressed by his publicly impervious persona, if it hadn’t been 'Nam, it could have been any one of a thousand places, or hundred situation a few years back, back when he first caught the mary jane, ganga, herb, weed, call your name joy stick delight habit, tea was his favorite term of rite though. Or, maybe, it really started in dead-end Clintondale when he graduated from high school and with nothing particular to do, allowed himself, chuckling a little to hear him call it that way now, allowed himself to be drafted when his number came up. And drafted, 1960s drafted, meant nothing but 'Nam, nothing but 'Nam and grunt-hood, and that thirteen months of hell, minus one. And maybe, just maybe, it was even earlier than Clintondale high school days, and the hard fact that he grew up, grew up desperately poor, in the Clintondale back alley projects and so had spent those precious few years of his life hungry, hungry for something, something easy, something sweet, and something to take the pain away.

But mainly he was looking for something easy. And that something easy pushed him, pushed him like the hard fates of growing up poor, down Mexico way, down Sonora way, mostly, as his liked to hum from a vaguely remembered song on any one of his twenty or so trips down sur. Until, that is, this last Cuernavaca madness, this time there was no humming, no sing-song Mexican brass band marching humming. But stop right there, Fritz said to himself, if he was ever going to figure what went wrong, desperately wrong on this last, ill-fated trip, he had to come clean and coming clean meant, you know, not only was it about the get to easy street, not only was it to get some tea delight to chase the soul pain away, but it was about a woman, and as every guy, every women-loving guy, even honest women-loving guy, will tell you, in the end it is always about a woman.

Hard-hearted Irish Catholic Cecilias like he knew, backwards and forwards, from kid time or some other combinations foxed out later but a woman, no question. Although not always about a woman named Juana, his sweet Juana. Although, maybe the way she left him hanging by his thumbs in Mexico City before the fall, not knowing, or maybe caring, of his danger, he should be a little less forgiving. Yah, that’s easy to say, easy off the hellish now tongue, but this was Juana not just some hop-head floozy.

Jesus, he could still smell that sweetness, that exotic Spanish sweetness, that rose something fragrance she always wore (and don’t tell her if you run into her down Sonora way, and you will if you are looking for grade A dope for sure, drove him as crazy as a loon), that smell of her freshly-washed black hair which got all wavy, naturally wavy, and big so that she looked like some old-time Goya senorita, all severe front but smoldering underneath. And those big laughing eyes, yah, black eyes you won’t forget, or want to. Yes, his thoughts drifted back to Juana, treacherously warm-blooded Juana. And it seems almost sacrilegious thinking of her, sitting on this stinking, hit every bump, crowded, air-fouling bus filled with “wetbacks,” sorry, braceros, okay, going to work, or wherever they go when they are not on these stinking buses.

Yah, Juana, Juana whom he met in Harvard Square when he first got back to the world and was looking to deep-six the memories of that 'Nam thing, deep-six it with dope, mope, cope, and some woman to chase his blues away. And there she was sitting on a bench in Cambridge Common wearing some wild seventy-two colored ankle-length dress that had him mesmerized, that and that rose something fragrance. But that day, that spring 1970 day, what Juana-bonded him was the dope she was selling, selling right there in the open like it was some fresh produce (and it was). Cops no too far off but not bothering anyone except the raggedy drunks, or some kid who took too much acid and they needed to practically scrape him off the Civil War monument that centered the park and get him some medical attention, quick.

See Juana, daughter of fairly well-to-do Mexican “somebodies,” needed dough to keep herself in style. Fritz never did get the whole story straight but what was down in Sonora well-to-do was nada in the states. She needed dough, okay, just like any gringa dame. And all of that was just fine by Fritz but Juana was also “connected,” connected through some cousin, to the good dope, the Acapulco Gold and Colombian Red that was primo stuff. Not the oregano-laced stuff that was making the rounds of the Eastern cities and was strictly for the touristas, for the week-end warrior hippies who flooded Harvard Square come Saturday night. So Juana was to good tea like Owsley was to the acid scene, the maestro.

Fitz thought back, as that rickety old bus moved along heading, twenty-seven-stop heading, downtown trying to be honest, honest through that dope-haze rose smell, that black hair and those laughing eyes (and that hard-loving midnight sex they both craved when they were high as kites) about whether it was all that or just the dope in the beginning. Yah, it was the Columbia Red at first. He was just too shattered, 'Nam and Clintondale shattered, to know when he had a woman for the ages in his grasp. But he got “religion”fast. Like every religion though, godly or womanly, there is a price to pay, paid willingly or not, and that price was to become Juana’s “mule” on the Mexico drug runs.

To keep the good dope in stock you had to be willing to make some runs down south of the border. If not, by the time it got to say some New York City middle man, it had been cut so much you might as well have been smoking tea leaves. He could hear himself laugh when she first said that tea leave thing in her efforts to enlist him. But Fritz had religion, Juana religion, and he went off on that first trip eyes wide open. And that was probably the problem because it went off without a hitch. Hell, he brought a kilogram over the border in his little green knapsack acting just like any other tourist buying a cheap serape or something.

And like a lot of things done over and over again the trips turned into a routine, a routine though that did not take into consideration some of the greater not-knowing, maybe not knowable things, although he now had his suspicions, things going on, like the cartelization of the international drug trade, like the squeeze out of the small unaffiliated tea ladies and placing them as mere employees like some regular corporate structure bad trip. But the biggest thing was Juana, Juana wanted more and more dough, and that meant bigger shipments, which meant more Fritz risk, and later Fritz and Tommy risk (rest his soul down in some Cuernavaca back alley). And on this last trip it mean no more friendly Sonora lazy, hazy, getting high off some free AAA perfecto weed after the deal was made and then leisurely taking a plane (a plane for chrissakes) from some Mexican city to Los Angeles, or Dallas, depending on the connections. And then home.

This time, this time the deal was going down in Cuernavaca, in a church, or rather in some side room of a church, Santa Maria’s Chapel, in downtown Cuernavaca, maybe you know it if you have been there it's kind of famous. Fritz didn’t like the switch, but only because it was out of the routine. What he didn’t know, and what his connections on the other side should have known (and maybe did, but he was not thinking about that part right that minute) was that the Federales, instead of chasing Pancho Villa’s ghost like they should have been doing, were driving hard (prompted by the gringo DEA) to close down Cuernavaca, just then starting to become the axis of the cartels further south.

And what he also didn’t know, until too late, was that Juana, getting some kind of information from some well-connected source in the states, had fled to Mexico, first Mexico City where he met here to make connections further south, and then to her hometown of Sonora he heard later. So when the deal in Cuernavaca went sour, after he learned at the almost the last minute that the deal was “fixed,” he headed Norte on the first bus, first to Mexico City and then to El Paso. And here he was, now alighting from that yellow green bus, ready to walk into that fresh soap. And as he got off he staggered for a minute, staggered in some kind of fog, as he “smelled,” smelled, that rose fragrance something in the air. Fritz said to himself, yah, I guess it's still like that with Juana. If you see her tell her Fritz said hello.