[Ppnews] Hasan Shakur by Chucky Mamou, also on death row

Political Prisoner News ppnews at freedomarchives.org
Fri Sep 15 14:03:15 EDT 2006

Charles "Chucky Mamou" is incarcerated on Texas' death row Polunsky 
Unit, and did work with Hasan Shakur, organizer and activist murdered 
by the state of Texas Aug. 31, 2006.

Keep the struggle alive!

My Friend Hasan shakur, his final days
by charles mamou
texas death row

For two decades, my eyes knew not a tear, because for two decades I 
have never cried, I was raised a child-man and was taught that real 
men don't cry, they don't hug or hold hands, and they sure don't kiss.

But on August 31st, 2006 around 6:40 pm, I impatiently listened to 
KDOL radio station, praying that I will hear news of my brother's 
stay. I broke down and cried when Joy announced that my brother and 
best friend Derrick Frazier aka Hasan Shakur was murdered via 
execution by the state of Texas.
Within a faint second, thousands of memories flashed thru my mind of 
Hasan, and his silly laugh.  His son, his wife Debbie, his family, 
and his hopes and dreams all quickly overloaded my emotions, and then 
my tears fell like rain drops.

Hasan was a real cool guy, some didn't know him, but I loved him, and 
if anyone knew him, knew his inner self, it was hard not to love him.

My oldest daughter's mother once told me, "Chucky, don't get close to 
any of them on death row." Her reasoning was reality in a sense that 
this is Death Row, and conflict of emotional interest will always 
negate those that live, and how the living respond to those who 
die.  Truth is, at first, I wasn't fond of Hasan. I respected him but 
wasn't fond of him. I remember when I first met him, he was in the 
dayroom and all he did was laugh that silly laugh of his. At that 
time I was very anti sociable, his laughter was the DNA to his 
character.  That's who he was, and when he and I ended up outside a 
week later, my ignorance was shattered by his charismatic being. He 
had a gentle spirit, very educated and very determined to right all 
that was wrong. I was smitten by his agenda, by his pure 
intentions.  Newton's law of physics was correct in that opposites do 
attract. After all Hasan was Muslim and I am not, He was socially 
connected, and I wasn't.

In Hasan's mind, he wanted to save every prisoner in every prison, 
and I didn't. He believed that even a snake could be tamed. But 
through our differences we bonded like soul mates brothers. We 
accepted each other as we were and our love was our respect for one 
another.  Our relationship was in fact, perfect. Even when we 
disagreed and argued, we did so in private like men are supposed to 
do. We were not here to entertain others.

He showed me a bunch of loosed typed written paper that he had 
gathered, It was suppose to be a newsletter that he called Operation 
LIFE. I gave him ideas for a cover to make it interesting to the 
readers' eyes, and what type of articles would be interesting, and 
even the notion that he could make a profit from the sales.  Of 
course, he was taken back at my ideas, and insisted that I be his 
partner and that my voice be heard (thus the birth of Free Yo Mind 
began). I was reluctant and told him no, I didn't mind writing some 
articles for him, but I did not want the spotlight thing, so he said cool.

But folks, let me tell you what he did, he borrowed a photo of me 
without me knowing and placed it on the article I had wrote.  All his 
penpals was encouraged to write to me, before then I did did not 
write to any penpals by choice. He plastered my info all on his 
website. He had his family contact mine, he sent my daughters and 
mother gifts and wrote them some inspirational letters.  This was and 
is the Hasan that grows on people. The loving caring and the "you 
before me" mentality that he continued to display is the man that 
burst my eye glands into tears. Because this boy Hasan was indeed special.

I have yet to meet any of his caliber here on death row or in the 
free world.  Every good hearted penpal I have now I owe it all to 
him.  The hope of freedom that I now have, I owe it all to him. The 
emotional being that I have now become, I owe it to him. Because real 
men do cry when real men die.  Not only is it natural, it's a way to 
pay homage to those that inspired you.

Sadly to admit, Hasan "knew" he was going to be murdered, his fate 
had nothing to do with legalese, nor hope. It was centered around his 
I think spiritually we all know when our time here on earth is 
up.   And that's what was driving me crazy the week leading to his 
murder, because I was not prepared nor ready to say goodbye to my 
brother. As much as I like to talk, I could not muster a vowel in his 
direction, I became mute. I realized I had got too close to him like 
my baby's momma warned me not to do.  I wished I could have been in 
his cell with him, because I would have gladly fought side by side 
with him. if he die so would I have. But such thoughts only 
frustrates me even more, because the truth of the matter is "there 
wasn't a damn thing I could have physically done to aid him" And it 
pained me to be so close to him, yet so vulnerable to assist him.

What could I do to let him know that I love him, On August 30th, 
2006, I laid on my bunk, dozed off. I was supposed to go to rec in a 
dayroom, I didn't want to. The officer didn't argue with me, he just 
told me go in my own dayroom later instead of now.  I then had a 
vision and in it I was given a chance to hug Hasan and kiss him on 
the forehead. This is what my vision showed me, which any physical 
contact by any death row parties is prohibit, so I brushed the vision off.

Then I went to rec, and as soon as i got in the dayroom, Hasan comes 
through the door escorted by two officers, coming back from visit. We 
locked eyes immediately and he says in a low tone, "Road dawg, I got 
some good news and some bad news."  But in my mind, I was like "this 
is exactly how my vision showed me. Do I bite my tongue and say and 
do nothing or should I try??"

I yelled out to him he was about ten feet away from me, telling him 
to come give me a hug. He seemed shocked that I told him to do so, 
but he began to come my way, even though the officers was puling him 
away, and once he was in my grasp, I grabbed him through the bars and 
held him in a bear hug, refusing to let go. We both needed that hug, 
that humane affection that has been deprived from us since 2000. 
Sometimes a simple human to human touch is all the heart needs to 
grow fonder. I held for a solid minute although it felt longer and in 
logic wasn't long enough.

His voice crackled with emotion and he told me he loved me, he told 
me to promise him that I would do all that I could to regain my 
freedom.  Verbally speaking, I had never told my dad nor any other 
man that I loved them, But on this day I easily told Hasan that I 
loved him and meant it. And I guaranteed him that I would put my foot 
in the system's ass to regain my freedom or die trying.

As soon as the officers broke up our reunion, I saw the tear from in 
Hasan's eyes, no more words was needed to be said. With that one hug, 
all was said and done, and in a gift giving way I thank god for 
"altering " time in order for my vision to become a closure-felt 
experience for the both of us.

Even now my eyes is beginning to wet-up because in Hasan's final 
hours, he still was worried about my well-being and my chance at freedom.

On September 1st, 2006, I was given a few sodas and candy and two 
packages. Inside the package was a card and a note. The card had 
Hasan's photo on it stating his date of birth and his death.  The 
note was humorous and I smiled as my tears dropped unto the note. 

He had given these items to another inmate on the day of his 
execution with instructions to give them to me in the event that he was killed.

Hasan, I love you, my family loves you, and I do believe you are in 
Heaven now bothering God with that silly laugh, still trying to help somebody.

Hasan Shakur, I will make you proud.



Charles 'Chucky' Mamou Jr. #999333
3872 FM 350 South
Livingston, Texas 77351

The Freedom Archives
522 Valencia Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 863-9977
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