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<a href="http://www.counterpunch.org/jacobs04272011.html" eudora="autourl">
http://www.counterpunch.org/jacobs04272011.html<br><br>
</a></font><font size=2 color="#990000">April 27, 2011<br><br>
</font><h1><font face="Times New Roman, Times" size=4><b>Eddie Conway's
Story<br><br>
</i></font><font face="Times New Roman, Times" size=5 color="#990000">A
Doomed Man?</b></font></h1><font face="Times New Roman, Times" size=4>By
RON JACOBS<br><br>
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<dl>
<dd><font size=3>"</b>The first lesson a revolutionary must learn is
that he is a doomed man." <br><br>
<dd>--Huey Newton<br><br>
</i>
</dl>For as long as I can remember, Baltimore has had the reputation as a
corrupt and tough town. City Hall is known as a cashbox for the thieves
that run it. The cops are no-nonsense and care little about the
Bill of Rights, especially when dealing with the city's poor and
non-white residents. Neighborhoods are closed societies that one is
hesitant to walk through unless he is a resident. The demarcations
between the wealthy and poorer neighborhoods are enforced, often quite
forcefully, by the police. When I worked at an IHOP in the
mid-1970s about twenty miles outside of Baltimore I would occasionally
end up in a certain after hours club in one of the city's rougher
sections. I was often the only white male in the room, although
there were often several white women. The guys I was hanging with
made sure that nobody screwed with me, but my safety (or anyone else's)
was never guaranteed. There was a fellow I drank with there who I
used to talk politics with. He claimed to be a former member of the
Baltimore Black Panthers and talked a lot about Panther member Marshall
Eddie Conway, who had been in prison since 1970 on a very
questionable conviction.<br><br>
It was with this memory in mind that I recently read
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1849350221/counterpunchmaga">
Marshall Law: The Life and Times of a Baltimore Black
Panther</a>.</i> This memoir describes Conway's early life in
Baltimore, his introduction to the Black Panthers, his eventual arrest
and conviction for murder, and his life in prison since then. The
details of the case, like so many cases against Black Panthers, are
sketchy and based on the testimony of an informant who was only brought
in when the prosecutor saw how weak the case against Conway was. In
fact, Conway's arrest was the result of a tip from an informant who was
never identified and whose existence has never been verified. At
the time of his arrest Conway was working at the US Post Office.
The Baltimore chapter of the Panthers had already been the target of
intense law enforcement surveillance and infiltration under the aegis of
the COINTELPRO program. A show trial based on the indictments drawn
up from this surveillance resulted in no convictions and the dismissal of
the charges. During Conway's trial for murder, no physical evidence
was ever presented that linked him to the crime scene. Police
officers at the scene could not positively identify Conway and he was
denied representation by a lawyer of his choice. The prosecution
relied primarily on a supposed jailhouse confession that Conway claims
did not occur. He maintains his innocence to this day.<br><br>
There is another aspect to this story. It is Conway's commitment to
revolutionary struggle, self improvement and the betterment of others
whose lives and circumstances have brought them to prison. Unlike
so many Americans, Conway has always opposed drugs, in large part because
they destroy communities and lives. His politics have enabled him to stay
free of drugs and the associated business. This story of a young
black man railroaded into prison because of his race and politics does
not end with that sentence. The reader is presented with Conway's
life inside the Maryland prison system. Lockdowns, fires, riots and
the daily grind of so much of one's physical activity being controlled by
others. While reading Marshall Law</i> I was constantly reminded of
Bob Dylan's lines from the ballad "George Jackson":
"Sometimes I think that this world/Is one big prison yard./Some of
us are prisoners and some of us are guards." As Conway learned
and explains through his tale, freedom is not only a physical concept but
also an existential state.<br><br>
In prose both concise and personal, Eddie Conway's memoir is essentially
a story about hope. Here is a man who has been in prison for forty
years for a crime many people are convinced he did not commit, yet he
maintains a realistic optimism in his situation and that of the
world. The hope he maintains is not one based on some
pie-in-the-sky scheme. Instead, it is based on a practical
understanding of the merits and rewards of political organizing. As
Conway tells the reader, those merits are not only seen in the programs
and other results brought to life by political organizing, they are also
seen in the personal meaning they give to those doing the
organizing. From the Black Panthers community breakfast programs he
was involved in to the various programs he helped organize in the
Maryland prison system, Conway proves the values of organizing again and
again.<br>
<br>
Marshall Eddie Conway remains in prison. His case is one of many
that is supported by a number of prisoner support organizations including
the <a href="http://www.thejerichomovement.com/">Jericho
Movement</a>. Many of the prisoners involved are considered
political prisoners since the circumstances of their arrests and
convictions are the result of their political activities. Indeed,
some are clearly the result of frameups by law enforcement. Most of
these prisoners have spent considerably more time in prison than other
men and women serving time for similar crimes but not known for their
political convictions. It is clear from reading Marshall Law: The
Life and Times of a Baltimore Black Panther</i> that should he achieve
his freedom, he will not compromise his beliefs to do so. This may
be why he remains locked up.<br><br>
Ron Jacobs</b> is author of
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1859841678/counterpunchmaga">
The Way the Wind Blew: a History of the Weather Underground</a> and
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0977459098/counterpunchmaga">
Short Order Frame Up</a>. Jacobs' essay on Big Bill Broonzy is featured
in CounterPunch's collection on music, art and sex,
<a href="http://www.easycarts.net/ecarts/CounterPunch/CP_Books.html">
Serpents in the Garden</a>. His new novel is
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0983206309/counterpunchmaga">
The Co-Conspirator's Tale</a>. He can be reached at:
<a href="mailto:rjacobs3625@charter.net">rjacobs3625@charter.net</a>
<br><br>
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