CHAPTER 13:

THAT NEXT CHAPTER: A RETROSPECTIVE

An autumn afternoon in Baltimore, in Eddie Conway’s office at The Real News Network. The general affect is amiable, scattered, politically engaged. There’s a desk, stacks of papers, a couple of chairs, a slightly worn couch. On the walls, a picture of the revolutionary, Assata Shakur, a sign about an old Black Panther Party “Free Food Program,” an updated 1971 print by Panther artist Emory Douglas of a Black woman shouting/singing/crying “Hallelujah!” Over in the corner several boxes of clothes are ready for distribution at the Sandtown-Winchester projects in West Baltimore.

Eddie leans comfortably back behind his desk in a swivel chair. Paul Coates sits nearby, on a battered office chair.

EDDIE: How would I sum up my friendship with Paul? I don’t know if I should rag on Paul. He’s an old man. What I do remember was, “This guy’s like me. Serious, like I’m serious.” Because I’d been dealing with so many knuckleheads, for want of a better terminology. I don’t know when our first encounter happened, but I felt like, “OK, I can work with this guy.”

PAUL: He said that so nice. I feel like saying something nice back about him. But my memory was I didn’t like him much. [Eddie’s laughing] Like I’ve said before, Eddie was exerting his Panther-ness, you know—and I didn’t like that. But we didn’t see each other much before he was incarcerated.

The moment he went to jail, it was “brother.” We could hear each other, we could talk to each other. I never had to worry about him not being his word. A lot of joy came out of that. He was my comrade—that was absolutely the bonding thing—he was my comrade.

Probably what he’s taught me the most is the ability to keep going—just to keep going. I’d visit him and he’d be, “Hey man, what’s up?”

I knew it was hard; every day it was hard, but Eddie had an ability not to drape that on me. He wasn’t trying to put pounds on me as I walked out the door. His dealing with incarceration in a way that made our visits about our visits always fascinated me. I don’t think I could do that. The other piece is his charismatic self, and his ability to speak to even the crazies in a nice manner. Whereas, I’m saying, “Get the fuck away from me,” in every language I can.

We were out at some rally recently [starts laughing], and this guy—General Whatever-the-Hell-His-Name-Is—I mean he actually thinks he’s a general because he was in the Black Panther Party for three months or something? Eddie was talking to him, but I’m saying, “Nawww …”

EDDIE: He had three stars, an air horn, Navy Seal jacket.

PAUL: Every time he got a chance at the mic, he was saying, “You all need to follow me!” Eddie was talking to him real respectful. That’s how he does people. That’s part of his charisma.

EDDIE: [Eddie’s laughing, too] Red, black, and green, right? An ex-Panther?

PAUL: But look, I think it’s important not to be afraid of saying negative things about the Panthers. Because the Panther Party has moved into a degree of myth. Things that are bad about the Party just don’t get discussed. The Free Breakfast Program, and how many bags of food we gave away, etcetera, gets the attention. That’s myth-making.

EDDIE: Yeah. Romanticizing the whole thing. That’s what I tell people. To look at the Panthers and think it was a beautiful thing is OK. But know that underneath, there was pain and suffering and sorrow and poverty and hunger and all the rest.

Like, Paul, we went out to that Fiftieth Anniversary of the Black Panther Party in Oakland [2016], right? Would you say that anything got resolved there about COINTELPRO and all that government surveillance?

PAUL: None of that happened. Not in a substantial way.

EDDIE: Yeah. You had an anniversary, a reunion.¹ There were workshops and discussions about where we’ve been or where we are now, but this was not political. “Come and eat the fried chicken. See how many of your comrades are still alive. And make sure you don’t beat each other up.”

PAUL: What you’re saying is very true. Think of it like a family reunion. You’re not going to litigate about how you-know-who got what when they shouldn’ta got it. You might say behind their back, “So and so’s always got away with stuff and they still do.” But you’re not going to bring it up to so-and-so.

EDDIE: Right now, though, the important thing for me is telling our stories. Giving a voice to people that have no voice.

PAUL: For me, it’s my grandchildren. I spent a lot of time thinking outward, you know, of Black people. And now I’m blessed that I have the opportunity and the health to work with, once again, some hardheaded boys. I got the girls, too, but the girls are not hardheaded. I have an opportunity to influence them all in a way that they can go on and change the world.

There was an incident when one of my grandsons jumped a turnstile in DC. It was very, very disappointing. I know he has a lot of promise, but at the same time, it’s an opportunity to talk to him—for about an hour? [Laughs]

I’m talking about that one incident, but really it’s about how he carries himself in the world, his impact on other people, his consideration for his mother, for his uncles, for himself. The power of his embarrassment and making him see that people are not proud of him. How important is that lesson?

I’m telling him, “You will write this up, acknowledge what you did and its impact on other people in your life.” Of course, I had my other grandson there, listening to this. So I switch over to the other one, who’s thinking this is not about him. I say, “I want you to do this, too, about your schoolwork, because you’re being an idiot there, much in the same way.”

I’m still going to publish books. I’m going to deal with that Black consciousness out there, but joy? Is being able to be with these kids up close. Not trying to make up for what I did as a father, but doing it maybe a little different. A little less uptight, a little less thinking that the world was going to end if I didn’t get it right. I get great joy out of that.

EDDIE: That’s what I miss. I miss that whole piece of my life. What you just said about raising kids.

When I was in prison, I had a visit with my son Ronald, maybe once a week, but those visits stopped after a while. Once a week is not enough, so that whole piece—molding and shaping and sharing and learning and growing together—is gone. Losing that is part of the damage of long-term incarceration. It is a piece of genocide—and it’s all over the Black community. Check out that definition of genocide in the United Nations Charter.² That’s one of the pieces, yeah.

So I’m still learning to be a grandparent. It’s not easy, and part of the damage of prison is that it makes you self-contained. You’re self-centered, whether you like it or not—“I got this; I’m good.” You’re in your own world, so it’s hard to reach out and share. But that’s what being a parent, or grandparent, means. That’s something I’m learning.

Let me say this, too. All that time I did was hard time, you know. Every day—you know this—every day you do inside is hard time. I had so many other people inside relying on me as an example. I had to carry that hard time on my shoulders. I’m surprised, in fact, when people, who are not political or not spiritual, don’t do drugs, don’t drink, or do everything they can do to escape, do their time. It’s hard to do hard time on a natural. You’re always facing that reality.

PAUL: But with all of that, Eddie never made me feel like it was my responsibility to get him out of there. Never.

EDDIE: I want to add something to Paul, now. You know, I thought I was smart when I came back from Europe and joined the Panther Party. I thought I knew what was going on. But what I learned from Paul over the years—and this wasn’t an easy thing—was critical thinking.

To realize that I wasn’t smart at all, but to realize that I didn’t have to be. I just had to know how to find out the things I wanted to know, ’cause I couldn’t know everything. Conversation after conversation with Paul, I would over-generalize and look at the surface. And Paul would say, “Well, yeah, part of that’s good. But the piece I take from that …” He would make me look at things differently. So, over the years—and I’m still a student, I’m still working on it—I developed a way of looking at stuff a lot more critical.

But the other piece I take away is honest, righteous love for somebody. I couldn’t have had a biological brother like Paul—I mean, this is the brother you would choose, you know? So a piece of him and me is loyalty, but a piece of it is integrity.

PAUL: Mm-hmm. That’s the piece I’m speaking back to you. To sit in front of somebody and to know that that person is not going to lie to you. It’s invaluable. It draws you in further, and that’s a bond. An immeasurable bond.

Even though we don’t hang out much these days. This guy disses me all the time. I have to say, “Hey man, can I get on your schedule?”

EDDIE: Naw, his schedule is just as bad. He was an hour late getting here, that’s evidence.

PAUL: Yeah. We’ll definitely reach out and talk, but we won’t do it every day. I just know he’s going somewhere, doing something. Every day he does that—every day he’s out here living this new life—he is fulfilling on a promise that he and I made to so many people.

“When Eddie comes out, he’s going to be a force of good in our community.”

I can hear myself saying that over and over. I have seen so many people come out of jail and not do it, so there’s relief and there’s joy. There’s also a great freedom for me.

I just never knew how much Eddie being in jail shaped my life. There really isn’t a Paul Coates without a Black Classic Press. That’s my life, and if I’m to be remembered outside my family, it’s that. Well, there isn’t a Black Classic Press without Eddie. The press was conceived inside of a commitment to Eddie and other political prisoners, so now, I get to look at that. It’s not like I’m looking at him dead in the ground and saying, “It’s closure.” This is closure where you go on to the next chapter. And Eddie’s writing that next chapter.

He and I argue sometimes. Like about organizing events, whether there should be a fried chicken dinner, or whether the coffee is being brewed correctly. We bump heads, because we’re both strong personalities. It doesn’t matter; Eddie’s just crazy. [Laughter]

EDDIE: It’s funny. I was sifting through that as he was talking, right? There was certainly tremendous pain in the prison. There was that experience of not being able to go to your mama’s funeral, not being able to watch your kids and nieces and nephews grow up. There was pain of having that door shut on you all the time. But the day I walked in, I walked in working. And the day I walked out, I walked out working. There was never any disconnect from who I was. It’s just a relief that that cage is not here.

So yeah. I guess now I’m working on that next chapter.