A prisoners grief

 

My people! As you might know I recently lost my father on March 13th 2009. Needless to say it was a very painful time for my family and me. But: are you aware how painful it is to grieve all alone and what it does to you?

 

After I was “kidnapped” (for more info see ”Zulu’s Statement’ at www.myspace.com/awhw) in 1975 by the contemporary slave-catcher-cops I had just celebrated my 20th birthday. I come from a big family: sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunties and uncles, grandparents. My mother – may she rest in peace – was a young woman of 45 back then, my father 49, younger than I am now. My grandmother was 70 years old.

 

Since being held behind enemy lines I have lost nearly 2 generations of family members, starting with my mother in January 1976. This was really devastating. Not only did I have to grieve all alone for the first time in my life, but also at the same time I had to endure being beaten by guards and racial slurs. They took me out of the cellblock to the clothing room to dress up for my mother’s funeral. I did not get to my mother’s funeral. My family was told, “the paper work was misplaced”. It was a set up and a deliberate and cruel action to even unbalance me more than I already was. 

 

The grieve over the loss of my mother and not being allowed to go and see her for the last time nearly drove me insane. It took me several years to get over the pain for not being able to get to that church. Strangely enough I also felt guilty, because I couldn’t do anything to attend her funeral. On top of that I had to deal with attacks and death threats of prison guars. Mind you: at the time of my mother’s death I was awaiting trial, so the presumption of being innocent didn’t mean a thing.

 

After losing my mother I thought it had prepared me for all that was to come. I had my grand mother, 7 aunties and 6 uncles. My favourite uncle, uncle Pasco, passed in 1989. After that my grandmother, who had come to see me once a month until she developed life threatening health problems at the age of 85, died in 1991. Then one after another all of my aunties, uncles, cousins and a nephew died. And through it all I have not been allowed once to attend a funeral. Not because it’s Angola’s policy to not allow prisoners to go on funeral trips, but just because I was a member of the Angola Chapter of the Black Panther Party. Guys in my housing area go on funeral trips all the time.

 

Then my father, whom I had just had a wonderful visit with on Saturday February 28, suffered a tragic accident. While getting ready for church, his bathrobe caught fire while he was warming him self in front of the heater.  60 % of his body was burned. He died March 13th 2009. My family wanted me to come to the funeral. My sister said “Daddy served his country and worked for the state for 26 years”. My family called the warden’s office and requested that I be brought to the funeral, but I knew the administration wouldn’t pass on the chance to land one more blow. The warden denied their request and told them his decision didn’t have anything to do with politics – it was due to my housing status: Confined Cell Restriction.

 

My dad was the last member of the Whitmore family of nearly two generations back. The day after my dad’s funeral my son and sisters came to visit me. We cried, hugged, talked about fun memories of out parents and grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. For the fist time in 35 years I had the opportunity to grieve and heal with my family, be it during a prison visit. All the pain of losing a generation of loved ones fell with the tears cried in the visiting room. It felt great. I feel great.

 

I hurt, I cry, I grieve just like other human beings. I am innocent. However, my captors have labelled me a criminal, scum and a murderous animal. They denied the child I used to be to attend his mother’s funeral. They denied the grown up man I am to attend his last living parent’s funeral. If I had done so I would not be able to look at my self and call my self a human being.

 

Prison, your dehumanising labels do not define me. Although I am held illegally in prison, prison will never be held in me.

 

Kenny Zulu Whitmore

86468 RC CCR u/c tier

Louisiana State Prison

Angola, LA 70712

USA