A Condemned King Held in the Tower

Many thousand gone and the show goes on and on. Nothing can be done for George Jackson and the five other men who died with him in San Questin. Nor can anything be done for the 43 cadavers carried out of Attica. Theirs was a final exit. But the irrational drama in which they once participated continues--in California, where on the basis of the testimony of 25 witnesses (all of whom were guards) a Marin County grand jury has indicted seven San Questin cons for conspiracy in the killings of the five dead whites--in New York, where a special ultra-maximum security lock-up has been proposed for "revolutionary" inmates--and in Boston, where Malik Hakim, a-k-a Albert Bradford, awaits what may well be his final exit.

I

Malik Hakim lay in his bed in the jail ward of Boston City Hospital. A young black woman sat in a chair beside him, her head and body bent forward as if to allow her to physically absorb what he was saying.

Hakim spoke quietly, punctuating his words with whichever hand he was not using to prop up his head. Finally, he stopped talking and leaned back against the pillows piled at the head of his bed. The woman bent further forward, kissed him on the cheek and then walked over to the jail ward's wire-mesh door. As a red headed state policeman negotiated the lock, the young woman looked back at the bed where Malik Hakim, torn tendons in both his legs, lay. Hakim touched his dark, long-fingered hands together, and inclined his head towards them and her with an air of silent benevolence.

After the young woman left, the red-headed guard stepped inside the room Hakim shared with a white prisoner. Hakim and the guard bantered while another state policeman stood outside in the corridor inspecting my dismantled tape recorder. "How's it going, King?" the red-headed guard asked Hakim. "You sure don't seem to be having too bad a time of it with all these pretty girls running in and out of here. Not bad at all, King."

The guard was right. There was something regal about Hakim's presence. Even as he lay in a jail ward bed, a torn hospital night shirt hung loosely about him like a toga, his uncombed hair greying at the temples and behind his ears. Hakim exuded an easy hegemony. However, it was not the regality of a king at court, but of a condemned king held in the Tower.

Hakim, born 36 years ago in St. Louis, has spent almost half his life in the joint. In 1951 he, or more precisely. Albert Bradford, was incarcerated in the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City to serve three concurrent life sentences for robbery and two charges of rape. He was 16 years old.

The road that led Albert Bradford to the joint is a familiar one--so familiar that it would be a cliche if it were not for the fact that it continues to be a main artery to a dead end for people born poor and-or black in America. "By the time I was 12, I was considered an exceptionally good artist," Hakim says of Bradford. "By the time I was 13, I was a junkie. It's like any other fellow who grows up in the ghetto. You're confronted with images. Images of values you can never aspire to because you're black. As Malcolm taught us, this process teaches us to hate ourselves, to despise everything about ourselves, and to try to make ourselves into what we wasn't and what we never could be--white folks."

Locked into the frustrations constructed by this gap between promise and accessible reality, "You become schizophrenic in your thinking. You love yourself, but you hate yourself, see; so you begin to seek escape mechanisms. This occurs, say, when you're about eight or ten years old, but then you don't even know what escape mechanisms are all about. You don't even know why you want to escape. Older cats have found a way to escape confronting these realities, and by the mere fact that you grow up on the playground with them, you begin to do the things they do even though you're not their age. Like you begin to drain their wine bottles, you know, you begin to take the pills, and smoke the grass because this affords you an opportunity to get away."

Albert Bradford's way out--a consumptive involvement with drugs--was actually only a means of getting deeper into the mire. He became a part of the ghetto's plankton, drifting in the flow of the demand and supply of junk and junk money. "By the time I was 16, I was so hooked on skag all I could see was drugs. When I saw dollar bills. I saw skag."

But the demand for young, black, unskilled labor in St. Louis during the late Forties was no greater than it is now throughout urban America where young blacks have the highest rate of unemployment. So, for Bradford, the need to supply his habit demanded crime.

In December of 1951, Bradford, then 16, and a 15-year-old black were arrested and charged with robbery. An indictment for rape was also added against Bradford.

Hakim admits the validity of the robbery charge. He also acknowledges that the rape was committed, but denies that he did it. "Here was the thing. When I was getting the dough, this cat that was with me, Teddy, took the woman in the back, you know. I told him to take the woman in the back, tie her up and gag her so we could get away, you know, He, took her in the back and screwed her. Okay, I come back then to see what he's spending so much time in. He was into his thing. I screamed on him; but really, truthfully. I wasn't concerned. I was concerned with getting to the dope man's house cause I was sick, you know. The next day we got busted."

When informed that he was being charged with the rape. "I tried to get the point across that not only was I not interested in raping. I wasn't interested in no sex--period." However, Bradford never got a chance to tell this to a jury. His attorney, a public defender, "convinced my parents to get me to plead guilty to clean the books because, he said, if you clean the books they'll give you a break." Despite his own misgivings. Bradford went along.

Thus, as George Jackson was later to do in California, 16-year-old Albert Bradford sold whatever legal rights of self-defense he had in the Missouri court system for the promise of a deal. Like Jackson, he was to discover that the promise was not merely false but almost fatal.

II

Albert Bradford had assumed that when he entered a guilty plea he was confessing only to the robbery charge, for which he expected to get a 20 year sentence. The public defender had assured him that with good conduct he would be out in three. However, when Bradford appeared in court for sentencing, he was slapped with three concurrent life sentences: one for the robbery, one for the rape of a white woman that had happened during the robbery, and one for a rape that had occurred almost half a year before.

Missouri was doing some book-cleaning of its own.

Although it is generally considered part of the Midwest. Missouri is actually a southern state. Admitted as a slave state, it was the home of Dred Scott--whether Dred wanted it to be or not. Although it did not officially secede from the Union during the Civil War, more than 30,000 Missourians fought for the Confederacy, as did organized bands of rural guerillas; its governor established a pro-Confederate government in exile; and martial law had to be imposed to keep the state under Union control. As recently as ten years ago, many of the smaller towns and parts of the larger ones had sundown ordinances prohibiting blacks from being present after dusk. In many places where there was no law, the practise was enforced. Many black men have been savagely beaten and not a few have been killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time in Missouri.

Albert Bradford's crime and punishment were no different. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time doing something wrong: however, he had not done THE wrong, had not been the one who had committed the southern crime of crimes. Some black boy had, and atonement must be made. Albert Bradford happened to be available. "Twelve years later, the judge wrote my mother from Florida and said that he felt bad that I wasn't out and that he felt that one of the reasons was they needed an example and I was the pound of flesh that was chosen."

Unlike most juvenile offenders--even lifers--Bradford was not sent to the state's Young Men's Reformatory. His partner in the robbery was, but Bradford went to the penitentiary. However, he did not go into the joint totally alone: "I went into prison with an intense hate for white people because it was a white judge, a white lawyer, and a white prosecutor, and it was white police--you know, everyone who put me in prison was white."

III

Albert Bradford did not come out of the joint alive. He died in there sometime during the first five years that his body was being held in Jeff City. He died when his hate died.

Malik Hakim was born in the joint.

The delivery was slow and not without complications. It began in 1955 when Hakim along with two other cons organized an art class. "That was the transitional point. That was the point of moving from that rancid cancerous feeling about white folks to the point of starting to see myself, you know, beginning to understand myself, and if you remember, it was about this time that Malcolm began to speak in public. Brothers in the joint began to hear a black man articulating the thing that they couldn't articulate. We began to take a certain pride in being black."

This emerging pride in being black was reflected in changes in the life-style of Hakim and other cons at Jeff City. "They feed a lot of starch and pork in prison. Now anybody that knows anything about diet knows what that does to your body. So we began to educate the brothers about diet so that the brothers was walking past the pork chops. The man couldn't relate to that because it used to be a time brothers used to steal pork chops. But now they was walking past the pork chops and stealing the hamburgers, you know. The man knew that something was happening that wasn't too kosher."

For Hakim and many of the other black inmates, this new pride in blackness was related to their involvement in Islam and their subsequent discovery of aspects of black history that had not been a part of the education they had received in the public schools. This discovery awakened in Hakim and his brother cons a desire to obtain other knowledge and skills they had missed. Prevented from obtaining this knowledge in the prison schools because of the tracking system. "We began to conduct our own classes. We had brothers there from Lincoln University and so forth. So the cats began to teach math classes and science classes. We began to teach these things on the yard. One of the things the prison system does not want is a thinking convict, they want a reacting convict, and we were beginning to teach cats to think. Cats would go to the hole less and less. Homosexuality was on the decline in A hall, which was an all-black hall. I he old black convicts that had had a free run at making punks were beginning to run into problems because there was young brothers jamming them up. There was a coming together."

This coming together of the younger black cons at Jeff City did not fail to meet with substantial opposition from prison authorities. "Antagonisms began to develop: because it was hard for them Southerners to concede that the black man does not necessarily want to integrate with him, see. And the fact that we had begun to educate religiously along the lines of Islam meant that he couldn't join us either, they started rumors. You know, there's going to be a race riot. Well, you see, we wasn't talking about race riots. We was talking about history and facts. But they had to find some way to shut us up; so they locked us up. They locked up seven of us, but they didn't lock nobody white up. It's just like they do out here. You know, the cat that becomes the most articulate is the cat that gets ripped off. It got to the point that in the early '60's that it was hard for me to get to go to church because the man wanted to keep me in my cell. If I went to the yard with my shirt tail out, he found that an excuse to send me back to the cell so that I couldn't The man counldn't accept this. So get to the yard."

Then again, it isn't every black man in prison who has had the same experience Malik Hakim had when he received a visit from Malcolm X in 1957. "To meet Malcolm for the first time in the life of a black man, to have been deaf, dumb and blind, is like walking into a totally pitch black room and someone turns on a million-watt light bulb. It was probably the most beautiful, the most painful experience I've ever had. Look at it like this. Christians pray to Jesus and if Jesus walked into their rooms they would be speechless. When I walked into the visiting room and saw Malcolm. I was speechless. But in a matter of minutes, it was almost as if his soul merged with mine. He taught me that we must seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave. Knowledge is the greatest weapon in the 20th century that the black man can have."

IV

On the basis of his several meetings with Malcolm X, Hakim decided to dedicate his life to the implementation of Malcolm's teaching. Released on parole in April of 1968. Hakim returned to St. Louis with the hope of establishing a community program there geared to the needs of black young people. His parole officer disapproved because such an involvement would mean that Hakim would be in constant contact with junkies and ex-cons, the seamy side of life.

Hakim found himself frustrated in other ways. Not long after his arrival in St. Louis, he met and fell in love with a woman. They wished to be married. When Hakim informed his parole officer of this, "He told me that before I could get married he would have to investigate my potential wife. If he found her worthy, then I could get married. It had nothing to do with whether she loved me and I loved her."

Before Hakim had been released on parole, many people including his prison social case worker had advised him to leave Missouri. "They all said that I should get out of Missouri because my ambition superseded what normally a parolee will be expected to look for or look forward to."

As Hakim saw it, his parole experience had more than confirmed their predictions: so he decided to leave Missouri. Malcolm X had told him that he might find things better in Boston; so Hakim worked his way here, and joined the Malcolm X Foundation, a community organization that shared his desire to implement the social thought of Malcolm.

As the result of his energy and leadership. Hakim was appointed president of the foundation in late 1969. Under his direction, the Foundation, allied with Roxbury's Joint Center for Inner City Change, became a vital force in Boston's black community. It attracted a number of talented and educated young blacks to its staff, and offered an array of educational and cultural programs highlighted by CURE, Inc., a clearinghouse for junkies who want to kick.

Many of the programs that the Foundation has instituted were the products of Hakim's intellect, but those who have been close to the foundation or have watched him in action feel that his presence has been even a more significant factor in the Foundation's success. Partially this is because Hakim serves as a direct link to Malcolm because he knew him rather than merely knew of him. However, what is perhaps more important is the way in which Hakim incorporates Malcolm's spirit in his own actions and manner, particularly in his dealings with the socially disposable: young junkies, ex-cons, young girls pressured towards prostitution by their economic needs. Hakim has been down that road of crime and punishment. His face is the roadmap of that travelling.

However, as of now, it seems likely that he will have to go on the road again.

V

On May 13, Malik Hakim was arrested by the FBI on a federal parole violation warrant. Hakim had recently applied for a passport so that he could travel to Europe to study the Montessori system of education. Hakim had not been overly-enthusiastic about leaving Boston and the Foundation, but felt that the trip might produce some valuable knowledge.

Hakim, as he has in all legal transactions since his arrival here, used his Christian name, Albert Bradford, on the passport application. It was costly resurection of that dead identity.

After his arrest, Hakim was held in jail in lieu of $50,000 bond. The bail was later lowered to $2,500. The money was raised, and Hakim was released.

Governor Sargent delayed signing the extradition papers for five months. At any point during that time. Hakim could have followed the lead of the New York Black Panthers who jumped bail and fled the country. He did not. He stayed in Boston, and continued his work at the Foundation.

In early September, two plain-clothesmen entered the office of the Foundation and without identifying themselves told the receptionist that they wanted to see Hakim. Hakim, who had been in a meeting in another room, came out. When he did, the plainclothesmen drew their guns. It is not clear whether or not they also identified themselves at this point. In any event. Hakim fled from their guns, and the receptionist raced into the room where the meeting was going on. She screamed. "There's some white men trying to shoot Malik." By this time, the people in the room had caught up with the chase. Hakim was lying injured outside under the eyes of a dozen policemen. He had been placed under arrest on two charges--violation of parole and the rape of a white woman.

In September, hearings were held under the direction of Deputy Assistant Attornies General Mark Burson and James Kenelly to present Hakim with the charges against him and to allow him to call witnesses in his defense. Out of the hundreds of people who offered to testify. Hakim chose ll. Their testimony along with the other records of the hearings were included in Attorney General Quinn's report to the Governor.

After conferring with his own staff of advisors. Governor Sargent signed the extradition papers on September 23.

Extradition is not an automatic operation. It is not even a legal imperative, but an agreement between governors or heads of state to return a person accused of a crime. Last spring. Sargent refused to send another black. Willie Ford, back to Alabama, placing him instead on executive parole, a legal form he created for the case. Under executive parole. Ford is free to continue to live in Massachusetts, so long as he lives within the law.

There has been much speculation about why the Governor signed the papers. His offical answer, given at an airport press conference after he had been besieged by a large group of Hakim's supporters, was that the severity of the charges against Albert Bradford--rape is a capital crime in Missouri--dictated that he allow the matter to be settled in court. However, other factors may well have played a part in the decision. The Governor seems to be assuming that Hakim can get a fairer trial in Missouri on a capital offense than Willie Ford could have received in Alabama on lesser charge. Certain members of the Governor's staff are also believed to have personal contentions with Hakim. Finally, it is argued by some that Sargent may well be thinking of what effect his holding of a convicted rapist could have on his own chances for national office, given the law and order temper of the times.

What influence, if any, these factors had on the Governor's decision is difficult, if not impossible, to determine. What is clear is that unless the Governor changes his mind--he can stop the extradition at any time--Hakim will be returned to Missouri. If he is, he will go back to jail, perhaps for the rest of his life: because even if he were to clear himself of the rape charge, the violation of his parole will send him back to the joint.

At any rate, Hakim will not be going back immediately. On October 22, his lawyer, David Nelson, appeared in Equity Session of Suffolk Superior Court, and obtained a restraining order postponing the execution of the extradition order to December 17. In the mean time, efforts are being made in Missouri to overturn his original conviction. Nelson has also filed a writ of habeas corpus in an attempt to kill the extradition proceedings.

However, all of these efforts are hampered by the lack of money and influence at the disposal of Hakim's supporters. Hakim is King of a powerless kingdom.

VI

At the end of our interview, Malik Hakim leaned back against the piled pillows on his bed in the jail ward. "You know the first thing I thought when I landed in here was that I had failed. You know, that I hadn't done half the things I had wanted to do, and that there wasn't going to be no second chance. Sometimes I think that was what must have been going through Malcolm's mind after they shot him. Then that little girl, you know, the one who was in here before you. She's just 16, man, but I watch the way she moves around, talks to the press and the police. I watch just the way she is. Somehow it makes me think that I just might have done something.