Ohio death row hunger striker: ‘If we must die’
Published Jan 3, 2011 7:49 PM
Wrongfully convicted following a prison uprising in Lucasville, Ohio, in
1993, Brother Bomani is currently at Ohio State Penitentiary, a supermax
prison, where he and other prisoners began a hunger strike on Jan. 3, 2011. Go
to www.iacenter.org to sign the petition in support of the demands of these
Before I speak my piece, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I don’t
want to die. I want to live and breathe and strive to do something righteous
with my life. Truly. For the past 16 years, however, I’ve been in
solitary confinement, confined to a cell 23 hours a day for something I
didn’t do and, speaking honestly, I have gone as far as I’m willing
to go. Am I giving up? No.
This is a protest, the only nonviolent way I can think of to express the deep
disdain I have for the unjust situation that I am in. Make no mistake: My
physical and mental strength is intact. However, to continue on in this way
would be to lend legitimacy to a process that is both fraudulent and
vindictive; this I am no longer willing to do.
I realize that for some of you the thought that an innocent man could be sent
to prison and ultimately executed is inconceivable. But it happens. In a system
that’s based more on competition than the equitable treatment of others,
the football field is not the only place where participants are encouraged to
win at all cost.
Hence, in order to be victorious, some prosecutors hide evidence, lie in open
court and even pay for the perjured testimony of their witnesses. And this is
exactly what happened in my case (and in the majority of the cases stemming
from the 1993 prison uprising at the Southern Ohio Correctional Facility in
Lucasville); there are a few people among you who have reviewed the file and
know this to be the truth.
But let us for the moment put aside the question of my guilt or innocence,
because that, believe it or not, is not what this is about. On that score, we
have written several books, produced a play, and are putting the finishing
touches on a full-scale documentary to illustrate the travesty of justice that
has taken place here; and these things are available to you if you are
interested. For now, I want to talk about dying ...
In all that is presently unclear, one thing is certain: I have been sentenced
to death, which, as you know, is the severest penalty known to man. Typically,
when one has been given the death penalty, one is placed alongside other
similarly sentenced prisoners and they, together, are housed in an area that
has been designated as death row. As living situations go, this is a very bleak
and miserable place. Men are sent here to die, to be killed by the state. No
one in their right mind would ask to be sent here; and yet, this is precisely
what I am asking, which should give you an indication of just how insufferable
the situation I am living under is. And I am not alone.
When the uprising was over, and all was said and done, five of us were singled
out as leaders and sentenced to death. Jason Robb, James Were (or
“Namir,” as he prefers to be called), Siddique Abdullah Hasan,
George Skatzes and myself. With the exception of George Skatzes, who for the
past 10 years has been in a less pressurized — though by no means
acceptable — situation, we have undergone penalty on top of penalty; been
kept from fully participating in our appeals, from touching our friends and
families; denied adequate medical treatment; and so many other things that are
too numerous to name. In a word, we have been tortured. And yes, I’m
aware that the word “tortured” is a strong word to use, but I know
of no other word that more adequately describes what we have been through. We
have been put through hell.
A few months ago, a federal judge recommended that my case be dismissed, which
effectively moved me one step closer to being executed. It’s hard to
explain how this made me feel, but upon hearing the news I immediately thought
that a mistake had been made and that my attorney had somehow misunderstood the
judge’s ruling. As it turns out, I was the one who misunderstood. Indeed,
I have been “misunderstanding” things all along.
Treat us with ‘dignity’
When I was first named as a suspect in riot-related crimes, I was certain that
my name would eventually be cleared. Instead, I received a nine-count murder
indictment with death-penalty specifications. I was shocked. And then they
offered me a deal: “Cop out to murder and we’ll forget the whole
thing,” they told me. “But I’m innocent,” I said,
thinking to myself that the truth of this would somehow set me free. And so,
with the trust and faith of a fool, I went to trial, thinking and believing
that I would receive a fair one (I didn’t) and that I would ultimately be
exonerated (I wasn’t). And then, when I was sentenced to death, it was my
understanding that I would be placed on death row and allowed to pursue my
appeals alongside other similarly sentenced prisoners; but, again, I
misunderstood ... “Just wait until you get to federal court,” I was
told, “and you’ll definitely get some relief there.” So I
waited ... I waited for 16 years!
If justice as a concept is real, then I could with some justification say,
“Justice delayed is justice denied.” But this has never been about
justice, and I finally, finally, finally understand that. For the past 16
years, I (we) have been nothing more than a scapegoat for the state, a
convenient excuse that they can point to whenever they need to raise the
specter of fear among the public or justify the expenditure of inordinate
amounts of money for more locks or chains. And not only that, but the main
reason behind the double penalty that we have been undergoing is so that we can
serve as an example of what happens to those who challenge the power and
authority of the state.
And like good little pawns we’re supposed to sit here and wait until they
take us to their death chamber, strap us down to a gurney, and pump poison
through our veins. Fuck that! I refuse to go out like that: used as a tool by
the state to put fear into the hearts of others while legitimizing a system
that is bogus and sold to those with money. That’s not my destiny.
At the beginning of this I wanted to make it perfectly clear that I
didn’t want to die, and I don’t. Life is a beautiful thing,
especially when one is conscious and aware of the value of one’s life.
Sadly, it took going through this process for me to wake up and finally
understand the value of my life. I say “wake up” because,
unbeknownst to me, I had been asleep all this time, oblivious to the reality of
my situation and unaware that the only way for one to stop dreaming (and gain
some control over things) is for one to open one’s eyes. My eyes are open
Is it too late? I don’t know. As I said, the books have been written, the
play has been performed, and, pretty soon, the documentary will be completed.
But what good are these things if they never enter into the stream of public
opinion and force the governor (who answers to the public) to issue a general
Admittedly, convincing the governor to bend in our favor will be a difficult
undertaking, one which will require huge amounts of energy and effort on our
behalf. But it can be done; at the very least, it can be attempted. In the
meantime, we who have been sentenced to death must be granted the exact same
privileges as other death-sentenced prisoners. If we must die, we should be
allowed to do so with dignity, which is all we’re asking: the opportunity
to pursue our appeals unimpeded, to be able to touch our friends and family,
and to no longer be treated as playthings but as human beings who are facing
the ultimate penalty.
Again, I stress the fact that I do not want to die, but in the words of [poet]
Claude McKay, I share the following as my parting sentiments:
If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain: then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though deed!
O kinsman! We must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
Articles copyright 1995-2012 Workers World.
Verbatim copying and distribution of this entire article is permitted in any medium without royalty provided this notice is preserved.
Workers World, 55 W. 17 St., NY, NY 10011
Email: [email protected]
Subscribe [email protected]
Support independent news DONATE