An Exclusive Excerpt From Marshall Law: The Life And Times Of a Baltimore Black Panther

Marshall “Eddie” Conway is a former Baltimore City Black Panther who has been incarcerated by the state of Maryland for over four decades. His autobiography has just been published by AK Press, and we are honored to be able to present this short excerpt, detailing some of the dynamics of organizing within the prison walls—a very different terrain than that enjoyed by most of the other social movements examined in this issue. –IR

July can be notoriously hot in Baltimore, but on this day, July 12, 1973, the weather was mild; in no way did it hint at the hell that was about to break loose. Six or seven comrades gathered in the cell that we had designated the unofficial headquarters of the Maryland Penitentiary Inter-Communal Survival Collective. The back half of the fifth tier also housed our library and office, all, of course, unofficial. Housed on this level were also several of our members. It was the highest tier in the prison and the farthest away from all surveillance. We operated our survival programs, physical education classes, and martial arts training from this area.

Down below on the flats, an event was beginning to play out that would have an effect on the entire prison system in Maryland. It wasn’t any different from the hundreds or perhaps thousands of nearly identical events that had already occurred within that tomb. The beating of a black man was a regular thing in the history of that place; it was as if it was a required sacrifice to sustain the structure. However, this day would be different. There was a new revolutionary organization in the prison and self-defense was a part of the platform for the group. Our organization based its principles on those of the Black Panther Party, and the member’s primary concern was for the welfare of the community within the prison.

I had been in the prison for over a year and a half at the point, and I had spent much of that time on lockup, so I had never seen the guards administer one of their notorious beat downs in front of dozens of witnesses as they were on this day. Most of the beatings that I was aware of had taken place in the "hole," the isolated block of five or six cells where punishment was meted out on a regular basis to rebellious men within the prison's ranks. The only other prisoners allowed into that area were those responsible for serving food and performing janitorial duties. The word would swirl among the population that this prisoner or that prisoner received a beating, but most ffelt powerless to do anything about the situation. It became acceptable and many saw it as just another part of the brutal prison culture. Guards beat prisoners witha guaranteed impunity and this practice never even raised an eyebrow.

The culture of violence that existed within this structure had direct ties to slavery and oppression, as did the culture of resistance that would soon result in a direct response to this particular abuse. The guards formed an entourage of sorts, their attendant business being to kick an beat the man that they were dragging past hundreds of prisoners. The prisoners who were on flats or in their cells on the first and second tiers were outraged. The men began to throw objects at the guards and those who lacked physical objects threw slurs. Each side made threats back and forth as the guards continued to brutalize their captive. When, finally, they threw him into lockup, satisfied that he no longer posed a threat, they went back and singled out one of the other prisoners who had protested too loudly.

Suddenly, there were other guards acting as reinforcements and responding to what they took to be a riot in the making. Those prisoners targeted for retribution from the goon squad, which had started the situation in the first place, were isolated behind a locked grill. The guards allowed the other prisoners to leave the area.

It was at this point that a comrade found his way up to our “office” and informed us of the developments below. One of those locked behind the grill, Rob Folks, was a leader in the Maryland Penitentiary Inter-Communal Survival Collective. Rob was much like George Jackson: an intense brother who worked well with the population and he was well received by most. Rob had been the most vocal among those protesting the beating and now he refused to back down when the reinforcements attempted to neutralize the situation.

A group of us had arrived on the scene at almost the same time as the original group of guards who had come back to settle with Folks and the others who had opposed the beating. One group of guards blocked the grill while another group
approached Folks, attempting to attack him from behind.Several comrades began to engage the guards who were blocking the grill, forcing it open while the other comrades gained entrance into the area where Folks was trapped. We collided with the guards who were behind Folks, and in the violence that ensued, the guard
who had been in charge of the beating that had precipitated this incident received several stab wounds. This battle continued for a few minutes longer, until finally the guards retreated, allowing the comrades to leave the area. Later, they returned to retrieve their fallen member.

For a brief time, everything came to a standstill. The comrades had blended back into the population, and most of the prisoners were in that mental place where one goes after winning the battle. When this moment passed, it became clear that this minor victory would not appease the war gods. During that brief moment, the guards experienced the shock that occurs when the eye of the bully has been
blackened, and he is sent running. They were not accustomed to organized resistance. This was not a riot with the chaos and calamity that those situations usually bring, neither was it a gang fight or a situation in which the guards could isolate one side or exploit the divisions. Above all, it was not what they had expected when they had made their way through the prison with a beaten man in tow.

Predictably, their response would be severe, and all these years later, I am still haunted by the depravity that they exhibited. After the administration had sent for and received sufficient reinforcements, the prison was shut down and everyone was locked in their cells. Payback was in the air and on the tongues of the guards and we knew that the Collective would take a hit. Five comrades, including Folks and I, were singled out for the retributive punishment that gets served up in hefty portions in prison whenever the existing status quo is challenged and, in this case, flipped on its head, if only for a moment. They rounded us up and one by one took us to the hole where we were beaten.

The area was crowded with the bodies of men who no longer looked like men; they
had taken on the characteristics of pigs by this point. Greedy with revenge, it was evident that they would maul anyone who fell into the pen. I was thrown in. The attacks started immediately and continued until I was no longer conscious, and probably beyond. When finally I awoke, I was in great pain. My jaw and shoulder had been broken, and my head was busted. I felt as if my brain would seep out of my head as I alternated btween consciousness and sleep. The bruises and lacerations that covered my entire body simply served as background pain. I have no idea of what I must have looked like at that point, but judging from the pain, it must have been monstrous.

Days passed by and I lay in pain, completely isolated and unable to identify the place that they were holding me. I did know that I had never seen this part of the prison, and later I would learn that it was the old death row section of the penitentiary, which housed the gas chamber and the cells of the condemned. They held me there in that remote section of the prison without the benefit of medical
treatment for a number of days clearly hoping I would die from the injuries. I could not communicate with the outside world, and the administration did not allow anyone into the prison to see me. Finally, my lawyer got a court order to see me, and once she saw the state I was in, she insisted that they rush me to the hospital for emergency treatment. I was there for a month, and upon release I joined my comrades on lockup. Though the other four had also suffered through the guards’ brutality, I was the only one they had tried tokill. This was the first of several attempts that they would make on my life...