Once upon a time before mass consumption, globalization and the digital download, Hip Hop was a rebel with a cause. Hip Hop provided the soundtrack to a post civil rights generation that fought the power, the government, police brutality and other societal ills. Hip Hop has grown up since then, and with age, seems to have lost the rebellious spirit it once had, trading in the struggle for money, platinum ring tones and blood diamonds.

While commercial Hip Hop would like to forget its past, there are those who rose to prominence during Hip Hop’s early days who continue to struggle and never forget where they came from.

Mumia Abu-Jamal, journalist, father, activist and political prisoners is one of them.

For nearly 30 years, Abu-Jamal has resided on death row, convicted in 1982 for the murder of Philadelphia Police officer Daniel Faulkner during a traffic stop.

The story of Mumia Abu-Jamal ignited the country and subsequently, the world. Abu-Jamal’s supporters say he represents the worst of the American criminal justice system, one that unfairly rail roads, convicts and imprisons those who dare speak out against those in power. His detractors paint him as little more than a cold blooded cop killer who has pulled the wool over the eyes of millions and deserves not freedom, but death.

Hip Hop has been relatively silent on Abu-Jamal as of late, with much of his main stream support coming not from today’s chart topping rappers, but rock group Rage Against the Machine and several prominent Hollywood actors. Independent Hip Hop artist and member of the Arizona-Local Organizing Committee of the National Hip Hop Political Convention Grime, believes that today’s emcees aren’t speaking because of ignorance about Mumia’s case, but fear of corporate backlash.

“Rappers are afraid not because they don’t believe or afraid of alienating their, but a lot of rappers get corporate sponsors for tours and clothing lines and if they take on controversial issues, they risk losing corporate sponsors,” he says of the pressure rappers are under to conform to the mainstream. “Anytime you take on people’s money, you have restrictions and a lot of cats aren’t careful about whose money they take.”

On May 17, 2007, arguments for what could be Mumia’s last chance for appeal were heard by the Federal District Court in Philadelphia. The court’s decision is literally life or death for a man who gave his life to the struggle for equality.

But before we can look at what is, we have to look back at what was.

My Mind’s My Nine, My Pen’s My Mack Ten

Mumia Abu-Jamal was born Wesley Cook, on April 24, 1954 in Philadelphia, PA. His life of activism began at the young age of 14, when most teens today are more worried about a science test and 106th and Park’s Top Ten countdown. Ironically, his introduction to activism came at the hands of Philadelphia’s infamous police department.

Abu-Jamal and three friends participated in a protest for then presidential candidate George Wallace (who was a segregationist) on the cities north side. During the protest, Mumia and his friends were attacked by a mob of whites. When Mumia yelled to area police for help, the responding officer did the opposite and joined the mob in the beating.

Mumia never identified the officer, but gives thanks the officer for kicking him “straight into the Black Panther Party” in his book, Live from Death Row.

One year after the infamous police incident, Abu-Jamal co-founded and became the minister of the Philadelphia chapter of the Black Panther Party. Mumia’s involvement with the Panthers catapulted a teen that was not yet old enough to vote or join the military into the spotlight of the local media, police and even the FBI. This seemed to foreshadow Abu-Jamal’s ultimate fate as embattled political prisoner.

The Panthers also introduced Mumia to the world of journalism. In 1970, he spent his summer in Oakland, California working on the Panther’s newspaper. Honing his skills over the summer months, Abu-Jamal returned to Philadelphia after discovering the power of words. His life would never be the same.

As a journalist, Mumia earned the moniker “the voice of the voiceless.” In the '70s, he was one of a handful of journalists willing to cover MOVE, an organization that openly opposed the oppressive grip Philadelphia Police and government held on the black community at the  time. While he had many detractors in the government and police, Mumia won the praise of several in the media. Philadelphia Magazine called him “one to watch” and the Philadelphia Enquirer branded him as “an eloquent activist not afraid to raise his voice.” The latter may have been the very thing that spelled the beginning of the end for Mumia’s freedom.

Things began to reach a boiling point in 1978 when Frank Rizzo former police chief and then mayor of Philadelphia erupted during a press conference. His target was what he called a “new breed” of journalists. In "The Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal," which appeared in New York Newsday in 1995, writer Terry Bisson quoted part of Rizzo’s fiery outburst: "They [the people] believe what you write and what you say," he said, "and it's got to stop. One day--and I hope it's in my career--you're going to have to be held responsible and accountable for what you do." Continued on page 2 »