Should Black ‘Homosexuals’ be excluded from Black Power Movements?

In the Service of our Ancestors and African Love,
Listen Seeker, I come in peace,

“I have not copulated/penetrated with/a copulator/penetrator.” — The 11th of the “42 Laws of Maat.”

The question ‘Are Black Homosexuals excluded from Black Power Movements’ is a classic example of rainbow sabotage of RBG. In fact, in America COINTELPRO strategically divided Black Movements with similar questions as issued by COINTELPRO agents at key junctures in their movements. As Pan-African Nationalists we must equip ourselves to not be divided over this question, as agents, sleeper-agents and pseudo-agents will attempt to do otherwise whenever and wherever we gain significant traction.

After addressing the question, I will link several Recommended Resources. If you have any doubt in your mind regarding the Homosexual/Dissexual question, please review all of them.

Should Black ‘Homosexuals’ be excluded from Black Power Movements?
By Onitaset Kumat

The short answer is yes.

In the doubtful event that an African is actually born Homosexual it behooves us, as servants of our Ancestors, to not exclude this African. For as Africans we must think African, and if one among us were actually willed by our Ancestors to him- or herself never become an Ancestor, then clearly even our Ancestors excluded that ‘Homosexual’ African from their/our circle. “As above, so below.” The innately Homosexual African, if any exist, was given an agenda in opposition to our traditional African culture which recognizes and promotes the African unborn.  Through distracting their same-sex, eliminating possible relationships, hindering the unborn and themselves never returning after death, the Homosexual African embodies disorder in African Communities and Continuity. To give this person a platform in either the re-creation or the maintenance of the Pan-African Nation, is akin to giving Yurugu, non-Africans, a platform; being that in order for an African to be born Homosexual their non-African ancestors must be dominant over their African ancestors: in that circumstance whether they are African must be called into question as well as whether Homosexuality is their only perversion.

Fortunately, Africans can not be born Homosexual–or Dissexual* (perverted from true sexuality); however African can be Dissexualized. Understanding this, it is evident that the African can be re-oriented toward true sexuality (African Woman and African Man.) Therefore it is only a matter of how an African was Dissexualized in order to re-sexualize that African.

So whether “Black Homosexuals” are excluded from Black Power Movements, it entirely depends on why that African is dissexualized and what they are willing to do about it.

If by virtue of birth an African is dissexualized, then that African is indefinitely excluded from Pan-African Nationalism: they are Yurugu with a tan.

If by virtue of trauma an African is dissexualized, then clearly that African must either self-heal or be healed by the Pan-African Nation in order for that African to be included in Pan-African Nationalism.

If by virtue of choice an African is dissexualized, then clearly that African must choose differently in order to be included in Pan-African Nationalism.

So absolutely the Black Homosexual is not to be included in Black Power; however should that African be able to be re-oriented toward true sexuality, the Pan-African Nation should be willing to work with them. The same can be said of other dissexualities.

*Dissexuality include but is not limited to sexual perversions with animals, children, violence or non-African people.

Recommended Resources:

If anyone is convinced that Homosexuality/Dissexuality is an authentic African expression, I recommend reading Odwirafo’s Kokobo-Warning. This 48 page collection of 4 papers addresses the Ancient Prohibition against Homosexuality, the oft-cited Brothers holding hands, the dating of the story of Set and Heru and Ptah Hetep’s instructions against Pre-Pubescent sex. It is freely available, but supporting Odwirafo with patronage is highly recommended as well.

If anyone is convinced that Homosexuality/Dissexuality can not be ‘cured’ listen to Llaila Afrika’s “The Detoxification of Homosexuality.” This 57 minute presentation goes deeply into how one can detox themselves of Homosexuality down to a science.

If anyone is convinced that Homosexuality/Dissexuality has a place in African Society, listen to Neely Fuller Jr’s “Homosexualiity and Lesbianism.” This 10 minute animation by the skilled artist carlitoway44 puts the issue very simply as weighing the pros and cons of Homosexuality/Dissexuality and setting the record straight.

Not Enough Nigger, Not Enough Revolutionary

In the Service of our Ancestors and African Love,
Listen Seeker, I come in peace,

“By the time the fool has learned the game, the players have dispersed.” — African Proverb

If one thing can be said of the majority of our people, it is that we are getting played. Not only by Caucasians but to an extreme extent by our own people too. “An African War without an African Army is an African Genocide.” That’s fact. In the following semi-autobiographical story based on a dream, Zuba represents ‘a self-described Revolutionary’ and the effectiveness of his deeds in spite of War. After reading the story, compare Zuba to other ‘self-described Revolutionaries’ and seriously consider whether these ‘Revolutionaries’ that we hail truly hinder the African Genocide or are they playing us?

Not Enough Nigger, Not Enough Revolutionary
By Onitaset Kumat

“Eat lead” shouted a sweaty Caucasian as he held down the trigger to a gatling gun, wiping away his numerous foes one after the other. Zuba yawned; however, his siblings were gripped. “Dang that nigga no joke,” one offered, urging Zuba to roll his eyes. “He’s not even a ‘nigga'” Zuba quipped when his step-brother rebutted, “My nigga just watch the show.” Zuba again yawned.

Zuba is fourteen-years-old and a self-described Revolutionary. When he’s home, he spends countless hours on his laptop reading “Afro-centric” literature and offering his “Afro-centric” perspective. He’s not home though. He’s visiting his Father whose divorce returned him to the ‘hood’ his Mother tried to hide from Zuba. So he waits for the night to be over with his sister, half-brother and step-brothers as they watch “a White Supremacists’ Film.”

“I got you,” the sweaty Caucasian remarks, holding an ugly Caucasian by her narrow waist and leaning in for a plain lipless kiss. “These Caucasians, all they try to do is portray themselves as the epitome,” Zuba remarks with no audience. “This guy kills 40 people, how? He’s naked for crying out loud!” His younger sister shushes him. Zuba looks at the clock. 11:34 PM. It’s too late to go on his laptop. But he’s very bored with his company. Zuba reaches for his backback and goes to the bathroom.

Though his family house, Zuba wets some toilet paper and glides it around the rim of the seat. His step-brothers aren’t tidy he reasons. The sound of the streets presses through the bathroom window. A few screams reach Zuba. It’s from outside. It’s always like this here. He reaches to wipe. There isn’t enough paper. This is exactly what he told his Mother would happen. Without pulling up his pants, he runs to his bag and gets an extra roll he packed ‘just in case.’ You have to be prepared for anything.

When he returns to the room, the movie is still the rave. “Niggas be shooting so much” a brother complains. Whether he speaks of the TV or the ‘hood,’ Zuba doesn’t know. It’s almost midnight. “I’m going to bed,” Zuba remarks. He gets out of his brothers’ bedroom and goes to the living room. His Father never left out any sheets for him, so Zuba awakens his Father for a few. He then lies on the couch, nude under two bedsheets.

As he dozes off a loud thud is heard near the kitchen. From the living room Zuba can see Caucasians with guns storming into his Father’s apartment. Zuba counts five of them. Two with pistols, three with semi-automatic rifles. They are policeman. One distinguishes himself as their leader. He carries a pistol, has slimy brown hair, wide shoulders and seems borderline insane.

Zuba’s Father leaves his bedroom with his hands up. He sits on the couch adjacent to Zuba. The leader speaks to Zuba’s father, “My name is Sergeant M__.” He looks around. “I am calling the shots here.” He waits for a response. “Now, nigger, where were you twenty minutes ago.” Zuba’s Father looks up. A pasty blonde chubby man stands watch with a pistol and a heavily suited honkey with a visor stands in the kitchen with a rifle. Sgt. M__ tells him, “I’m right here nigger. Where were you?” Zuba’s Father lowers his head, “I was here Sir.” Zuba looks away.

Sgt. M__ sits beside Zuba causing Zuba to look back to his Father. Sgt. M__ then spins his pistol by the trigger, the whole time facing the gun at Zuba’s Father. “What about you boy?” he asked Zuba, “Where were you?” Zuba pulls his sheet higher, “I was here Sir.” He felt bad. ‘Sir.’ Why did he say ‘Sir?’ “Well,” Sgt. M__ started, “Do you niggers know why I am here?” Zuba honestly shook his head. “It seems one of you niggers shot another and you know there aren’t any guns allowed in this neighborhood.” Zuba looked upon the five gunman in his Father’s home. “Let me rephrase,” Sgt. M__ corrected, “You know you niggers aren’t allowed to have guns in this neighborhood.” Zuba again pulled his sheets up.

“Move over kid,” Sgt. M__ told Zuba, and Zuba slid to the side. Now, sitting closer to Zuba’s Father, Sgt. M__ gave him the scoop, “We asked around the neighborhood. Your neighbors are saying they saw you arguing with the victim earlier today. Do you know a Tommy S.?” Everyone knows Tommy. Was Tommy shot and killed? Was Tommy a witness? How will Zuba’s Father respond?

“Yes, Sir.” Zuba’s Father offers. “And is it true that you were arguing with Tommy earlier today?” It was after midnight, the argument happened over twelve hours ago. It was an innocent argument: Who will win the NBA Finals? ; But it surely happened. “Yes, Sir.” Zuba’s Father offered. “Good nigger.” The officer smiled. “We’re going to make a search of your house,” the officer continued. At that moment a female officer with a very small poodle led the hound on a leash to sniff around the house. Untrained in that capacity, the pet sat on the couch beside Zuba. Sgt. M__ became wild with animal lust. “Look at that ass” he remarked speaking of the dog as it turned around on the seat. He then would bend in front of it and put his hands over the dog as though it were in a sphere and praise its form and pronounce his desire for sex. Zuba looked at the blonde officer standing watch, but that officer merely shrugged his shoulders. “I would tear you up,” Sgt. M__ says of the dog. He restrains himself from touching the dog.

“That is all,” Sgt. M__ told the female officer, his eyes fixed on the dog as it is pulled away. When it is out of sight, Sgt. M__ first smells the seat, then sits down again and turns to Zuba’s Father, “She was cute wasn’t she?” After no response, Sgt. M__ fixes his gun at Zuba’s Father’s head, “Did you kill Shaina?” Shaina? “Who is Shaina?” “The woman you killed nigger.” “I didn’t kill anyone.” “Yes you did, you killed her, we have witnesses.” “I never left this house.” “Nigger don’t lie.” “I am telling the truth.” “Why did you kill Shaina?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Zuba erupted. Nude under sheets, the young man overlooking the gun fixed on his Father’s head spoke up. Sgt. M__ turned around to Zuba. “What did you say boy?” “I said he didn’t do anything.” Then Sgt. M__ brought his gun to Zuba’s head. Sweat flooded the sheets. Zuba’s heart rate escalated. His whole body trembled at the prospect of his death. “Nigger, I can blast your head off right now. In fact, I think I will.” Pressing Zuba’s head back with the gun, Zuba’s eyes wander around the room. His Father’s head is sinked, the officers watch on. Sgt. M__ pull his gun back, “Better even, I’m arresting you. Get up.” Zuba rises, his sheet drops off baring hs naked, sweaty body. Sgt. M__ licks his thin lips. “Boys, we are done in here. Arrest this child. Nigger,” he turns toward Zuba’s Father, “you are lucky your boy is so stupid.” He reholsters his gun and leaves.

The blonde officer says, “Sorry man, that’s how Sgt. M__ is.” Zuba relaxes a little. “I gotta arrest you, but go get some clothes first.” Zuba trudges to the pile of clothes, puts it on and turns his back to the officer thanking him. When the cuffs are placed, Zuba thinks to ask his Father to send his laptop to his Mother, but he doesn’t. It’s the wrong time. His Father only sits with his head low. He’s crying. Zuba says, “Bye dad” and his Father cries more, “Bye son.” Zuba is carried away.

In the paddywagon, Zuba wonders what went wrong. So much could be said. The movements he was a part of–or thought he was a part of–were all put on hold in this one arrest. For that, he should not have spoken up. But it goes deeper. Things were wrong once the Police could come into the house and outnumber and outgun his family. But more deeply, things were wrong once the Police was an institution outside of the African Cultural Experience.

Even so, on a more superficial level, Zuba couldn’t help but wonder why he relaxed and felt comforted when the blonde offered for him to get his clothes. The officer enabled and enables officers like Sgt. M__. It donned on Zuba that he was played. He was played by Sgt. M__ who harassed his Father and arrested him. He was played by the blonde who acted as though he were nice but he was just as bad if not worse than Sgt. M__. And he was played by the internet revolutionaries, who debated hours upon hours reasoning that there were ‘good Whites’ and ‘good cops’ and ‘we are our worst enemy’ and celebrity gossip and what not. He was played by these folk because they helped shape his consciousness and his powerlessness. In the end he was played and he resolved to tell the truth about himself; the only one from his house caught by the Caucasians’ web. He should have kept his mouth shut like a “Nigger” or seriously organized a resistance like a Revolutionary, but he was Not Enough Nigger and Not Enough Revolutionary.

Welcoming Song For A New-Born

In the Service of our Ancestors and African Love,
Listen Seeker, I come in peace,

“What is the condition of Colored people whom you know in regard to Good Manners, Sound Morals, Habits of Cleanliness, Personal Honesty, Home Life, Rearing of Children, Wholesome amusement for young people and Caring for old people.”W.E.B. Du Bois

One of the most powerful tactics the colonialist or enslaver had at his disposal was the disassociation of the African Man or Woman from the African Child. When this was executed, the deterioration of the African Family and therefore the African Community was only a matter of a generation’s passing, with the exception of exceptional conditions. It has been over a century since W.E.B. Du Bois asked what we are doing for our young, and the answers he received then mirror the answers of today: In summary, not enough! I had written a song for African Children but so too has the exceptional Baba Wakili O. Mlimwengu, President of the UNIA’s Brooklyn Division 431. It gives me great honor to share this wonderful song with you.

Welcoming Song For A New-Born
Created by: Baba Wakili O. Mlimwengu

Wewe Karibu Mtoto Mchanga
(You are welcome new-born child)

Wewe Karibu Kurudi Nyumbani
(You are welcome to return home)

Wewe Karibu Kucheza Ngoma
(You are welcome to play the drum and dance)

Wewe Karibu Kundi Mzazi Wetu
(You are welcome to return our ancestor)

Wewe Karibu Heri Yako ni Yetu
(You are welcome, your blessings are ours)

Wewe Karibu na Tukupenda Sana
(You are welcome and we love you very much)

Sisi Ni Watoto Wa, Waafrika Wakale Wakuu
(We are the children of the Great Ancient Afrikans)

Meritmentchu: A Pan-African Nationalist Text Adventure

In the Service of our Ancestors and African Love,
Listen Seeker, I come in peace,

“Every man must act in the rhythm of his time … such is wisdom.” — African Proverb

In a previous article, I had written on African Games for African Self-Determination and Intellect. There I elaborated on the various games played in Africa, be they Mancala, Yote, Senet, Magic Square or even Chess. Since then I have endeavored to create my own game.

This one is a text adventure. It takes place in the future where Afuraka (Africa) is a confederacy of four superstates: Zambezi, Kongo, Niger and Nile. The game follows the protagonist (you) from his or her birth to, hopefully, his or her becoming Meritmentchu (the beloved of Mentchu) or the greatest Warrior in Afuraka. It was written in Python and the code is over 2,700 lines long (all written by me.) As of April 18th, 2015 the game is only a demo. If there is considerable support, I can make the full game.

To play the demo, just download it, then unzip it, open the folder and click on Meritmentchu.

Meritmentchu: A Pan-African Nationalist Text Adventure
By Onitaset Kumat


Installtion Instructions: Download the game. Unzip it. Open Folder. Click on Meritmentchu.

Tips: Most choices you make impact your attributes or succeed or fail based on your attributes. Try to get different attributes and try different choices.

Rewards: At the demos completion, you have an opportunity to get the whole source code.

How can I contact you?

Email me at .

What if the download link doesn’t work?

Email me at .

Is it hard to learn Python?

It’s a pretty straightforward programming language.

Why didn’t you make a graphical game?

Graphics are harder to do alone if you are not a graphic artist. Plus, unless you are really graphically gifted, graphics more limit a story than enhance it. E.g. to tell a story of a man wrestling a lion with lionesses laughing, you have to draw out each wrestling scene and each part of the lioness laughing, and to tell the story of a baboon instructing a war game, you have to draw out the whole scene and its rich diversity. Meanwhile in non-graphical games, you can just describe the scene and you are done.

If I am new to programming, what kind of game can I hope to program?

If you are familiar with Sega Genesis and Super Nintendo and even Playstation, those are the kind of games you could program. It would take a lot of graphical artwork, but if you can manage that, the programming is very straightforward and easy.

Have you ever played a MUD?

Of course. I do not yet know how to program online games; but that’s the kind of game I first aimed to create. This text adventure genre I find to be more rich in story.

What else are you working on?

Maybe another text game, maybe a platformer, maybe a traditional African game. It may take me a while though.

Where can I donate?

The Man Who Rapes Men in Prison — A Play

In the Service of our Ancestors and African Love,
Listen Seeker, I come in peace,

“The function of Propaganda is to identify the target’s forces and enemies.” — Onitaset Kumat

When it comes to Propaganda, the Caucasian is beatable but nearly unchallenged. This play is a vocal challenge against his agenda. We need to be clear on who among our people are our viable forces and who aren’t. Are same-sex predators for the African Family or are so-called homosexuals agents of African confusion and European Culture? I do not doubt that this is a sensitive subject in the West, where Africans will not wince at the repeated utterance of ‘Nigger’ but will feel uneasy whenever one says the word ‘Faggot.’ However Martin Luther King, Jr. had said “Cowardice asks the question: is it safe? Expediency asks the question: is it political? Vanity asks the question: is it popular? But conscience asks the question: is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor political, nor popular – but one must take it simply because it is right,” and I tend to agree. We as a Race will not excel if we hide behind Cowardice, Expediency or Vanity. If any Organizer can not announce to the world that the Caucasian is your enemy and Homosexuality is exclusive to the Caucasian’s culture, then that Organizer is unfit to Organize you. And if you understand the wholesale rape in prisons fostered by Caucasian oppression and the wholesale homosexualization of African men and women not yet in prison or dead, but you still feel repulsed by any ‘anti-homosexual rhetoric’ then I wish you better understanding in the years to come. However for now I will make it clear. We can not afford to sacrifice our traditional Family structures for a pat on the head regarding our ‘tolerance.’ A people should never be ‘tolerant’ of their destruction.

The Man Who Rapes Men in Prison — A Play
By Onitaset Kumat

Guru: You really quiet for a nigger locked up. (Pause). Nigger why you don’t talk? (Pause) Nigger!
Amipon: (To himself) I’m not a nigger.
Guru: What you say?
Amipon: I said I am not a nigger.
Guru: Well you look like a nigger.
Amipon: Well alright buddy.
Guru: (Pause) Can’t believe a nigger said he ain’t a nigger. (Pause) Hey nigger how you figure you ain’t a nigger?
Amipon: My name is ‘Amipon,’ not nigger.
Guru: Oh, you funny, Amipon. (Pause) They call me ‘Guru.’ (Pause) On the count of me reading all the books here.
Amipon: Here? There are no books here.
Guru: You are funny. In the library.
Amipon: Is there a library here?
Guru: Every prison has a library. Well every prison I have been to.
Amipon: How long have you been in prisons?
Guru: Twelve years now.
Amipon: I see.
Guru: You should check out the library. Good books in there.
Amipon: I do not plan to stay that long.
Guru: (Loud Laughter) Nigger how long they give you?
Amipon: Crackers don’t give me anything, I create.
Guru: Nigger, you in prison ain’t you? How long they say?
Amipon: They said indefinite, no time limit, multiple life sentences, but I never believe a word a cracker says.
Guru: Nigger, you in prison ain’t you? What’s there not to believe? Think Whitey going to just free you?
Amipon: No, I never look at crackers for my liberation. No, I know our people are going to free me.
Guru: You funny. What they charge you with? Insanity? Being too funny? Being ridiculous?
Amipon: Man, shut up!
Guru: (Getting up) What you say nigger?!?
Amipon: I said shut up. I am not afraid of you.
Guru: Nigger you soon will be. Keep up your funny talk.
Amipon: “The hunter in pursuit of an elephant does not stop to throw stones at birds.”
Guru: Nigger I oughtta–
Warden (off-stage): Be quiet in there!
Amipon: You talk so big to me, but you are silent when your oppressor speaks. (Pause) Really silent.
Guru: You’ll learn.
Amipon: I doubt it.
Guru: Whatever man. (Pause) What they got you in here for?
Amipon: The book: Murder, Conspiracy to Murder, Inciting a Riot, the book.
Guru: So you are a murderer?
Amipon: I murder the Whites in Black minds, so yeah.
Guru: Nigger was you a poet?
Amipon: I’m just an African in America.
Guru: Nigger, you funny. (Pause) But we going to have to get serious now. I’mma need you to come suck my dick.
Amipon: I beg your pardon?
Guru: Nigger you in prison now, I ain’t have a cellmate in a while, you a small looking Nigger, I’mma need you to come suck my dick.
Amipon: You must be out of your African mind.
Guru: Well I’m about to beat your African ass.
(They fight: Amipon is victorious.)
Amipon (agitated): You stupid fool. You some kind of faggot?
Guru: (Whimpers unintelligibly to self)
Amipon: Answer me! You some kind of faggot?
Guru: I ain’t no faggot.
Amipon: So what was that?
Guru: Nigger–
Amipon: Don’t you call me a ‘nigger’ again.
Guru: Amipon, this is prison.
Amipon: What you trying to say?
Guru: I didn’t like when I was raped, but neither did my rapist, but ni–Amipon this is prison.
Amipon: So someone rapes you and you don’t kill him?
Guru: You don’t get it.
Amipon: Instead you, yourself become a rapist?
Guru: You don’t get it.
Amipon: Sound like you are just a faggot.
Guru: I’m not a faggot man.
Amipon: Then you are just a punk.
Guru: (Whimpers unintelligibly to self)
Amipon: I am not worried about your ‘gang’ here, I’m not even staying here.
Guru: You can kick my ass, but you ain’t doing shit to the guards.
Amipon: Let me worry about that. (Pause) Guru, ha. Why am I not surprised a fool would be named ‘Guru?’
Guru: I’m not a fool.
Amipon (no longer agitated): How you figure?
Guru: I read every book in this library, I know everything that goes on here, I am not a fool.
Amipon: Every book crackers approved for a prison? Everything that goes on in a prison? Man that’s not impressive and it’s not even true. You read every book? What do the prison logs say? Who are their personnel, what are their shifts, how much do they get paid? Every book! And everything that goes on in this one little institution? Yeah sure. If you knew that and didn’t find out how to escape for twelve years, then you are a fool.
Guru: (standing up) Ni–
Amipon: Don’t get beat again!
Guru: (sitting down) (Whimpers unintelligibly to self)
Amipon: You know what makes you a real fool? You are a Whitened man and you don’t even know it. (Pause) Black as you are, you’ve been Whitened in these walls. You turned White and became a faggot rapist and I bet you, you worship Whites, too.
Guru: I only worship God.
Amipon: ‘God’ is what Crackers gave you. ‘God’ is not Olodumare, Nyame, or Amen, ‘God’ is what the Cracker gave you to worship Crackers.
Guru: You can’t talk about a man’s God.
Amipon: You ain’t a man. You a punk faggot. Besides, I defer to no Cracker God. No Caucasian!
Guru: I see why they locked you up.
Amipon: Well I am getting out of here, punk.
Guru: You ain’t going nowhere!
Amipon: I will. How you let this Cracker reduce you so much?
Guru: What are you talking about? I ain’t never been shit anyway.
Amipon: You have been a lot before. You have been a Healer, a Hunter, a Protector, an African! You have been a lot before! But now you are you. Reduced. You don’t heal. You don’t hunt. You don’t protect. You have been reduced. And you let the Cracker reduce you!
Guru: Man.
Amipon: You’ve been something before, but you ain’t much now. You’ve been reduced. (Pause) You ever thought of that man? How this Cracker got you preying after your Brothers but praying over Crackers? Have you ever thought about that man? How you make your Brothers worthless pieces of meat for you to nut; but Crackers are your ‘almighty?’ Have you ever thought of this man? Guru? Imhotep! You fool! You ain’t never been a faggot before this White man trapped you in this cage; you ever thought of that African! When a beast is caged, it adopts the culture imposed upon it. This White man reduced you to a beast. You adopted his culture. You adopted his faggot ways. You became a punk. (Pause) The weakening of the Black race. (Pause) You lived this life a boy. You never became a man did you? This Cracker! You let him change you–into a confused fool–you let him change you!
Guru: You don’t understand.
Amipon: No you don’t. (Pause) I’m getting out today. Because I ain’t never been no punk. (Pause) You a prisoner of war because you ain’t had no sense to prepare for war. But me I’m getting out today.
Warden (off-stage): Lock everything down. There were explosions in sector C.
Guru: Somethings happening.
Amipon: No shit Imhotep!
Warden (off-stage): Everyone calm down, everything is under control!
Amipon: On the outside, fools say faggot ways is natural.
Guru: Man . . . something is happening!
Amipon: Faggot ways are natural with crackers. That’s no doubt.
Guru: You hearing this rumble?
Warden (off-stage): Secure the prisoners!
Amipon: But Brothers, they were never faggots on the outside but this changed them.
Guru: You hearing this?
Warden (off-stage): I need back-up here now. We’re being overwhelmed! Back-up! Back-up!
Amipon: This intense concentration of cracker ways, cracker supervision, cracker culture transformed them.
Warden (off-stage): Oh my God!
Amipon: This is the White man’s plan, the weakening of the African race It’s global; not limited by prison walls.
Warden (off-stage): Retreat!
Guru: They are retreating! Black men are fighting and killing and winning, what is this?
Amipon: Too many punks in our race.
Guru: Not these guys! Who are these guys!
Amipon: Those are my brother warriors. (To others) Guys let me out! (Gets released from cell)
Guru: What the? Can you take me?
Amipon: You must be out of your African mind. You know damn well you don’t want freedom. If you wanted it, you’d have warriors coming for you.
Guru: It’s not that easy.
Amipon: I did it. And I didn’t even read every book they gave me. (Laugh) The gate is open. Do what you will. Shem ee em Hotep.
Warden (off-stage): It’s over. We won! What was all that about? Anyone missing? (Pause) Hey Guru! Close your celldoor! Where’s Amipon? Guru!!! I need back-up Amipon is missing. Guru is free and unresponsive. Guru where is Amipon?
Guru: (To Himself) I’m a Man! I don’t worship Crackers. They locked me away for 12 years, limited me, tortured me, REDUCED ME. I’m a Man! A Man!
Warden (on-stage): Back up, I need back-up!
Guru (To Himself) I can run out of this cage, I’m free. Free by my Brothers and Sisters, from 12-years of chains, no 32-years of chains.
Warden (gun fixed on Guru): Guru, where is Amipon? I’m warning you Guru!
Guru (To Himself): I can run. I am free. A man would fight his enemy to his last breath. They’ll shoot me, but I’ll be a free man. I can run. I can fight.
Warden (gun fixed on Guru): Guru, what are you thinking?
Guru (To Himself): A man would run; ain’t I a man?
Warden (gun fixed on Guru): Guru what are you doing, we’ll shoot! (Pause) Guru! Guru! (Pause)
Guru: I think Amipon ran that way.
Warden (gun down): Good boy.