Posted by rogerhollander in Concept of Other in Latin American Liberation.
Tags: bartra, capitalism, chiapas, CONAIE, dussel roig, Ecuador, eugene gogol, hegel, Latin America, liberation, lucio gutierrez, mariategui, marx, marxism, Marxist Humanism, paz, quijano, revolt, revolution, roger hollander, salazar, semo, Zapatistas, zea
(This book review was published in the August-September 2003 of “News & Letters,” the bi-monthly publication of the U.S. Marxist Humanist organization of the same name)
Anyone who has lived and/or followed the Latin American experience/reality in the post-World War II era will have experienced a Sisyphean frustration with respect to the rise and fall of liberation movements and the hope for new human relations to which they aspire. In the eight years I have lived in Ecuador I have witnessed two successful “leftist” coup d’etat that have resulted in absolutely no fundamental social, political, or economic change whatsoever – to the contrary, the economic/political crisis deepens.
In Ecuador, the 1980s saw intense grassroots organization within the indigenous community that culminated in the formation of a national indigenous organization, CONAIE, whose power was expressed in the 1990s through massive protests against oil exploitation in the Amazon rainforest, privatization of social security, and reactionary agricultural laws.
The indigenous revolt of 2000, its contradictions and the reasons for its ultimate failure is taken up in The Concept of Other in Latin American Liberation (Lexington Books, 20002). Gogol points out the contradictions within the leadership of the indigenous movement between those who relied on the creativity of the masses and those who allied themselves with government power. This has come to a tragic fruition with the Gutiérrez government, causing disunity within the indigenous movement that may take decades to repair. These events in Ecuador are in a sense a paradigm of the failures encountered in post-World War II Latin America.
In the first section of the book, Gogol argues that the Hegelian-Marxian dialectic is a sine qua non of truly liberatory revolutionary activity that intersects most dramatically with Latin American historical reality. To those who dismiss Hegel, Gogol shows that they do so at the peril of sacrificing the methodology that can keep revolutionary thought and revolutionary activity dynamic and in sync with social reality.
He takes us upon a philosophical journey touching upon the concept of Other and consideration of the dialectic in the writings of Latin American thinkers including Octavio Paz, Leopoldo Zea, Augusto Salazar Bondy, Anibal Quijano, Enrique Dussel, and Arturo Andrés Roig. He outlines the unique, important and positive contributions made by each, but concludes that in each one encounters an inability or unwillingness to delve deeply into Hegel’s “voyage of discovery.”
In the second section – “Imprisonment of the Other: the Logic of Capital on Latin American Soil” – we find a review of major Latin American thinkers of the 20th century–like José Carlos Mariátegui, Enrique Semo and Roger Bartra. Again, we encounter a richness in thought and analysis of capital’s stranglehold on the masses, showing us that the work of Marx as well as Hegel has taken root in Latin American soil. But we do not yet see the Other unbound. What we find again is the failure to recognize the second negation, the positive in the negative, the pathway to genuine liberation.
In discussing liberation theology’s inability to sustain its momentum in the face of the changing realities and setbacks of movements in Nicaragua, Guatemala and El Salvador, Gogol asks: “If one develops a concept of social change, without such a theoretical labor flowing from a fullness of philosophy of revolution, then what happens to one’s theory when the social movement, the historic moment, has changed?” (p. 115).
Referring to Marx’s economics, not as economic determinism, but rather as a “unity of humanism and philosophy;” not a mere sociology but as a philosophy of liberation. Gogol demonstrates how one expression of revolutionary subjectivity after another has fallen prey to the dead end of state-capitalism or reformist accommodation with different forms of capitalism.
The third section of the work is a journey through selected contemporary liberation movements in Latin America. From the Rio Grande to Tierra del Fuego, we see different forms of revolutionary subjectivity in action: urban, rural, indigenous, women, workers, students, and others. In each of these, be it the tin miners in Bolivia, campesinos in Guatemala, labor organizers in Bolivia, labor organizers in Mexico’s maquiladoras, the Madres de la Plaza of Argentina, or the Landless Workers’ Movement in Brazil, Gogol shows us how self-liberation re-creates itself in its own social environment, creating new pathways towards liberation.
In the Zapatistas of Chiapas, he finds the freshest and most innovative expression of revolutionary subjectivity. In their rejection of focoism, and in aiming not to take state power for themselves but rather to unify the various expressions of Other in Mexico, the Zapatistas broke new ground. Instead of adopting the dead-end, vanguardist “dictatorship of the proletariat” strategies and philosophies which the original urban radicals had brought to Chiapas, what emerged was a re-creation of the principles of collectivity in decision making, that were already inherent and deeply seated in the ways of the indigenous peoples of Chiapas.
As one concerned with understanding and changing Latin America, I see this work as of supreme importance. Although there are a few omissions (the most glaring being a failure to discuss the Colombian situation), the work is comprehensive and probing.
The book concludes with a discussion of philosophy and organization, noting, “It is the theoretician-philosopher(s) who catches the mass self-activity from below, and labors to give it meaning by rooting it within the Marxist-Hegelian philosophic expression…Marx was not afraid to speak of ‘our party’ even in the times when it was only he and Engels” (p. 343).
As one who lives and observes on a daily basis both the ravages of globalized capitalism and the frustration of liberation movements in Ecuador, I can attest to the urgent need for new beginnings in Latin America. And in the light of the Bush doctrine of permanent war and his plans to augment existing U.S. military force in Ecuador, Colombia, Peru, Aruba, Puerto Rico, Cuba and Honduras, and with new bases in the Galápagos, Brazil, El Salvador and Argentina, the Marxist-Humanist primary task takes on renewed urgency: “To the barbarism of war we pose the new society.”
Posted by rogerhollander in Bolivia, Colombia, Cuba, Ecuador, Latin America.
Tags: Bolivia politics government, Communism, Cuban Revolution, democratic socialism, Ecuador politics government, Evo Morales, Hugo Chavez, Latin America politics government history, Latin American government, Latin American politics, Marxist Humanism, Rafael Correa, Raya Dunayevskaya, roger hollander, Sandanistas, social democracy, socialism, state capitalism, Venezuela politics government, Zapatistas
Note to the reader: I am by profession a political scientist and Latin American specialist (BA, Political Science, University of California, Berkeley, 1962), a veteran of the anti-Vietnam War, Civil Rights and United Farm Worker struggles, a former elected Toronto City Councillor, and a long time resident of Ecuador. For over thirty years I have been a student of the school of Marxist Humanism, founded by Raya Dunayevskaya, Leon Trotsky’s Russian language secretary during his exile in Mexico, who broke with Trotskyism over its continued support of the Soviet Union as a socialist state. She was also one of the founders of the notion of state capitalism. My political views and analysis, therefore, is clearly influenced by Marxist Humanist thinking (if you wish to learn more about MH, you can go to www.newsandletters.org). The piece below is an early draft. If you should wish to correspond apart from leaving a comment on the Blog, you can write to me at rogerholla@aol.com). Your thoughts would be most welcome.
Roger Hollander
The governments of three of the five Andean nations – Venezuela, Ecuador, and Bolivia – under the leadership of Hugo Chávez, Rafael Correa and Evo Morales, are perhaps the most to the “left” in all of Latin America. They use the word “socialist” to describe themselves, and are openly defiant of U.S. influence.
North American media in general and much of local media as well have characterized these leaders and governments as dictatorial and anti-democratic. Since these media are owned and operated by the same corporate interests that are at risk from the policies of said governments, their opinions, while not to be summarily dismissed, need to be taken with vast quantities of granulated salt. That these three governments are supported by substantial majorities of the citizenry certainly calls into question the allegation that they are anti-democratic; and although I recognize that democratically governments are often autocratic in practice, and I recognize as well that the Chávez, Correa, and Morales governments have been tenacious in driving through what they consider to be necessary structural changes, what I believe we are seeing here is a simple question of the tables being turned. That is, for the first time in recent memory, the governments of these countries have been wrenched from the hands of local elites, who have acted with near impunity and joined with foreign counterparts to exploit the human and material resources of the country.
Some have argued that a certain amount of expedient measures are necessary in order to confront the enormous economic and entrenched political might of those who have traditionally been in power. While I concur in general with such a proposition, I am not unaware of possible dangers that can arise when governments that begin with progressive intentions begin to sacrifice principle to expediency.
I hold it to be true that these governments came to power on waves of popular sentiment that reflect a profound dissatisfaction with the status quo, one in which so-called neoliberal economic policies have exacerbated already serious problems of unemployment, underemployment, poverty, hunger, etc. While opposition to the status quo per se does not necessarily yield policies that in fact address in a practical manner such historic political, social and economic injustices; in the case of Venezuela, Ecuador and Bolivia, the three governments in power have demonstrated both qualitative and quantitative differences with previous self declared “populist” governments (such as that of Abdalá Bucaram in Ecuador and Alberto Fujimori in Peru), with respect to the provision of social services and attempts to protect or restore national sovereignty over natural resources. It can be argued, I believe, that the Chávez, Correa and Morales governments do in fact propose genuine progressive alternatives to the status quo.
Apart from criticisms that have emerged from an even more radical left, I am not aware of constructive criticism coming from the existing opposition to these governments. For example, in Ecuador a new progressive constitution was recently put before the citizenry in a popular referendum (September 28, 2008), where the vote to approve was 64% and the vote against approval was 26% (the balance were null and blank ballots). The “No” campaign, which was centered in the major port city of Guayaquil (where it did not achieve a majority and only a miniscule plurality over the “Yes” vote), was almost entirely based upon Karl Rovian style negative propaganda that played upon fear and prejudice and which suggested that the new constitution was pro-abortion, pro-homosexual, dictatorial and anti-Christian.
To conclude this preamble, I am, in general, favourable though certainly not in an uncritical manner towards these three governments. For the most part the opposition to them has come from the representatives of the privileged few, who rightly see themselves threatened by what potentially lies ahead.
My thesis is that these governments, while for the most part well-intentioned, are not genuinely “socialist” as I understand socialism; rather they are social democratic in nature and nationalistic in outlook. I want to propose that social democracy, in the long run, does not solve the problems presented by the capitalist economic reality that is universal in our world today; and that nationalism (or anti-imperialism) may be a necessary but not sufficient path to social, political and economic justice.
I want to do this by considering both analytic and historic arguments.
Although there is more or less a consensus of what the so-called neo-Liberal agenda has been and why it has failed, there is considerable vagueness and misunderstanding about the nature of capitalist economy and how to deal with it. The major error, which is virtually universal on both the left and the right, is that capitalism and free markets (or market economy) are synonymous. By defining capitalism solely with respect to the process of distribution we miss its very essence, which is the relationship in production between those who own and manage accumulated wealth (capital), and living labor. It is axiomatic that only living human labor can add value to what already exists and that in a capitalist economy the relation between capital and labor is hierarchical and despotic (i.e., undemocratic). As a result of this fundamental disparity between capital and living labor, those who create value receive far less as recompense than what they create, with the balance going to their capitalist overseers (this we refer to as profit or surplus value). Capitalist production, therefore, is based upon exchange value as opposed to use value (what is socially useful), which is usually referred to in the popular idiom as “profits over people.”
As long as this inherent economic injustice prevails in any economy, whether it calls itself capitalist, social-democratic or even socialist, the sought for end of social, political and economic justice is beyond reach. We have nearly 100 years of post-Russian Revolution history to attest to this fact.
It took nearly twenty years of Stalinist dictatorial oppression of Soviet labor for leftist intellectuals to finally come up with an analytic notion that separates the Soviet experience from philosophic socialism (which is inherently democratic). This came in the form of characterizing the Soviet regime and subsequently every other regime that called itself either socialist or Communist as being, in reality, state capitalist. Somewhere between the two poles of capitalism – private and public – lie every single government of the face of the earth. Nowhere does capitalism exit in its pure form. The Scandinavian social democracies and to a lesser extent England, France, Germany and Canada have somewhat mitigated the deleterious effects of capitalism through what we call the “social safety net.” This has been achieved via somewhat progressive taxation and the institution of social programs in the areas of health, education, unemployment insurance, etc. In no instance, however, have any of these countries been able to eliminate poverty and economic injustice (and on a worldwide basis, these social gains are under ferocious attack and almost everywhere being rolled back, including the U.S. and Canada).
The United States, which in recent history has possessed the greatest amount of economic resources to ameliorate the negative effects of capitalist economy, has for whatever reasons achieved far less in terms of social relief than its Western allies, which is perhaps most dramatically symbolized in the area of health care. Nevertheless, in particular with respect to the institution of Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, the United States too has come a long way from pure capitalism. The recent “nationalization” of the greater part of the world of finance capital takes the U.S. even further in the direction of state capitalism.
In Latin America, the two countries that best demonstrate the failure of state capitalism are the two which experienced genuine social and political revolutions (as opposed to mere regime changes) in the twentieth century: Mexico and Cuba.
The Mexican Revolution of 1910-1920 brought wide ranging changes to the country including nationalization of its natural resources, oil being one of the most important. Although the emerging political system allowed for elections, Mexico became, in effect, a single party state. The Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) ruled virtually uncontested until 2000, when the National Action Party (PAN) finally ended PRI’s total dominance over Mexican government by winning the presidency.
Like the Soviet Communist Party, PRI evolved into an elite bureaucratic organization, ruthless in smothering any opposition that arose to challenge it. Also, as with the Soviet Revolution, many social and political gains were achieved in the early years, not the least of which was the recovering of sovereignty over its natural resources. But a hierarchical single party state run from the top down is the very antithesis of democracy. In the Soviet Union during the early years of the Revolution, the notion prevailed that since it was a “worker’s state,” by definition it was a true representative of worker interest. As Stalin gradually took iron-fisted control of the Party bureaucracy, the political and economic interest of the State soon took precedence and eventually completely over-rode the interests of Soviet workers. It eventually became clear, as first enunciated by those who developed the notion of state capitalism, that state ownership and control of the means of production and private ownership and control are in effect, no different in terms of the interests of working people. Where the rule of capital, whether public or private or mixed, continues to dominate the government and the economy, then what Marx called “the law of value” (production for exchange) is not confronted and those who create value (those who work for wages) continue to be exploited.
A rose by any other name is still a rose. Capitalism is capitalism is capitalism no matter what you call it. Vulgar communists argue that there is a dichotomy between individual and social interests, and that under socialism the imperative if for individuals to sacrifice freedom for the “good” of society. In practice, of course, “society” always turns out to be the elite party bureaucracy. Any form of socialism that does not have as its ultimate aim the freedom from exploitation of each and every individual in society, is suspect.
The Cuban Revolution, while making significant advances for the Cuban people, especially in the areas of health and education (not to mention eliminating the corruption that, under Batista, had turned the Island into a casino and whorehouse for North American consumption), followed much the same path as had Mexican “revolutionaries.” A single party state ruled by a dictator and with an elite military and political bureaucracy that characterizes democratic reform as anti-socialist. Cubophiles argue that Cuba’s problems are a result of the U.S. embargo, which certainly has been a major factor. However, there is no denying the political Stalinization that has kept Cuba politically underdeveloped and perpetuates class divisions.
The simple truth is that capitalist and socialist economies are opposites, mutually exclusive. Either the law of value dominates, with resultant “surplus value” going to the state bureaucracy and worker inequality/alienation remains firmly in place as it has in countries that call themselves Communist; or the capitalist relation between capital and living labor is destroyed and replaced with a democratic form of socialism, which can be best described as “worker democracy.” For those who argue that this is impossibly idealistic, for historical precedent one can look to the Paris Commune of 1871 and the early years of the Soviet, Cuban and Nicaraguan revolutions.
What Chávez, Correa, and Morales are attempting to do in the name of socialism is “top down,” which always results in ultimate failure. Genuine revolutionary socialism can only come from the bottom up. This is something that vanguardists have always refused to recognize. As I said in the beginning, nationalization of natural resources may be a necessary but certainly not sufficient measure to develop true democratic socialism. Diverting monies from the hands of foreign private capital and into government treasuries can lead to greater state spending in social areas such as health and education. But, as is the case with both Venezuela and Ecuador as we speak, when the value of natural resources such as petroleum depends on the volatility of international capitalist markets, this capacity lacks reliability. This is exactly what we are seeing today with the dramatic drop in the world price of oil.
The taking of power in any country basically involves becoming either a minor or major co-manager of economic capital. Managing a capitalist economy is no way to achieve democratic socialism. Chávez, Correa and Morales will inevitably learn that they will not be able to erase poverty and hunger and achieve economic justice in the face of staunch opposition from commercial and financial capital, which in turn is backed up by U.S. military imperialism. In addition, given the mutual hostility with the United States, their governments will (and already have) begin to look to authoritarian (anti-democratic) regimes such a China and Iran with respect to trade and diplomatic relations (which mirrors Cuban support for Soviet despotism in the Soviet Union and support for the Soviet Union in suppressing democratic socialist revolt, for example, in Czechoslovakia in 1968). Forming friendly relations with foreign despots is hardly conducive to democratic socialist solidarity.
The Zapatistas in Mexico seem to have learned the lessons of the Cuban and Nicaraguan (Sandinista) Revolutions, and they have consciously opted to work to build autonomous anti-government, anti-capitalist enclaves as opposed to attempting to take over state power. If I were an advisor to the Venezuelan or Ecuadorian government, I would be telling them that, in addition to providing enhanced social programs, they need to promote community development at the local level in preparation for an eventual struggle to destroy capitalist exploitation in the workplace. Only then, will the grounds be created for genuine democratic socialism.
Reviewed: Mexico Unconquered: Chronicles of Power and Revolt, by John Gibler, 356 Pages, City Lights Publishers, (January, 2009).
The Zapatistas Return Amid Failed Drug War June 11, 2011
Posted by rogerhollander in Drugs, Latin America, Mexico.Tags: chiapas, drug war, ezln, felipe calderon, javier sciilia, juan francisco sicilia, mexican government, mexican paramilitaries, Mexico, michael mccaughan, roger hollander, san cristobal, self-government, war on drugs, zapatismo, Zapatistas
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San Cristobal, Mexico – This nation is caught in the grip of an escalating drug war that has cost 40,000 lives in the past five years. The daily body count varies but is usually measured in the dozens. Methods of extermination range from decapitation and mutilation to asphyxiation and a bullet in the head. Most Mexicans have become numbed to the extreme cruelty and hope they don’t get swept up in the river of blood.
Once in a while, however, a single incident can trigger a powerful reaction. Juan Francisco Sicilia was one of seven friends found bound and murdered on March 28 south of Mexico City, with evidence pointing to a drug cartel. His killing has sparked a national mobilization and a new movement aimed at shifting government policy away from perpetual warfare and toward an integrated political solution.
Javier Sicilia, poet and father of Juan Francisco, launched “The March for Peace with Justice and Dignity,” a three-day event that culminated in a rally in Mexico City. The idea was simple – a silent march and a single slogan: “Estamos hasta la madre, no mas sangre.” “We’ve had it up to here, no more bloodshed.” This idea captured the popular imagination and on May 8 hundreds of thousands of people marched all over Mexico demanding a radical change to government policy.
In southeast Mexico, the Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN) answered the call and announced their plan to march into San Cristobal de las Casas on May 7, the town where the Zapatistas first appeared in January 1994. It has been five years since the Zapatistas last mobilized in this manner, and many people remember the movement as a noble insurrection that inspired millions but ultimately fizzled out, victim of a bitter debate over the pitfalls and possibilities of electoral politics.
The return of the Zapatistas to San Cristobal thus seemed like a reckoning. Could the Zapatistas match the years when they could gather more than 10,000 masked rebels to occupy the city, watched by nervous local elite who pulled the shutters down and held their breath till the indios left?
Since 2006 the Zapatistas have consolidated their autonomous rule across five “caracoles,” self-governing councils whose delegates take turns to “be the government,” learning the ropes before passing the torch to delegates from another village. The goal is to allow many people to learn how to “be the government” without giving birth to a professional, bureaucratic political class.
The Zapatistas have also largely severed ties with visiting NGOs and no longer encourage foreigners to visit their communities. Thousands of outsiders, trekking in to jungle communities to learn how to make revolution, came in good faith. They served as an important buffer against army and paramilitary forces in the late 90s, but they also disrupted daily life and generated inequalities and jealousy as gifts and money were left behind.
When May 7 arrived, San Cristobal was drenched in warm sunshine and an air of expectancy filled the main square where TV crews jostled for position in front of an improvised stage. The Zapatistas arrived in a long, winding trail of men and women of all ages, each one wearing a ski mask that bore a number representing the caracole from which they came. The square quickly filled to overflowing, and by the time the Zapatista comandantes opened the event with Mexico’s national anthem, the rebels had already won a major victory by organizing the biggest march San Cristobal has ever seen. Some 20,000 rebels were present, bringing with them the fragrant aroma of corn and wood smoke, and the elusive element of community cohesion, described by one analyst as “the sacred fire of the movement.” Getting that many rebels to San Cristobal was an enormous effort as each community was in charge of its own transport and food at a time when corn, rice and beans are scarce.
The Zapatistas have an ambivalent relationship with the rest of Mexico. “Here we are,” their silence seems to say. “We have territory and self rule in our small corner of the country, what have you done?”
The images of Javier Sicilia, a lone individual leading a march of the indignant and the impotent in Mexico City, contrasted sharply with Zapatismo. The rebels moved as one, arriving and leaving in formation, sharing transport and territory. This cohesion is amplified by the shared “means of production,” the milpa or cornfield that forms the basis for survival across regional and linguistic boundaries.
The 30 comandantes of the Clandestine Indigenous Revolutionary Committee who formed a guard of honor on the stage melted into the crowd after the event, their faces unknown, their words attributable to no one.
Nonetheless, the situation is fragile as the Zapatista communities struggle to survive and withstand the twin pressures of army and paramilitary aggression and state funds used to tempt rebels away from the Zapatista ranks.
Meanwhile, the next day in Mexico City, at least 70 victims of violence took turns to speak out, including Patricia Duarte, whose infant son was burned to death in a crèche in Sonora along with 47 other children. In Mexico today, the state of insecurity covers everything from the village of San Juan Copala, Oaxaca, whose inhabitants were forced to flee en masse last year due to state-sponsored violence and the parents of those children who died in the nursery. San Juan Copala declared an autonomous zone, Zapatista-style, on Jan. 1, 2007 and was immediately besieged by paramilitaries with close links to the state governor. Unlike the Chiapan rebels they had no weapons to back up their claims.
Mexican President Felipe Calderon responded to the march with a televised address in which he equated the call for an end to state violence with surrender to the drug cartels. “We have might, right and the law on our side,” said a belligerent Calderon, insisting that the army would remain on the streets and at the center of his national security strategy.
Mere days after the march, Amnesty International released a report accusing Mexican security forces of torture, disappearances and murder, including charges of disguising innocent victims of army violence as members of drug gangs. Amnesty also criticized Mexico’s justice system for failing to charge a single member of the armed forces with criminal activity despite dozens of well-documented cases.
Juan Sicilia countered, “We are not trying to overthrow the government. We want to rebuild the social fabric of this nation.” Sicilia said that the Mexican people were paying an intolerable price for an unwinnable war that no one asked for, the course of which is determined by politicians “in upscale restaurants and offices paid for by us.” By the end of the three-day march Sicilia’s tone had hardened, recognizing perhaps that Calderon had no intention of paying him any heed. Sicilia called for civil disobedience should the government ignore their demands. “It takes balls to strike back, to refuse to pay taxes, and it will take all of us to surround parliament until our demands are heard.”
Sicilia has launched a citizen initiative that is gathering momentum and which has no affiliation with Mexico’s discredited political parties. In 2006 the EZLN launched “la otra campana,” the other campaign – an attempt to build a popular movement that would eschew elections and challenge the state from below. If there is one lesson learned since 1994, it is that the Zapatistas cannot carry the burden of hope alone and that the rest of Mexico must do its own share of the heavy lifting.
“We know you didn’t understand anything,” joked one Zapatista delegate in San Cristobal, referring to the translation of each speech into several indigenous languages. “But that’s the way it goes, you just had to put up with us. Thank you for your patience.”
The Zapatistas remain the ever-patient outsiders in a country rent by violence and corruption, quietly building an autonomous alternative, a living example of what a disciplined, long-term struggle can achieve. “You are not alone,” said Comandante David during the rally, addressing victims of violence throughout Mexico. The Zapatistas have been alone for too long, and derided for lacking “common sense” and refusing to throw their weight behind the lesser of three evils at election time.
With just a moment in the limelight Javier Sicilia has already concluded that if Mexico’s political system fails to respond to the current crisis of representation, and if a sweeping new security law is approved, the 2012 presidential elections shall be a pointless exercise: A candidate bound and gagged by institutional corruption will be elected to lead a nation edging dangerously close to a politico-military dictatorship.
Michael McCaughan is a writer and researcher based in the Burren, Ireland. He is working on a biography of Mumia Abu-Jamal.