This off a disc that was included in his book "All Things Censored" which consists of Banned radio essay commentaries. This one struck a chord in me and I will do the same for some others...when I find the time...
Pam Africa, Minister and disciple of the teachings of John Africa, tells a true tale of a meeting between a ladder and a man of the cloth behind the old headquarters of the MOVE organization, in the Powelton village section of West Philadelphia. The scene: a man, middle-aged, bearded, booted, an
d blue-jeaned, is called to the back door by the leader of a small group from a nearby church. Though both are black, they represent a fascinating tableau of difference. The one wears a T-shirt, sweater soaking his breast; and the other is impeccably dressed in silk, suit, and tie. The only touch mi
ssing is coattails. The one's hair is rough, gray-fringed, uncombed, and hanging like ropes to his shoulders; the other is pomaded, greased, and brushed smooth--the head of a preacher man. The air is thick and charged with controversy for the city is threatening to remove MOVE from their property an
d their neighborhood after a series of highly publicized confrontations with the police that have left several MOVE men and women beaten ad bloody and one MOVE baby dead. "So, you are sayin' that all I gotta to do is pray, and everything will be alright." "Well, that is what I am saying brother." "I
f I pray the cops will stop beating up my people?" "Yes, that is what I am saying, brotha." "If I pray, the cops will stop killing us." "Yes, pray in Jesus name brother, because the Bible say 'ask and it shall be given unto you; That is it, brother." "And if I pray, our people will truly be free?" "
Uh-huh, yes sir, brother." "Well, c'mon, Reverend. Let's pray then. " John Africa drops to his knees, oblivious of the soft mud already staining his jeans. "Whoa--what you doin', brotha?" "You said we needa pray." "Uhh... huh--" "Well, come on, Rev, pray with me, okay?" "I...I... I meant pray in the
church. "Why, Reverend? Ain't God our here in the open air? Ain't God all around us. Come on? Let's kneel down here on God's earth and pray." At this point the Reverend backs up, and John Africa says, "What is a matter? I thought that you said that we should pray. Well, come on down here and pray w
ith me." The Reverend continues to stand there, staring. John Africa asks again, "What's the matter, man? That suit you got on more important that God? I thought u said that you believed in God. This dirt is God. So why don't you kneel down here and pray with me?" "Well, uh... excuse me, brotha, but
I got to be getting back to my church." At this point the people standing around the two men began to speak. "See, that man is down there on his knees in the dirt. He got to be for real. That Reverend ain't nothing but a phony. He scared he is gonna dirty his suit. He talking 'bout how he believe i
n God, he don't believe in nothing' but that suit." One woman comments to another, "That preacher's a hypocrite. See. That is why I don't go to no church, cuz I don't believe in the preachers, cuz they ain't nothing but liars. They ain't for real. That man there kneelin' in that dirt is for real. Jo
hn Africa goes on. "You don't wanna to pray with me, then Rev?" "Ah, I got to go, man.... I'm sorry." "Why are you leaving, Rev?" The dashing preacher beats a hasty retreat from the muddy yard. More intent, it seems, on saving silk than souls. . . Several years later and several miles west ward, the
city would torch MOVE's home and headquarters with a helicopter-borne firebomb, incinerating John African and ten other longhairs, some of them women and children, in a massacre plotted to take place on Mother's Day. The scene: smoldering remains of an entire neighborhood, only hours before the s
ite of a blistering and bellowing inferno. Philadelphia's men of cloth have gathered once again, though only to examine the carnage, not to weep for the fallen, nor to pray for the dead. They have come bedecked in robes and collars, the purpose of their gathering to pray is support of the mayor of t
he city that has bombed its own citizens, and obliterated, incinerated, and dismembered its own babies. The police commissioner, the fire chief, the mayor and his officers are almost to a man Christian--Baptists or Catholics, most of them--religious people. Yet these men who have gathered to pray ar
e no only churchgoers; they are ministers, pastors, priests. Aside from praying, though, it seems they mean to do little. Why should they? They just winked at a full-sale war waged over mere misdemeanors, at the deaths of eleven people, blasted by a sky bomb, at the destruction of dozens of homes an
d the permanent scarring of a neighborhood. And so they pray and leave for home, their duties fulfilled. Men of the cloth? Yes. But men of the spirit? This is Mumia Abu-Jamal.

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