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Hip-Hop in the Motherland...50 years later SEE PAGES A6-7
Pittsburgh Courier NEW
www.newpittsburghcourier.com Vol. 114 No. 52 Two Sections
DECEMBER 27, 2023 - JANUARY 2, 2024
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‘Black Nativity’— 30 years of Black excellence
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
by Renee P. Aldrich For New Pittsburgh Courier
THE NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION SAVE A LIFE TODAY PITTSBURGH (SALT) HELD ITS ANNUAL CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION AT PPG PAINTS ARENA ON DEC. 15. CHECK OUT PAGES A4-5 TO SEE THE COURIER’S COVERAGE FROM PHOTOGRAPHER RICCO J.L. MARTELLO.
In a festive celebration at the August Wilson African American Cultural Center on Thursday evening, Dec. 13, about 100 people gathered for a reception commemorating 30 years of the Shona Sharif African Dance and Drumming Ensemble “Black Nativity.” This event was a precursor to the annual holiday run of the rousing musical “Black Nativity.” The musical for 2023 ran from Dec. 15-23 at the Stephen Foster Memorial Theater in Oakland. The production was first started by the Wilkinsburg Arts Council. In the second year, it was choreographed by Shona Sharif,
who was a senior lecturer at the University of Pittsburgh, an African Dance instructor and the creator of the Shona Sharif African Dance and Drumming Ensemble. The third year is when she completely took over the musical and produced it until her untimely death in 1999. The evolution of the “Black Nativity” has happened in a variety of ways, going from a one week run in the early days, to two weekends to three weekends. In this, its 30th year in 2023, Maurice Redwood, a seasoned participant in the production, having started out as a drummer SEE BLACK NATIVITY A3
‘A jail stay as a teen led me to advocacy, but incarceration leads many to ruin’ A FIRST PERSON ESSAY by Muhammad Ali Nasir PublicSource
In the early hours of Sept. 2, 2005, my family’s sense of normalcy was interrupted by an aggressive banging on the door. I stood at the top of the stairs as my brother answered only to be pushed aside by four police officers. They pointed at me, stating I was under arrest. My brother demanded to see a warrant, which they eventually presented after threatening to arrest him for obstruction of justice. I was allowed to put on shoes before being handcuffed, along with my nephew, and escorted into the back of a police cruiser. It was the start of my long and challenging journey through the criminal justice system. I was just 16, wrongly accused and horribly unprepared. Even as the county moves to reopen the Shuman Juvenile Detention Center—ostensibly to get kids out of the Allegheny County Jail—my own experience with incarceration shows that the entire approach to law enforcement of youth needs to be re-examined beyond the location of their detention.
Naive beliefs, feelings of insignificance Two weeks after my arrest, following my release on a $3,000 cash bail, I stood in front of Pittsburgh City Council, speaking about my experience in the Allegheny County Jail. This was solely at the urging of my mother, who had been deeply affected by my arrest and incarceration. Her anger was visible, and she made it known to everyone who would listen, from the Carnegie Police Department to the corrections officers at the jail and my public defender. She believed my story needed to be heard and that I was the best person to tell it. As I spoke before Council, I remember feeling a mix of nervousness and encouragement bolstered by the presence of my mother and aunt. However, the response was disheartening as only one council member seemed to listen attentively, while the rest and the audience ignored me completely. I felt that my experience was common enough to be insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t until 2019, when I joined the Bukit Bail Fund, that I began to see value in what I had been through, and to understand the context. In November of 1995, the Pennsylvania Judi-
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cial Code was amended under Act 33, allowing minors accused of certain crimes, such as armed robbery, to be charged and tried as adults. This legal backdrop meant that instead of being taken to a juvenile detention center, which I had anticipated, I found myself treated as an adult instead of the child I was. Reflecting now, I see parallels between my story and those of many young people I’ve supported over the years who have been similarly charged as adults and placed in jail. The closure of Shuman and the subsequent doubling of the juvenile population in ACJ underscore the urgency and importance of my work in advocating for these young individuals and their families. My firsthand experience with the criminal legal system at such a young age was a rude awakening. Before that, I had held a naive belief in the fairness and justness of the law—that police required substantial evidence to charge someone, that judges were impartial, and that, according to the U.S. Constitution, one was innocent until proven guilty. However, my arrest, based solely on an accuser’s word against mine; my original bail of $25,000, which was arbitrarily set significantly higher than that of my co-defendant; and my subsequent treatment in the Allegheny County Jail quickly dispelled these beliefs.
MUHAMMAD ALI NASIR, ALSO KNOWN BY HIS EMCEE NAME MAN-E, THE ADVOCACY, POLICY AND CIVIC ENGAGEMENT COORDINATOR FOR 1HOOD AND FOUNDER OF COMMUNITY CARE & RESISTANCE IN PITTSBURGH, STANDS OUTSIDE THE ALLEGHENY COUNTY JAIL ON OCT. 24. (PHOTO BY STEPHANIE STRASBURG/PUBLICSOURCE)
Allegheny County’s population is 13 percent Black. But its jail population is 66 percent Black. The Allegheny County Jail houses on average, 1,730 people per day, or 1,142 African Americans per day.
‘Is that it?’
From the moment I arrived in the jail, I felt the climate of negativity and the undertone of violence. I didn’t receive an iota of respect from the jail staff as I was ordered from one single cell to another. I waited hours at a time between the logistical procedures of the intake process. I remember dozing
off and being awakened by the kick of a corrections officer before he ordered me to the next station. Over the next several days, I was searched, arraigned, photographed, questioned and stripsearched before being forced into the red uniform that marked me as an inmate and taken upstairs to the housing units. When I think of the time I spent
in the ACJ, I recall the deplorable conditions that make it among the deadliest jails in the country. For almost a week, I was kept in isolation, locked in a cell for 23 hours a day without explanation. My pod was not exclusive to minors, leading to me eventually mixing with SEE JAIL A3