MÉTODO PARA VERIFICAR EL CODEC/PAYLOAD/JITTER EN UN TELÉFONO IP Los métodos varian de acuerdo al proveedor Se presentan a continuación los más

We arrived in Chicago at about 7:30 that evening and went straight to Cook County Jail. Inside the jail they pat-searched me and took me downstairs. The assistant superintendent, a white cat, started telling me on the way downstairs that he had gotten to know Fred Hampton very well, while Fred was in jail there one time.2 I

asked the cat what his job was. He told me he used to be a police officer in charge of gang intelligence. Naturally, I didn't trust him one bit. So instead of offending him, I just let him go on and present himself, to see what his attitude really was. He went on to say that he had liked brother Fred Hampton very much. I was not impressed. That sounded like "gang intelligence" work.

He took me downstairs into a hall, and there was a black cat standing there. I had heard that there was a black man who ran the jail, Moore was his name. He was the head superintendent there, and they called him "Warden Moore."

Moore told the assistant, "Bring him in here. I want to talk to him." So I walked into the little room. He said, "Sit down over there in the chair." I sat down in the chair. "Now look here," he said, like he was supposed to be very tough, "I'm the warden of this jail, and I run this jail. You got a lot of notoriety and we don't want any trouble in this jail."

I looked at him and I said, very straight and very directly, "I know you don't want me to organize in your jail. Most people don't want me organizing in their jails when I am there."

Moore said, "We haven't got any Panthers in this jail, we haven't got any Muslims in this jail, we haven't got any gang members in this jail. We got inmates. You understand that?"

"Yes," I answered. "I also understand that I'm still the Chairman of the Black Panther Party. I want my cell and my legal papers, so that I can work on some legal matters."

Another guard came in, a black cat, and took me into another section where they do the booking. They strip- searched me, then gave me my clothes back. I noticed that there were a lot of black guards at Cook County Jail. After this procedure was finished, they had some sheets of paper that I had to fill out; one for my property and for receiving mail, and one for listing all my arrests. The last one is called a rap sheet. I took the sheets and started filling it out. I didn't have to give this information to them, and the average cat should just flat take the Fifth Amendment and refuse to give any such information. But in my case I knew that this kind of information is already known by every FBI agent, so it would have been silly to refuse to run it down.

Well, the next thing I knew, about thirty black guards crowded around and began to ask me questions about all the past arrests I had. I guess they were curious from having heard so many lies in the newspapers. So, really enthusiastically, they gathered around to hear what I would tell about what had happened in the past, about what they would call my criminal record.

Some of them seemed to think that I had been arrested for some vicious, vicious crimes. When I mentioned that I had been arrested for having a gun adjacent to a jail, there were "oohs" and "ahhs" and expressions toward each other as if they thought that this must have been some fantastic feat or criminal act that I was trying to pull, which was not the case at all.

The fact was, this was right after one of the times Huey had gotten busted. At the time of Huey's arrest, we were carrying weapons, and I was waiting outside the jail for him on a public sidewalk with a shotgun in my hands. The next day I was arrested. These are the kind of things they didn't know, the fact that I wasn't even arrested initially, and that I wasn't trying to break anybody out of jail. We just carried the guns in the open at that time to show the people that it was legal to carry these guns, and that we would defend ourselves. We had been on the streets with guns for six or seven months by that time, and the cops hadn't arrested us because they couldn't find anything to charge us with, until we happened to get too near a county jail. So I explained to the guards, "Don't look at that like it's something fantastic. It's perfectly legal for a person to arm himself, and have a shotgun. We just got too near a county jail."

They looked at me skeptically and said, "Aw, come on now. What else you been arrested for? C'mon, what else?"

I realized that they didn't know any of the facts about my arrests at all, just that there had been a lot of these arrests, and they made a long list on the rap sheet, looking very sensational. They wanted to know, who is this Bobby Seale person who has all this notoriety? Most of them were thinking that I was really a gangbanger, and stuff like this, which I wasn't at all. I had never been a gang leader. I was just another cat who grew up in the community. But they were looking for a lot of theft and other bad things.

So I told them I'd run it all down in detail, but I wouldn't say anything about any case that was still pending. Anything they wanted to know from the past, I'd freely tell them.

I've been arrested five times in the last two years on major things that were trumped up by the government to try and put me in jail. But other than that, before these last two years, and before the Black Panther Party, there was nothing more serious than traffic warrants. Since the Party was founded, there was the guns on grounds adjacent to a county jail charge, then my wife and I were both arrested for possession of illegal weapons. The initial charge on that was a so-called kind of conspiracy to commit murder, which they had to drop the next day. The guards grabbed onto that. "Why'd they drop it?" they asked. "What you mean? What happened then?" But I wouldn't go any further into that because it's still pending on appeal. Then there was the bust in

Sacramento and then the Chicago thing, and the Connecticut murder charge, which hasn't come to court yet. These are all my arrests.

Finally the guards were satisfied. I was ready to be taken up to my cell.

A black guard who knew Oakland told me he was taking me up, and I told him I wanted my own cell. I explained that I could work better that way. He said, "Yeah, man, I'll make sure you get a place where you can work and do your things." As we walked to my cell, he talked about Oakland, but it was like we were talking about two different places, because he hadn't been there for a long time.

He was a lieutenant. One thing I found among those black guards was that even though they were being used by the system to check and corral their own black brothers, half of them were doing it just for the sake of having a job. There's so much unemployment in the black community, that regular everyday cats will take a job as a guard just to be able to get by.

Some of the older cats and a few others try to play policeman and be tough. They're so brainwashed, they can't see beyond the man's system. But this one cat, this lieutenant, happened to have grown up in Berkeley and Oakland with me when I was younger. He remembered the same people I remembered at Berkeley High. When I was working in the poverty program, way before the Black Panther Party was formed, he was the head of a local poverty program. But he was the type of cat that's just going to take him a job, get a position, and not really be that concerned with black people and black America and the struggle.

Some places in the jail, I saw some filth around the walls that really needed cleaning. When we got to my cell, I was relieved to see that it wasn't filthy around the walls and floor. The cell was a maximum holding cell, tiny and certainly not comfortable, but at least it was empty and clean. The guard left and I went to sleep.

The next morning, Warden Moore came to pay me a call. I heard some steps. Somebody was walking down the hall, trying to be very quiet. I sat with my back to the steel door. I remembered the sound it had made the night before, when the guard pushed the button to open it - very loud, very startling. A good way to scare a person, and make him jump. A good way for a soft-stepping warden to intimidate a prisoner, by startling him and putting him on the defensive.

Sure enough, the soft steps stopped. Blang! My door opened. I waited for a few seconds, and then looked around slowly. It was Warden Moore.

He stared hard at me, then said, rather arrogantly, "How you doing?"

"I'm doing fine, warden, how are you doing?" I answered. I was just sitting sort of casually on the top bunk.

He looked at the papers I had spread around me, and, nodding at them, demanded, "What are you doing?"

I said, "I'm thinking about my legal matters, working on that stupid, trumped-up charge there," and I pointed to a legal document that Garry had given me.

"What charge is that?" Moore sort of growled, and I handed him the charge from Connecticut.

He looked at it and read it. Then he handed the paper back to me and stepped back, putting his hands in his belt, trying to look authoritative. "We've got over 2,000 prisoners in this jail," he announced. "We run this jail just fine. We got over 90 percent black guards in this jail."

"Good," I said. "In fact, I was surprised to see that many black people running a jail."

He cleared his throat. "You want to go outside?" he asked.

"It doesn't make any difference," I told him. "I can be locked up, or I can go outside, or I can just stay right here." Then he said I could go watch television if I wanted to, with some trustees. "No, thanks," I told him. "I don't have to watch TV. I'd just as soon stay locked up, right in here."

He stared at me for a few seconds. He looked a little confused when I said that. Then he turned and left.

That was a little trick I had learned from Huey. Huey would upset the guards in jail. Huey understood the guards. He knew that psychologically most guards couldn't stand to be locked up. Most believed they would go mad if they had to be locked up. So what Huey would do is, when they put him in the day room, all of a sudden he would jump up and say, "Hey, officer, come here and lock me back up in my cell." He pulled a reverse on them. Where most prisoners would do nearly anything to get out of their cells and into the day room, Huey would say, "Lock me up in my cell."

Huey said the guards are really the ones who fear jail, and fear the things they do there, because they would fear being in the same situation as the prisoners. The worse they treat the prisoners, the more they fear - that's the

mind of the Establishment.

There were other experiences Huey had told us about to help us deal with the situations we would find in jail. One time - a long time ago, before the Black Panther Party - Huey was put into the hole. They brought him some mush in a cup, for him to eat, and some water; the mush was green. So he took the stuff and threw it out the porthole, and then got down and started doing push-ups. He was already in the hole, the worst punishment they have - they couldn't put him anywhere else. The most they could do is come in and brutalize him. So they did. They actually came in and beat the shit out of Huey. About two days after that, the guard who came around on the night shift turned out to be an old friend of Huey's. They hadn't seen each other for years, until this guard came down and found Huey in the hole. He sneaked some sandwiches down to Huey. After that, every night when this guard came on the night shift, Huey could eat. Then, in the day, when the other guards came down, Huey would be doing push-ups. Every day he'd throw the food back and say, "I don't want that crap. That's not fit for human beings to eat." Huey went on like that for ten days. It was blowing the guards' minds. Finally, one of the guards said, "How do you do this?"

Huey said, "The spirit of the people is stronger than the man's jail. My spirit is stronger than yours."

That's the kind of thing Huey pulled off in jail, even before the Black Panther Party was organized. So from the ways he taught me to deal with the jail experience, I was able to deal with Warden Moore. Of course, that doesn't mean that I like jail. I abhor it, I'm pissed off at it. But I learned to take jail, and I let the guards know that being locked up doesn't change my revolutionary spirit. And usually, when the guards discover this, they become quite interested in the philosophy of the Black Panther Party, and come around asking questions and asking me to run down the ten-point platform. That's how it happens, what Warden Moore calls organizing.

In the next couple of days, I wrote a number of letters. I felt that I was isolated from everything that was going on on the West Coast, being in Chicago. So I wrote letters home to communicate. One of the guards came around and told me to fill out this thing to my lawyer, and I'd be able to get in touch with him right away. I filled that out, and the guard promised to mail it immediately. By now the guards realized that I wasn't either a mad killer or a fool, as the papers depict all Black Panther Party members.

The second day I felt something crawling on me and I realized I had caught the crabs. The only place that I could trace it to was that filthy county jail in Missouri that I had to stay at all night one night. So I went and got completely soaked down with DDT, all through my hair and my natural - everything. I had that stuff running off me like water.

The next Tuesday morning, they took me out, saying I was going to court. Actually we ended up going to the Federal Building in Chicago. On the way, I saw Jerry Rubin. I hardly recognized him at first, with his hair all cut off. We stood in the federal processing tank in Cook County Jail for two hours, and got to talk for a while. Jerry told me he was being kept in a tier across the hall from me, but Cook County Jail is so huge, that it's like being in another jail. Cook holds as many prisoners as they do in some of the major prisons. I found out that Jerry had to stay in jail until twenty-five days were up. He was serving the time for blocking a Navy recruiting table in Berkeley.

Jerry told me Warden Moore had been down the aisle that morning, hassling him a little, and had said, "Bobby Seale is an Uncle Tom." I laughed and said, "Oh, man, ain't this a gas. The other day he was treating me like I was the most notorious criminal in the world. Now that he's found out I'm not a notorious criminal, I'm an Uncle Tom. Well, we can't expect Warden Moore to understand the positives of revolutionary principles."

Then I told Jerry how Warden Moore had sought me out in the aisle that same morning. "Bobby Seale!" he had called out. "Jerry Rubin said he would get you to beat me up."

I had said, "Jerry Rubin might say anything. He might say that he's going to get Westmoreland to jump on Nixon." Jerry laughed at that.

Then Moore himself came inside the tank. He sat down and began talking about how SDS runs the Black Panther Party. I said, "You're crazy, man."

He said, "It's true. They do."