Freedom Come Movement

From Founder: I am Mother, Aunt, Grandmother ,Sister, Friend.

It was the early 1990s and it was the height of the Gangs Wars in Los Angeles. If you were a young black man and in a gang, mostly likely you were sent to Pelican Bay prison. But somehow my nephew, who suffered from epilepsy, ended up here. One night secured his fate. My nephew was sitting into car with friend in South Central when a man drunkenly started an argument with them. My nephew ended up being charged with attempted murder. He was given the harshest sentence because he was the eldest of the two. My nephew was 21 and his friend was 18 years old. It was nothing short of a hellhole.

My nephew would often call me to pray and tell me about his horrific experiences. How the guards would push this machine in their cells to give them baths, sometimes with scolding hot water. My nephew would stay in his cell out of fear because he was sick and he couldn’t fend for himself. He wouldn’t even go outside to feel the sunshine on his face. Being epileptic, he would often suffer from seizures and instead of helping him, the guards would push him down iron stairs. The guards would often withhold his medication. He was often taken advantage of and experimented on because he was ill.

In the Summer of 1993, we had a family reunion in Oklahoma. My nephew asked me if I can send his photos because he would not forget how his Family looked like. I sent him a packet of twenty photos, which also included picture of his daughter Patricia. Out of pack of twenty photos, he was only given four and the rest were sent back to me. Whenever I would send my nephew care packages, the prison would take all the necessities out and would leave him with items like a handkerchief.

The men in prison are someone’s brother, son, father, nephew and friend. It was bad enough if you where well and could fight for yourself. My nephew ended up dying in this hellhole. Far away from his family and home. This place broke his mind, body and spirit until there was nothing left of him. From what I later found out, my nephew wasn’t the only one. A lot of young Black man were being killed in this prison. Protest because loud and the prison was closed down. However, it did reopen when everything uproar quieted down. However, I will continue to tell my nephew’s story.

My nephew’s name was Tyler Henderson and he mattered. He is the reason why I will continue to fight and raise my voice for those who can’t