April 23, 2022
For Eddie, on the day of his birth.
There’s so much to be said about my husband, Marshall “Eddie” Conway. As a matter of fact, his memoir, Marshall Law: The Life and Times of a Baltimore Black Panther, which we wrote while he was in prison, did not capture the entire breadth of Eddie’s life experiences. But there are the basic facts that people have come to know about Eddie–as a leader in the Baltimore chapter of the Black Panther Party, he sought to bring about revolutionary changes for Black people. Eddie has said that he wanted a better life for his children than the poverty and violence that had stared down his generation.
For his efforts, he got a life sentence, and ended up spending over four decades in the Maryland prison system. However, the brutal guards, old buildings and barbed wire never completely restrained Eddie. He organized—there were numerous programs to educate and raise the political consciousness of prisoners, even an attempt to unionize behind bars. They tried to kill him for the latter, and punished him for the former, but Eddie survived and went on to save lives, and not in the empty way that saving lives has become more a slogan than a thing. There are living breathing individuals who have declared, “You saved my life!” like the young man we encountered at Morgan State University in 2014, shortly after Eddie was released from prison.
Despite his many achievements and good deeds, Eddie never developed an inflated ego. He knows who he is, and he’s comfortable with that man. I think it is that contentment that attracts people to Eddie. His charm is of the bewitching sort that gets people to part with their dollars to buy coats for children in Gilmor Homes. Eddie smooth talks folks into doing good deeds for the people in his community, and because of this, people fall in love with Eddie. I fell in love with Eddie, but we chose each other. At times, we are the same person, one articulating the unspoken thoughts of the other, often finishing each other's sentences, but sometimes we are opposites–he is level headed and cool while I am hotheaded and temperamental.
All around me there are signs of Eddie’s presence. But, as I sit eating breakfast in our bed—a favorite Eddie activity, his absence is pronounced. There are the unruffled covers, and mess he usually makes on his side—no crumbs, no orange juice stains, and the lack of the ever-wagging tail of our GoldenDoodle, Diego, at Eddie’s side waiting for one of those big brown hands to caress his head. Eddie’s phone is still, despite the occasional unanswered call or text from people who never seem to consider the fact that Eddie has a private life, or somehow expect a response despite his illness. Gone are the assorted puzzle pieces that are usually sprawled across his table in preparation for assembly. Unheard is the nagging cough brought on by the lung disease that has stalked his body for several years—a result of exposure to hazardous chemicals in the prison workplace. His mike is silent—there are no interviews for Rattling The Bars, his show on The Real News Network that has lifted up the voices of prisoners and their families across the United States.
Still, the silence is deafening, because Eddie’s booming voice is such a normal part of my existence—echoing throughout the house no matter what room he’s in. I’m overwhelmed by the quiet. This is not a peaceful sort of solitude because my thoughts are wracked with the image of Eddie, this man that I love so much, lying in a hospital bed in Washington D.C., struggling to get well after suffering from encephalitis. Needless to say, it is hard to be in our house right now because every corner reminds me of Eddie, and his absence. It has brought back the trauma of his incarceration, when his presence was felt everywhere but right next to me.
Today is his birthday, and he was supposed to be on a beach enjoying the early morning sunrise, looking out over the Atlantic, watching the waves come in. As a matter of fact, Eddie always intended to be on a beach, but the work called him, Baltimore called him, The Real News called him, and well, to quote Chairman Mao, “work is struggle.” But right now the struggle is personal, and I don’t doubt that he will survive this challenge to his health. In the words of a good friend, “Eddie is one of the strongest people I know.” However true this statement might be, I still sometimes wonder about the strong ones. We push them out front and they take body blows–beatings, incarceration, lives permanently disrupted–Eddie has paid a cost for his fortitude.
So, I’m seeking a bit of recompense from the universe. It is a simple supplication requesting a return on the good that Eddie has done in the world. I’m praying that his recovery is swift, and his struggle minimal, and for that day on the beach. I appreciate the support that so many of you have given us during this time. I’m asking you to continue to send Eddie your loving vibes, but, I hope that people will respect our need as a family to shelter him in our love right now, allowing us the space to help him heal.
With So Much Love,
Dominque
