Uncover - S20 "The Africas VS. America" E5: The System on Trial

Episode Date: May 1, 2023

The MOVE 9 are catapulted into the international spotlight, facing more than 900 years between them for the death of Officer James Ramp — a crime for which they maintain their innocence. Central to the case is a former Black Panther and Vietnam vet named Delbert Africa, who will become a symbol of police brutality in Philadelphia. As all of this is happening, MOVE’s mysterious leader John Africa is on the run from local and federal authorities. When he’s finally found and brought up on charges, John Africa opts to represent himself in court, and an old friend takes the stand against him.The Africas VS. America is nominated for a Webby! Vote for the series here.

All right, get in here. We have a lot to talk about. My name is Elamin Abdelmahmoud. I am the host of Commotion. You know that feeling when the group chat is lighting up, maybe talking about a new movie that just came out or a new Netflix show or like a big TikTok trend of some sort? That's what Commotion does every day.

We get the smartest, funniest people together and we talk about the big stories in pop culture, arts, and entertainment. I think you should join the Commotion group chat. Find us wherever you get your podcasts. This is a CBC Podcast. Before we start, just a heads up. This episode includes disturbing content depicting violence and explicit language.

Please take care while listening. That's the sound of a 25-year-old black man from Baltimore named Freddie Gray. He's lying on the sidewalk. On top of him, there are two police officers. Those two cops, they've got Freddie in a submission hold called a leg lace. They claimed Freddie Gray had a switchblade on him. He actually had a type of knife

that's perfectly legal in Maryland. This video is famous. Infamous, really. It was shot by a bystander named Kevin Moore. That's his voice there. Don't worry, shorty. We recording this shit. We recording it.

A third officer comes into frame and helps the first two cops drag Freddie over to a waiting police van. That van took Freddie to the Western District Police Station. It's four blocks away. It should have taken a few minutes to get there. Instead, it took 45.

And when the van arrived at the station, Freddy was unconscious. It turned out his neck had been broken and he had a head injury that matched a bolt on the inside of the van's door. Good afternoon. Before we begin, I want to offer my most sincere condolences to Mr. Gray's family and to his friends. After seven days in a coma, he died in hospital from those injuries. After seven days in a coma, he died in hospital from those injuries.

The video of his arrest, it goes viral. And everyone wants to know, what the fuck happened to Freddie Gray in the back of that police van? I mean, a broken neck? A coma? Months after his death, there's another viral image. It was a photo of a sign on the inside of a Baltimore police van. It reads, What happened to Freddie Gray is nothing new. It's called a rough ride, though you might know it by any number of names. The cowboy ride, the joy ride, but in Philadelphia, it's known as a nickel ride,

like a five-cent ride at a state fair. No seat belt, sudden acceleration, lots of braking and hard turns, and in Freddy's case, having his hands and feet shackled so he smashes against the hard interior of the van. hands and feet shackled so he smashes against the hard interior of the van. Nearly 40 years before that, in Philadelphia's Powelton Village, members of MOVE were taken on a rough ride of their own. Police had just raided the MOVE home. It's August 8th, 1978, the day of Delbert's beating, the day of Officer James Ramps' death, and the day 12 people inside the move home are arrested. Among them, Debbie Africa. She's just turned 22 years old, a mother to a toddler.

Well, being eight months pregnant was kind of hard to get handcuffs, you know, but they handcuffed me in the back. And it was, I think it was, what, six or eight of us. And of those six or eight, she's one of two pregnant women loaded into a police van. They were driving like crazy. They were driving so fast and so reckless, you know. And the seats in the back of the van, they're slippery. All we could feel like was they either were trying to kill us or trying to do something else to us and then kill us or terrorize us to death.

And it shouldn't have taken us that long to get to the House of Correction. And even the officers there were wondering, why took y'all so long? And even the officers there were wondering, why took y'all so long? In the four decades separating Debbie and Freddie's rough rides, how many urban rebellions have we seen?

How many congressional hearings and local and federal investigations into police brutality? But for all the talk of change and police reform, how is it that extrajudicial practices like the Rough Ride continue to underpin modern policing? For all of MOVE's eccentricities and contradictions, there's one thing I think they had right. We are all subject to what John Africa called the system. The idea that our political, social, and economic lives are governed by rules and institutions that privilege the few and oppress the many. The kind of rules that create racialized disparities in health, incarceration, wealth, home ownership, and maternal mortality. The

rough ride represents one element of that system, a form of state force that many MOVE members would have grown accustomed to. But after the raid on their Powelton Village home, members of MOVE were about to experience an entirely different form of state force. America's court system. I'm Matthew Amha. This is the Africa's vs. America. Chapter 5. The System on Trial.

Scores of dignitaries led by Mayor Rizzo and Police Commissioner O'Neill formed a procession at St. Dominic's Catholic Church to pay their last respects to Officer James Ramp. It's three days after the police raid. The city is holding a to Officer James Ramp. It's three days after the police raid. The city is holding a funeral for James Ramp, the officer who was shot and killed that day. Thousands of people line Franklin Street in front of St. Dominic's Church. There's a large police presence, a lot of them from out of state. As Ramp is being laid to rest, members of MOVE are awaiting pre-trial at the Philadelphia House of Correction. Each is facing a whole slew of charges, the most serious of which is murder in the third degree,

what we might more commonly think of as manslaughter for the death of James Ramp. District Attorney Ed Rendell is heading the prosecution's case against MOVE. Here he is speaking with KYW shortly after the charges are announced. I have never shared the opinion that was shared by a number of community groups and by a number of people in the media that MOVE was just a group of nonviolent political activists. You said to someone a little while ago, flat out, that those people are murderers. No question. Do you stand by that?

No question about it. Two of the women arrested, Sandra Davis, Davida Johnson, their charges are dropped. And Consuela Africa, her trial is carved off from the rest, which leaves just nine. carved off from the rest, which leaves just nine. Debbie, Mike, Merle, Delbert, Eddie, Janet, Janine, Chucky, and Phil. MOVE believes defense attorneys are as invested in the system as the police, the judge, and the media. So they request, and are granted, the right to self-representation on religious grounds. They also request a non-jury trial.

As Delbert Africa tells the court, a jury would only be composed of, quote, racist whites from the Northeast and Negroes from downtown. By the time the trial finally gets underway in December of 1979, it's been nearly a year and a half since Ramp's death. And as this reporter for WPVI says, Philadelphians can't look away. Every day they line up in front of courtroom 453, the MOVE courtroom. They put up with the weight, the heavy security,

and it's all just to see what's going on inside. By now, the five men from MOVE have been transferred to Holmesburg Prison, known locally as the Terror Dome. And the media has come up with a moniker for the defendants, the MOVE 9. Edwin Malmed, a judge with a reputation for being unflappable, is assigned to the case. And he's got some ground rules. Quote, no obscenity or profanity will be permitted from the defendants, spectators, or counsel at any time. And he's got some ground rules. Quote, He also warns against audience participation. But MOVE has perfected the art of courtroom disruption, unsettling even the most seasoned judges who's always been part of their MO.

So essentially from day one, it's a raucous affair. Here's how KYW reported it. During cross-examination by Delbert Africa, the judge warned, you're skating on thin ice, Mr. Africa. You must be hallucinating, Africa responded. I ain't skating on nothing. Save the speeches, the judge said. I'm not saving nothing.

I'm going to fill your head with the truth before this trial is over. Malmed does give the defendant some space as they hurl personal insults at him and go on extended rants about the American justice system and the police, all the while popping cloves of garlic like candy. But inevitably, the judge's patience wanes. Their strategy was to put the system on trial versus getting themselves off. Reporter Lynn Washington is in the courtroom most days. And that led to them cursing the judge, and then, you know, they were removed from the trial,

and their backup lawyers came in, and it just became a circus, a circus that morphed into the farce. The Move 9 are savvy. They know this is a high-profile media affair and that their antics are always in the press. They also know the gallery is full of Move sympathizers and supporters, so Move uses the courtroom as a stage. That trial record was so convoluted and so long, it would take you six months to read through the three months' worth of transcripts and then try to figure out something.

While Malmed allows the Move 9 to represent themselves, he also insists that their court-appointed counsel be on hand to step in where need be, usually when the judge throws one of the defendants out of the courtroom, which happens often. Chuck and Phil Africa have both been thrown out of court several times before, and today they refuse to promise to behave. I'll do what's right according to the principles of John Africa, Chuck told the court. Judge Malman said the trial is being conducted according to the laws of the Commonwealth,

not according to John Africa. conducted according to the laws of the Commonwealth, not according to John Africa. After three months of non-stop disruption by MOVE, Malmed is calling on the court-appointed lawyers to do most of the work in the courtroom. But the MOVE 9 are refusing to speak with them. They also order their lawyers not to mount a defense in their absence. But the lawyers actually have a legal obligation to defend their clients. This more or less brings proceedings to a standstill. And MOVE supporters, they aren't pleased about it. Distortions, detentions, and defense lawyers, those were the complaints aired today by people who sympathize with MOVE members.

During a news conference, MOVE supporters claim the defendants from their cells to the courtroom and tells them they can return and mount a defense whenever they choose to behave. To this, at least one MOVE member responds by informing Malmed that all judges have syphilis. that all judges have syphilis. In California, another black militant, Angela Davis, has been in jail for 193 days. Through the late 60s and early 70s, there had been a number of high-profile cases brought against black revolutionaries,

all of them facing life in prison, all accused of murder following violent clashes with law enforcement. There's Assata Shakur in New Jersey, the Panther 21 in New York, and the Soledad brothers and Angela Davis in California. In New York City, police picked up Angela Davis, wanted for murder in California in the bizarre escape from a court that involved the murder of a judge. While she and her boyfriend were remanded for trial, people demonstrated in sympathy." Protests in Davis' name extended well across the world, and her charges were later dismissed. Black revolutionaries were quickly becoming international emblems of freedom.

It also made them targets. The climate had gotten so bad that Stokely Carmichael fled the U.S. for Africa for fear of assassination. From the outset, the Africas believed the system had already decided their fate. How can you charge 12 people with murder, with the murder of one cop, from one gun, one bullet? 12 people, with third degree. bullet, 12 people with third degree. Mike Africa Sr., Mike Africa Jr.'s father, was one of the defendants. And understand that when you have a third degree murder charge, third degree means the unintentional killing of someone, you know?

If it was conspiracy, then it's first or second degree. It's not third. But District Attorney Ed Rendell didn't see it that way. Move was ready. They had made this bunker as a defense against a shootout, so they were all acting as co-conspirators in a broad scheme. Then there was the issue of evidence. Lynn Washington watched as police removed guns from the basement of the Powelton Village home.

Some of the weapons were so thickly encased with mud, the police had to use their feet to open up the guns to make sure that there weren't any bullets still in the chamber. to open up the guns to make sure that there weren't any bullets still in the chamber. One of the police officers who testified, Bob Hurst, told the court he found the guns in the basement. But MOVE has always said those guns were planted. Hurst says he also observed bullet holes while he was down there, but that there were no technicians with him to collect evidence and that no one thought to take pictures of the scene.

So aside from those guns, there's no physical evidence supporting the claim from police that MOVE opened fire first, or that MOVE even fired at all. And the reason for that, it's pretty stunning. Minutes after the siege ends, community organizer Walt Palmer realizes there's a bulldozer still on the street. So he turns to his colleague, Oscar, and tells him to run. Find a judge. Any judge. I had to get an injunction to stop them from tearing down this house because it's a crime scene.

And I went to the chief of civil disobedience. George Fensel said, well, I think it's too late. They're going to, they're bulldozer here. George Fensel, head of Philadelphia's civil disobedience unit. I said, George, you know like I know, this is a crime scene. Doesn't matter who's right or wrong. He said, well, I'm overruled. I said, Oscar's on his way back with an injunction.

It was too late. So I'm standing here and I'm watching them pumping the water out, using fans to take the smoke and the tear gas out. The shootout and everything stopped around 10.30, quarter to 11. By 12.30, they tore the house down. They brought in a wrecking crane and tore the house down. The city would proffer a number of explanations for this. One was the fear that additional MOVE members could reoccupy the home.

Another was that the home could become a symbol of radicalism. And finally, that it represented a safety risk to the public. But under the law, none of those were reasonable justifications. The Pennsylvania Supreme Court had issued a ruling within the prior year that said that you can't destroy a crime scene. So again, this corrupted judicial process, corrupted prosecutorial process, and just out-of-control activity by police. To appreciate just how out-of-control the police were that day, you need a little context. This is where our chairman had his brain blown out, and he lay in his bed, sleeping at 4.30 in the morning.

In the winter of 1969, the chairman of the Chicago chapter of the Black Panther Party, Fred Hampton, is killed along with two others during a police raid on his home. Our officers used the means necessary to effect the search and to prevent themselves from being killed after they were fired upon. The police and district attorney tell the public that he was killed in self-defense. That was a lie. Heard a pig say, he's barely alive, he'll barely make it. Pigs, they started shooting again.

I heard the sisters scream. They stopped shooting. The pig said, he's good and dead now. Hampton's killing was a political assassination, carried out by a team of 14 Chicago police officers and the FBI. He had been drugged by law enforcement and was asleep in bed next to his pregnant girlfriend when he was shot. This plot only came to light because Hampton's family and the Panthers

had preserved the crime scene. And it was this physical evidence that would eventually vindicate the Panthers and Hampton's family in court and lead to court orders to preserve crime scenes like Powleton Village. So with the Powleton house having been razed within hours of the raid, the only remaining physical evidence were the guns that police officer Bob Hurst testified to finding in the basement. It turns out there were no prints on those guns, and so no evidence linking them to move. But Mike Africa Sr. says the question of the guns is beside the point. I don't know if you ever felt, seen, heard the velocity of a deluge gun streaming water at you that closely. That thing was taking bricks out of the wall. You could not breathe. You could not see.

For a person to be under that kind of onslaught, stand up, aim, and fire, you tell me how it was possible. So with little compelling physical evidence, that left witness accounts. But that was an issue, too. I tried hard to testify. And I've said time and time again, MOVE did not kill Sergeant Ramp. They blame all the injuries on MOVE. But nobody accounts for the bullets ricocheting off the walls and the misfiring and the friendly fire that's taken place out there.

It was chaotic. It was chaotic. And Walt would know. He was on the street that day, hoping to negotiate a peaceful surrender. Sergeant Ramp was on Pearl Street. I saw him by the pole. They were in the basement. He happened to shoot up. He was shot down. What Walt's referring to here is the official coroner's report, which concluded Ramp had been killed by a bullet to the back of the neck that was headed in a downward trajectory.

Here's Lynn Washington again. So then the question becomes, if Officer Ramp was shot at ground level and the bullet that killed him came in a downward trajectory, how could a bullet coming out from the basement go into a downward trajectory? So here are two eyewitnesses to what happened on the street that day. But MOVE wouldn't allow them, or any others, to testify on their behalf.

They viewed it as a validation of the judicial system and a violation of their religious beliefs. So the court never heard from Walt nor from Lynn. But even if it had, it's not clear that would have made a difference. When the prosecutor was building the case, he had a medical examiner, the city's medical examiner, come in to testify in terms of the autopsy regarding the death of Officer James Ramp.

And the coroner's testimony differed from the coroner's official report. And the DA took out a pencil and just changed it right in court, and the judge allowed it. And move was up there, object, object, object, object. And the judge said, sit down, shut up. And we found that to be very funny because, you know.

Debbie Africa was in court that day. We're getting ready to be convicted of murder here, and he's sitting up here playing games with our lives with an autopsy report of an entrance of a bullet that was supposed to have come from the basement and supposed to have come from one of us. And he's playing games with this in the courtroom and laughing about it. And when we pointed that out to the judge, he just basically just, well, you know, he's allowed to do that. And that's just, that was just it, you know?

That should have stopped the proceeding right there, but those sort of procedural things, nobody cared about it. That's pretty much how that trial went. So this is, this is like, just like, I got this from Louise's house, as you can see. I'm in Mike Africa Jr.'s studio. He's digging through boxes that he's brought up from his basement. Old news clippings.

His great-aunt Louise's writings, for the most part. But then, there's this. This is the original transcript. Miss Janet Holloway, first of all, you ordered, you said that it was outright if we had a meeting with our men every week. We had one last night. Mike is reading from a court transcription from September 18, 1978.

It's early on, a pretrial hearing before the Move 9 trial started. Janet Holloway? That's Janet Africa. Janet's being held on the same cell block as Debbie Africa, who was eight months pregnant when she was arrested. There's been a doctor checking on Debbie regularly.

Or there's supposed to be. Miss Africa, also I want to point out that Debbie had her baby. The baby is downstairs in a cell. It has been there for quite a while. And that baby? It was Mike Africa Jr. You have them announcing your birth. That's pretty crazy. And that baby? It was Mike Africa Jr. You have them announcing your birth. That's pretty crazy. It's pretty crazy. Yeah. The judge isn't sure what to make of Janet's claim, that a child has quietly been born under the nose of prison guards.

He asks one of the correctional officers for clarity. The court. Did you see Debbie Sims? Lucas, I saw her in bed. Was she pregnant? The court, she still looked pregnant. The court, when was that? Officer Lucas, that was this morning at approximately 9 o'clock this morning. The court, as far as Officer Lucas is concerned, she had no baby.

I said, Janine, wake up. I think I'm getting ready to have the baby. And she said, are you sure? But three days earlier, Debbie had given birth with her only cellmate, Janine Africa, as witness. No anesthetic, no medical equipment. She said, oh man, she was nervous. And, you know, the contractions came and they came closer and closer. And, you know, here she is telling the story to Mike Africa Jr. I didn't want to make a sound because, you know, a lot of times when women have babies, they're loud or they're grunting or they're just like, you know, just pushing. And so I didn't want to make a sound. I was so quiet. And when you were finally born, you kind of cried a little bit. Debbie cut her son's umbilical cord with her teeth.

I wiped you off while Janine had bought me a pail of water and some warm towels, and I wiped you off and everything. The MOVE women were kept out of the population, in six cells at the far end of the block. And they all helped to keep the baby's birth a secret from guards. So every time you would make a little squeal or anything like that, you know, Virginia was making like a little bit of noise. Well, I had you for like a couple of hours before they let us out because you're locked in at night so about six o'clock in the morning they open the doors well

I had already had him for a couple hours and then when everybody Janine said hey y'all guess what Debbie had the baby I was a boy they was she says be quiet be quiet we don't want them to come back here. So everybody came in the room and they were saying, oh, my God, oh, my God. Look at him. He's so cute. He's got curly hair. I had curly hair? Yes, a lot of curly hair, too.

And it was just, it was a lot. And so everybody just really just sat around and we just talked about it. And it just, you know, it was just, they were just really happy. And every time you would make a noise or sneeze i think the thing was in the beginning merle would get on the steps and start singing maybe if i cry every day and she would get on that in front of my cell because they would sometimes come up the wing and so she would you, get up there and start singing or making noise so that they wouldn't hear. Because they, even though we knew eventually he had to leave,

we just tried to get as much out of it as we could. For Mike Africa Sr., the trial wasn't simply a question of freedom. This was about family. Trial wasn't simply a question of freedom. This was about family. And every day, you know, the women would come into court. And this one day, Debbie wasn't with them. But Debbie had wrote me a note that Janet had given me. Said that she had delivered a healthy baby boy, that his name was Michael. I had that note for a long time.

I had that note for a long time. In the end, Debbie got three days with Mike. And when it came time to reveal the news, there was a lot to consider. Over the years, a number of MOVE women reported experiencing violence at the hands of police, even losing pregnancies to beatings. And then there was Baby Life Africa, who died in a police raid in 1976. There was this whole thing of these people might try to like eliminate me and say I never existed. They figured what better protection than an audience? So what Janet did, she announced in court that I was born.

And she announced it to the stenographer, she announced it to the reporters in the courtroom, she said it to the judge over and over again, and she did that so that what she was saying was on record. So therefore, they couldn't say that I didn't exist. And she said it so much that the judge got tired of her saying it over and over again. He told her, if you say anything else, I'm holding you in contempt. She kept on saying it until the point where she got held in contempt and they threw her out of the courtroom.

Makes me feel good that people were protective of me. That feels good. No, don't surprise me at all. I know my family. They would have died that day if they had to, to protect me. And it's been like that every day since? Yep. Yep.

Never been any different. Yeah, that's special, man. Yeah, it's great. Shortly after Janet announced Mike's birth in court, he and Debbie were taken to hospital. And then Debbie was taken back to prison. It would be another 40 years before they'd sleep under the same roof again. be another 40 years before they'd sleep under the same roof again. The judge said guilty nine times.

It's May 1980, when the Move 9 and the local press finally get their verdict. The defendants were brought in one by one, handcuffed and heavily guarded. Bring your ass out here, Michael Africa shouted at Judge Edwin Malmed. Liar, liar, shouted Delbert Africa. How can you find someone guilty in this illegal court? It was the same with the others, all shouting obscenities, all claiming innocence. After delivering the verdict, Judge Edwin Malmed faces reporters outside the courtroom. In a criminal trial, no one wins and no one loses. It's not a game.

It's a search for truth. And the result follows what we feel to be the truth. And I can only say to you that my conscience is totally clear. Is it the most difficult one you ever handled? Oh, yes, yes. Most difficult one I ever handled, and I suspect it's about as difficult as anyone has ever handled. Louise Africa is there, too.

Her reaction's caught on tape by KYW. You killed my family! You killed our baby! You broke my house! You broke our house! You broke it all! By the time it was over, the trial of the Move 9 would be the longest and costliest in Pennsylvania's history. It was Debbie Africa's birthday when they were finally called for sentencing on August 4, 1981.

Yes, that's a fact. And Delbert, every time that date comes around, he just laughs about it. He said, boy, they shot you a terrible birthday gift, little one. Yeah, yeah. She was 25 years old and had already spent three years behind bars. And once again, KYW was there. Judge Edwin Malmuth sentenced each of the nine MOVE members to 30 to 100 years in jail, nearly the maximum sentence that had been requested by the district attorney.

Judge Malmuth, explaining the verdict, called the MOVE members' conduct criminal and obscene, and he quietly declared that MOVE members had abused this community for far too long. Afterwards, the judge told me why the five men and four women all got the same sentence. They have at all times maintained they were a family and acted together. Now, I therefore took them at their own word. If they're a family and have all acted together, then they acted in concert, they acted jointly, and they should all share equally in the punishment imposed. All these years later, Lynn Washington is still frustrated about the outcome of the Move 9 trial.

Frustrated at the judicial process, yes, but also at Move. process, yes, but also in MOVE. Due to their complicity in not effectively arguing or not effectively utilizing legal strategies that they could have that, you know, ended up with them with those onerous and really illegal sentences. Decades after the trial, a number of MOVE's court-appointed lawyers went on the record to say they believed the state had a weak case. That if MOVE had simply mounted a conventional defense, they could have very well had an entirely different verdict.

When later asked if he knows who killed Ramp, Judge Malmed will reply simply, I haven't the faintest idea. In 2017, it felt like drugs were everywhere in the news. So I started a podcast called On Drugs. We covered a lot of ground over two seasons, but there are still so many more stories to tell. I'm Jeff Turner, and I'm back with season three of On Drugs. And this time, it's going to get personal. I don't know who Sober Jeff is. I don't even know if I like that guy. On Drugs is available now wherever you get your podcasts.

You might be wondering where John Africa is through all of this. Short answer, he's in Rochester, New York, living as a fugitive. He left Philadelphia nearly a full year before the 1978 raid in Powelton Village. Once it had become clear a move and the cops were on a collision course, the group figured it would be best to protect their crown jewel. Yeah, that was a long ride. I had one of those English racer type bikes. Mo Africa fled Philadelphia with John Africa. And yeah, they fled on bicycles.

And I had problems keeping up with him. We had on our backs those Army duffel bags, but when we got to some of those hills, they were so long, I had to stop. That's when John Africa, he took my pack and put it on his back, and when I finally got up there, he told me, the wind started blowing. That was Mama just saying, you did a good job. And Moses, all along the way,

John Africa was stopping to pick up roadkill and lay it to rest. It shows you how much he revered life and just showed us how to respect it, you know. By the time of the Move 9 sentencing, John Africa and Mo Africa, now settled in Rochester, have been wanted by the feds on weapons and terrorism charges going on three years. And they've also missed a second high-profile trial. And they've also missed a second high-profile trial. Delbert Africa is still hospitalized tonight while investigations continue to determine if police used excessive force last Tuesday in arresting him. That of the three cops who beat Delbert Africa.

One of the people to visit Delbert Africa today was State Representative David Richardson, who gave the crowd of MOVE supporters this report on his visit with Delbert Africa. Delbert was sitting in the chair, but he's not moving. He's passing out off and on. He gets dizzy because of the blows to the back of his head and his head. There's a lot of head injury. Can he see? He can see out of one eye. His other eye is closed.

And I think that that's because of the hemorrhaging as well as the fracture that's right near the eye. Delbert spent a few days in hospital before being transferred to prison. But it was a full year before the police gave the district attorney the names of the three officers, Charles Geist, Terrence Mulvihill, and Joseph Zagami, so they could be indicted. The district attorney said, we want the names of the officers, and the police department said, yeah, well, you can kiss. District attorney said, we want the names of the officers, and the police department said, yeah, well, you can kiss. Now, here's a police department defiantly waving its middle finger at the prosecutor's office in the city of Philadelphia, and they were able to get away with that for over a year. And when they did surrender themselves, 500 police officers accompanied them to the DA's office,

chanting, I wear blue, take me too. Meanwhile, the police had gone into full justification mode, arguing that Delbert was armed and dangerous, a defense they maintained both on trial and in the local press. Two of the defendants, Joseph Zagami and Charles Geist, testified teary-eyed that they kicked Delbert Africa repeatedly after his surrender because they feared he was laying on top of Officer Geist's missing pistol, that the kicks were an effort to turn Delbert over. This blow-up the prosecutors

had planned to present shows that Geist was apparently already kicking Delbert Africa as his service revolver flies from his holster because of the kicking motion. The kicking that Geist testified that he did to find the gun that was, according to this photograph, not yet missing. Philadelphia Police Commissioner Joseph O'Neill told the court that Delbert Africa wasn't a man. He was a savage. And quote, when you're dealing with a savage, you don't know what he may do. He's hitting him. He's hitting him. Hit him on the head.

He's kicking him on the head. But the video and photographic evidence was clear. Three cops punching, kicking, and beating an unarmed and eventually unconscious man with helmets and clubs. It's not that they beat his face and beat his body. It's the fact that they got caught. Chuck Peruto was a law clerk for the defense, and he kind of expected that they might lose the case. And they got caught inescapably because it's on video.

From the time he comes out, not resisting, hands out. From what I remember, he didn't even have anything on him that he could conceal a weapon. So there's no justification on paper for what they did. While there was a lot of support for the police, that isn't to say people weren't angry. There were plenty of protests and demonstrations in Delbert's name. For the first time in years, the black community of Philadelphia staged a major demonstration against the Rizzo administration. The focal point of this protest, the pictures of Delbert Africa being beaten by police after

surrendering from the MO move house last Tuesday. This one is a jury trial. But just as the jury is set to begin its deliberation, the judge, Stanley Kobaki, makes an announcement. Before the defense could give its summation, and certainly before I could give my summation, the judge came out and called a halt to the trial. That's George Perry, head of the police brutality unit in the Philadelphia DA's office.

Perry was assigned to represent Delbert as the prosecutor in the case. And made a statement to the effect that a verdict by this jury will do nothing to bind up the wounds of this community. So Kubacki dismisses the jury altogether and says, I'm directing that a verdict of not guilty be entered. And if you want a lightning rod, I will be that lightning rod. And he walked off the bench and I was sitting there with my summation going, what just happened? In announcing the acquittal, Kubacki said the sense of scandal surrounding the case was leaving Philadelphia to bleed to death, and that nothing would be gained by

prosecuting the three officers. A reporter for WPVI caught up with the three defendants shortly after their acquittal. I am not sorry at anything I did. The only thing I am sorry for to James Ramp is dead and a lot of other police and firemen are now out of the job and permanently injured. Are you bitter at anybody? I am bitter at the MOVE people. We lost that battle out there. We got people shot up, we got people disabled, we got Rampy in the grave.

There's nothing wrong with the move people. They're sitting up there in jail, getting their special diet. I would do the same if I was in that same situation again. And that was the end of the case. That was why there were no convictions, because the case was not allowed to go all the way through the process. First and last time I ever saw that happen. But that's how it happened. At this point, move has splintered.

John Africa and senior leadership are in Rochester. The rank and file had been in the Powelton Village house until it was destroyed in the raid. And the others, largely women and children, are living on a sprawling 96-acre farm in Virginia, part of a sister chapter of the group called Seeds of Wisdom that would soon be raided by authorities. In Rochester, John Africa lives under the improbable pseudonym Vincent Lee Fart. That's Fart with a PH. He and the other MOVE members with him buy some properties,

including a couple of decommissioned gas stations from which they run car washes and offer mechanical work. They adopt new dogs, take odd jobs to pay the bills, and run through the neighborhood barefoot. Rochester, mainly we were giving out information about life, and we had to be careful not to talk directly about Moo because, you know, the authorities was on our case trying to arrest us. But eventually, their lifestyle begins to attract attention.

There are very few photos of John Africa, but we were able to get our hands on a few, and they're kind of incredible. There's this one in particular. In it, John Africa is sitting cross-legged in a swivel chair. He's wearing a hoodie, a snapback hat, and jeans. The guy looks more like an artist than a fugitive. On the table in front of him are his aviator shades, and a white guy and a pair of Adidas superstars sprawled out incredibly casually as though he's lying on a beach somewhere. The two look like friends. But the white guy on the table is actually a federal agent named Walt Wasluck. Wasluck's with the ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, and these are photos taken from the inside of an interrogation room. Wasluk had been looking

for John Africa for three years, and in 1981, he finally caught a break when he was able to tie move to one of their gas stations in Rochester. He led two trailers full of cops and a helicopter spotted there to make the arrest. After his interrogation, John Africa was heard to say, quote, they better start selling tickets for my trial in Philadelphia. Well, they took us back to Philadelphia to put us on trial. Mo Africa was arrested alongside John Africa. They had some jumped-up charges against us about manufacturing bombs and terroristic threats.

These allegations include a plot to fly explosives into City Hall using remote-controlled model airplanes. As the prosecution is building its case, Moe and John Africa are being held in the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York City. The authorities didn't want them incarcerated in Philadelphia, Moe says, for fear of John Africa's influence. So every day, marshals drive them back and forth to court in Philly. And as tended to happen, John Africa gets to talking.

They were a captive artist. I mean, he had the confidence in them so much to the point where it was a time when they had a breakdown on the highway with us.

It was a flat. And John Africa convinced him to take the handcuffs off me, give me the tire and change those tires on their car. I mean, that was something that they don't do. The U.S. government has no such confidence in John Africa. Here's Lynn Washington. The initial trials were based off of a bomb conspiracy prosecution. We're moving a mass weapons, and they were supposed to plant these weapons in various places around the country

and then use that as pressure on Rizzo, like, if you don't stop messing with us, then we're going to set these bombs off. Much of the case was built on an informant, Donald Glassie, who was at one point the right-hand man of John Africa. Donald Glassie. That's the white sociology grad student again.

The man who the media often incorrectly credits as a co-founder of MOVE. Police trace one of the guns from MOVE's Powelton house back to Glassie. And the feds use the threat of a five-year prison sentence

to turn him into an asset. Philip Deming is an ATF agent who helps to bring Glassie in. He would later describe the academic as someone who was caught up in the quote, intellectual intrigue of meeting someone like John Africa. But Glassie has grown disillusioned with Move over the years. He tells the feds that John Africa has become a Charles Manson-type figure. He also tells them about a wide-ranging conspiracy, led by John Africa, to attack historical sites across the United States and Europe. Glassie would also describe massive weapons caches, explosive devices, and books on bomb-making

and sabotage. In learning of Glassie's betrayal, Delbert would later tell the Philadelphia Daily News, quote, that dude sat on the coattails of revolution. John Africa refuses state-appointed representation, opting instead to represent himself. But according to Lynn Washington, The person who did the lawyering was basically Mo Africa, his co-defendant. John Africa was the one telling me what to say and what to do. what to say and what to do.

John Africa is the one that told me how to cross-examine and recross the witnesses that they was bringing up there. I followed his instructions, and that's what got me through it. Moe's backup counsel would later say that the real courtroom drama was the dynamic between Federal Agent Wasluck and John Africa. That Wasluck and John Africa.

That Wasluck had taken the case so personally and believed the government's case to be foolproof. Walt Wasluck, he was always in the courtroom. When we would come into the courtroom to begin the proceedings, John Africa would slap him on the back so hard that he would lurch forward. And he would say, look, you know you ain't going to win this case, don't you? You know, when this is over with, I'm going to walk free. And my brother's going to walk with me. One of the prosecutors said the case against John Africa was, quote,

the strongest case I ever had. I was really shaken up. They had Harvard and Yale trained lawyers, and I barely had a high school education. I didn't know nothing about the law. They brought into the courtroom, man, shopping carts full of these contraptions that they said we used to make bombs with. With red powder stuff all on it, what they used to check for fingerprints and all kind of crazy stuff. But the prosecution's case rests on its star witness, Donald Glassie. And it becomes clear that Glassassy is not particularly reliable. And I remember one take that was played that was just so absurd. There was a discussion between Glassy and I think two MOVE members.

So Glassy's saying, look, you know, we need to get weapons. And it's like, yeah, we need to get weapons, you know, and I think I can get members. So Glassie's saying, well, look, we need to get weapons. And it's like, yeah, we need to get weapons. I think I can get sniper rifles. We can get machine guns. Okay, okay, we need some bomb parts. And then at one point in the conversation, Glassie says, well, you know, I have some connections. I think I could get an atomic bomb.

Do you think we can have an atomic bomb? And then there was this pause. And I can imagine the MOVE people saying, an atomic bomb? And then there was this pause. And I can imagine the movie people saying, an atomic bomb? I'm like, whoa, wait a minute. I mean, but it was just so absurd. So I knew that evidentiary-wise, the case was fencing. John Africa's defense is built on Moe's portrait of him as a local healer and hero. That the coordinator was an apostle of nonviolence

and cured his followers of malaria, epilepsy, and addiction. The jury is told a lionized story about a man who led disenfranchised people on a march toward a more liberated life. On the stand, Delbert Africa recalls beating suffered at the hands of police through the years. According to the Philadelphia Inquirer, at this, John Africa begins to weep, as does Moe and several other members of MOVE in the gallery. Each of the witnesses called to the stand in defense of John Africa refers to Donald Glassie as a liar or a coward. Often both.

Through most of the proceedings, John Africa appears disinterested, at times literally sleeping behind his aviators. But then comes time for closing statements. I gave my closing statement. And then when I finished, I saw he was sleeping out. I said, wow, should I wake him up? So I shook him and woke him up. And then he came through with the, I mean, the most powerful closing argument that you could ever hear, man. And it was like, he put everybody on notice.

John Africa reportedly delivered his closing argument between tears. This was his crowning moment, an opportunity to prosecute the system using a rhetorical framework that he perfected for more than a decade. The transcript, it's long, but here's a sample. People ain't gonna condemn the MOVE organization as a bunch of kill-crazed, bloodthirsty murderers when it is the government spilling blood, killing life out of greed. But the government is attempting to indict me for spilling blood, burning flesh, killing life by saying I was making bombs. I ain't gonna spend a lot of energy talking about this bomb-making frame-up.

My innocence is proven with every innocence of energy you breathe, every drop of innocence you drink, every morsel of innocence you eat. He didn't prepare that. He just woke up out of his sleep and ran it down. One of the prosecutors would later describe John Africa as sounding like a Shakespearean actor. You could hear a pin drop, and his voice was booming. Following the speech, the jury retires,

and for six days, they deliberate before returning with a verdict. Not guilty on all charges. In the end, the evidence simply wasn't there to convict. On hearing the verdict, John Africa leans into his microphone and says, quote, verdict, John Africa leans into his microphone and says, quote, the power of truth is final. Then he crosses the courtroom floor to shake Walt Wasluck's hand. No hard feelings, he says. And just like that, Mo and John Africa are free.

MOVE sympathizers are celebrating the acquittal of their leader, Vincent Leapheart, also known as John Africa. Leapheart was asked how he felt when the verdict was read. Followers and supporters swarm John Africa as he emerges through the doors of the federal courtroom. He's wearing his aviators, and in his arms is a cardboard box, the stem of a pineapple poking through the top. He walks over to a waiting taxi, where he's ambushed by a swarm of cameras. And this is where John Africa utters the only words that would ever be captured on tape by the press. As he's getting into the cab, a reporter asks him how he feels, having just defeated

the US government in a federal trial. You can see the beginnings of a coy smile. Nothing. I was asleep. What are your plans in terms of staying in Philadelphia, in terms of trying to continue the MOVE cult? It's not a cult. It's an organization. Maybe it's part of the John Africa myth, but there's a story that still circulates

among old reporters who covered the case. That John Africa said one more thing, something that wasn't captured on tape. These words. I whipped them. I beat the United States of America on a move. Next time on the Africa's vs. America. Well, I think that no one from the media, the Philadelphia media, has ever sat down and talked with me like you're talking to me here now. And I think that if the truth was known, it would be a different story. A rising star wins the mayorship, becoming the first black mayor in Philadelphia's history. Under his watch, the city of Philadelphia will make the fateful decision to neutralize MOVE for good. Okay, so essentially what I'm being told here is that you were not aware that they were firing into the home until the next day.

I was not aware that they fired into the house until either the evening news or the next morning. What did you personally think was going to happen that day? What I saw happening that day was that the police would go out, the police commissioner would announce over loudspeaker, we have warned for the arrest of A and B, that they would come out of the house and would be arrested. In the nearly four decades since the bombing of the move home, Wilson Good hasn't had much to say about his own role in the tragedy.

Part of me feels that I've been the fall guy in all of this. That is, until now. of that. That is, until now. You've been listening to the Africa's Versus America from CBC Podcasts and Confluential Films. The show is written and produced by me, Matthew Amah, and Jessica

Lindsay. Our story editor is Damon Fairless, and our producer is Alina Ghosh. Sound design by Evan Kelly. Emily Connell is our coordinating producer. Emily Mathieu is our fact checker.

Our senior producer is Willow Smith. Consulting producers for Confluential are Tommy Oliver and Keith Giannette. Audio courtesy of Kevin Moore.

NBC News. KYW Channel 10 Philadelphia. WPVI Channel 6 Philadelphia. Frontline PBS. Additional research courtesy of Jeremy Pavar and the Philadelphia Inquirer. Executive producers for CBC Podcasts are Cecil Fernandez and Chris Oak. Arif Noorani is the director of CBC Podcasts. If you're enjoying the show, I'd like to recommend another CBC Podcast, The Kill List.

It starts when human rights activist Karima Baluch is found drowned off the shores of Toronto. An investigation into her death leads back to the country she recently fled, Pakistan. Host Mary Link explores the rampant abductions and killings of dissidents in Pakistan, the dangers that follow those who flee to the West, and an intelligence agency with tentacles around the globe. Check it out. You can find it along with all other CBC podcasts on CBC Listen or wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening. Tune in next week for an all-new episode of The Africas vs. America, where you can binge the whole series by subscribing to our channel on Apple Podcasts. Just click on the link in the show description. For more CBC Podcasts, go to cbc.ca slash podcasts.