Vandaag, 45 jaar geleden, werd George Jackson, de in de gevangenis tot theoreticus van de (zwarte) revolutie geëvolueerde gevangene, doodgeschoten. Naar men zegt bij een ontsnappingspoging. Die kennen we maar al te goed. Zoals Bob Dylan in dit destijds (1971) alleen op single uitgebrachte lied laat weten: Jackson zat al tien jaar voor zeventig dollar, een jaar tot levenslang, zo’n onnavolgbaar vonnis zoals het alleen in het Vaderland van het Racisme, het Land der Vrijen, het Tehuis van de Dapperen, geveld kan worden. En aan het einde van die tien jaar wachtte de executie.
Destijds waren zijn twee in de gevangenis geschreven boeken ook nog in het Nederlands vertaald.
I woke up this mornin’
There were tears in my bed
They killed a man I really loved
Shot him through the head
Lord, Lord
They cut George Jackson down
Lord, Lord
They laid him in the ground
Sent him off to prison
For a seventy-dollar robbery
Closed the door behind him
And they threw away the key
Lord, Lord
They cut George Jackson down
Lord, Lord
They laid him in the ground
He wouldn’t take shit from no one
He wouldn’t bow down or kneel
Authorities, they hated him
Because he was just too real
Lord, Lord
They cut George Jackson down
Lord, Lord
They laid him in the ground
Prison guards, they cursed him
As they watched him from above
But they were frightened of his power
They were scared of his love.
Lord, Lord,
So they cut George Jackson down.
Lord, Lord,
They laid him in the ground.
Sometimes I think this whole world
Is one big prison yard
Some of us are prisoners
The rest of us are guards
Lord, Lord
They cut George Jackson down
Lord, Lord
They laid him in the ground
Steel Pulse, 2004
De vroegste zwarte versie, J.P. Robinson, 1972
