When I escaped from San Quentin in 1974, I left behind more than concrete walls and iron bars. I carried with me the fire of revolution, the weight of injustice, and the unbroken dreams of African people. For twenty years in exile, I walked the path of cultural and political education, learning more each day about the struggles and the beauty of our people. At the same time, I was raising my children close to my heart—teaching them to know their roots, to take pride in who they are, and to reach always for the excellence that lives within them.

But the call to return—to face what I had left behind—grew stronger with each passing year. In 1993, I made the decision that would shape the rest of my journey: I returned voluntarily to the United States, knowing I would be imprisoned again.

Those twenty-six years behind bars became a crucible where bitterness could have consumed me. Instead, I chose to transform that fire into something that could heal, teach, and build. I discovered that true freedom isn't about where your body resides, but where your spirit stands.

Now, as I walk in freedom once more, I carry a different kind of fire—one that burns not to destroy, but to illuminate. This is the fire I seek to pass to our young people, who need not just our future promises, but our present guidance and the wisdom of our past struggles.